It's early in the evening, around ten, and like every evening in the new era Damon's having a drink in front of the fireplace. He's bored. It's awfully lonely in the boarding house when there's no one to annoy, no brother brooding for hours about what to wear for school the next day and when exactly did the prospect of not having to endure that drama every evening lose its appeal? Damon huffs and turns around, reaching for the bottle behind him on the bar. Maybe he should go out, get some live food instead of the plastic crap for a change, it's been a while since he went hunting—
The cell in his back pocket goes off. He grins, fumbling to set his glass down and pull it out at the same time. He flips it open, not even bothering to check the caller ID. "What's up, Ric, miss me already? I thought tonight was dinner time with your big, happy family?"
He expects that annoyed sigh Alaric has pretty much perfected by now, the one that's supposed to say 'shut up, Damon' but usually comes out like 'shut up and please do that again, Damon'.
"Hellooo?" he drawls in a singsong voice after a moment, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch and raising his glass for another sip.
There's no answer, but there are sounds now, weird sounds, some sort of rustling, an odd, muffled noise, then a groan, muted. Damon raises his eyebrows at that, his lazy smile turning into an amused grin.
"Are you calling to have phone sex with me? That's… kinky…" He pauses, listening closer, trying to make out more details, lowering his voice to a purr. "Okay, I'll bite, what are you wearing tonight, sweetheart?"
Another groan, closer to the phone, familiar—and wrong.
"Ric?"
It's then that his ears pick up faint panting, strained gasps for air, but before he can focus on that all hell breaks loose. There are voices, a lot of them. Alaric's voice is one of them, in the background, yelling at someone.
"Get away from my car!"
His shout is followed by a male voice, close to the phone. "Get him!"
People start running, two different sets of footsteps, heading into Alaric's direction. A struggle breaks out that instantly becomes violent and loud, something solid crashes into metal, glass shatters. From the different grunts and moans Damon can tell that Alaric is getting in a few good punches of his own, but then it sounds as if he is hit by someone—or something that drives the breath from his lungs. Alaric drops to the ground and starts choking and whatever happens next is drowned out by a car engine roaring to life right next to the cell.
Damon strains to hear something over the noise, lips peeling back into an angry snarl when the sound of Alaric shouting out in pain is loud enough to be heard over the racket. Damon's grip on the phone tightens until he can hear the plastic creak in protest, but all he can do is listen helplessly as the footsteps come back, car doors are opened and slammed shut. A second engine is started and tires squeal as both cars speed off.
And then all there is, is silence, for a too long time the only sounds to be heard are the two cars in the distance—and nothing else.
Damon almost breaks the phone in half, pacing restlessly in front of the fireplace. "What the fucking hell—RIC!"
He's so focused on not smashing the cell against the nearest wall in frustration he almost misses a low hissing that's slowly getting closer to the phone. It's such a weird sound it takes him a moment to realize it's Alaric's voice. It sounds as if he is crawling, cursing heavily between gasps.
"Shit—shitshitshit—"
Some more rustling, then Alaric picks up the phone, his breathless, tight voice suddenly right in Damon's ear. "Who's there?"
"What the hell happened, are you okay?"
"Damon? Why's… why are you calling me?" Alaric sounds completely out of it, as if he's taken a hit to the head. Not good. Damon puts the glass down and rushes to the door, fishing for his keys.
"Where are you?"
There's a long pause. "I'm—I'm on Main Street… they took my car…"
Mentally going over the layout of Main Street he thinks he knows exactly where Alaric has to be, there is a part of the road that's deserted and lonely enough for a setup like that. He should know, he's used the same area as a hunting ground before.
"Stay where you are, I'm coming to get you…" He jogs over to his car. "Try not to get yourself mugged by a gang of squirrels in the meantime…"
Alaric doesn't rise to his joke at all, his end of the line stays quiet save for his strained wheezing for breath.
Damon's on said road about twenty minutes later and it's not long until he spots a dark shadow on the side of it. Alaric is sitting on the ground, slumped forward, his arms curled around his middle. His head rises slowly when the car approaches and he blinks groggily into the headlights. Damon pulls over once he is close enough and gets out. The scent of blood immediately catches his attention, drawing his eyes to Alaric's temple where a spectacular bruise is bleeding, drops of blood trickling down his skin, across the side of his face.
"Consider yourself lucky I already had dinner," Damon says by way of greeting and squats down next to him, grimacing when he gets a closer look at Ric's face. "On second thought, I really don't care that much for road kill…"
Alaric has trouble focusing on him, pulling his face into a tired grimace. "Shut up."
"Where did they get you?"
Alaric tries to get his feet under him to get up, but his movements are stiff and uncoordinated. "My side, I think I broke a rib… or three…"
Damon cocks his head to the side, listening intently for a moment. "Doesn't sound like they punctured your lung," he mutters thoughtfully, earning himself a glare.
"No, they didn't, I know what that feels like," Alaric all but growls and Damon raises an eyebrow at his tone.
"You're no fun when you're hurt, you know that?"
He helps Alaric to his feet, steadying him when the teacher doubles over, sagging against him. "Fuck, that hurts…"
"Did you see any of them?"
Alaric shakes his head slightly, causing himself to almost lose his balance. "Just the girl, she didn't look familiar—whoa… " He sways, reaching out blindly and Damon grabs a hold of his jacket, keeping him upright.
"They got you pretty good, mister vampire hunter," he teases softly, nodding at Alaric's bloody face, "maybe you should—"
A shot rings out, cutting off his sentence.
Something sharp slams into Damon's back, causing him to stumble forward. Pain rips through his chest, turning his vision white for a second and he chokes on his breath. He hasn't recovered from the initial shock when a second shot pierces the night and he is hit again, close to where the first bullet went in. The pain is excruciating, wiping almost all other thought from his mind.
Dimly he can hear Alaric shout his name, sees a blurry shadow reach out for him, but then his legs give out and he crumbles to the ground. He has a moment to curse himself for not paying attention to his surroundings, but then he feels his awareness dim. Everything fades to black…
ooOOoo
Damon comes to with a gasp.
Every muscle, every instinct starts screaming at him to get up, to fight. He growls deep in his throat, tensing, struggling to move, to attack—but he can barely move enough to sit up. His back is on fire, blinding pain coursing through his chest in waves, making it almost impossible to keep breathing. He pants for air and forces his eyes open, scanning his surroundings.
Wherever he is, it's dark. The only source of light is a small window high on a brick wall, barely wide enough to fit his head through if he could reach it. Moonlight is filtering through the small opening, casting half of the room in shadows. There isn't much to see, an iron door at one end of the room, similar to the one in their mansion basement, with a small windows that has bars. There's nothing in the room, except an old, stained mattress that stinks of sweat and urine… and that's it.
He's alone, lying in the middle of the room, face down. His jacket is gone and his shirt feels damp with blood, sticking to his back like a second skin. It's uncomfortably cold, but that sensation pales in comparison to the sheer agony the fucking bullets are causing him. He can feel them working their way out of his body, but it's slow, so much slower than normal. He's never been in so much pain after he'd been shot, the bullets must have either been dipped into vervain or they are made of wood. Or both.
Slowly, his memory comes back, the phone call, the dark road, the shots— It was a trap and he'd walked right into it. Whoever is behind it is not only smart enough to not give away their identity, they also know about Alaric and had used him. A tendril of unease worms its way through his chest that has nothing to do with the bullet wounds. What if—
The sound of footsteps coming closer pulls him out of his thoughts. He struggles to get up, doesn't want to be caught lying there, prone, defenseless on the ground. But the bullets make it next to impossible to move, all he manages to do is to roll onto his side, fighting to ignore his screaming muscles.
The steps come to a stop outside the cell and he turns to squint at the door. There's some rustling again, then a sharp intake of air, followed by Alaric's dazed voice.
"What—"
Something clicks, a sound Damon would recognize anywhere; the sound of a safety latch snapping off.
Damon surges to his feet, the bullets in his back forgotten, intent on rushing to the door, on breaking it open, but 'upright' is as far as he gets before his body betrays him. He stumbles sideways into the wall as everything around him suddenly turns black. His senses go into overdrive, focus on a heartbeat that's racing and scared, close and familiar—
— and the gun goes off.