AN: Half Damon introspection in the beginning, then conversation from nobodies POV in particular. Wrapping it up soon. Hope everybody that reached this point had a fun time. Thanks

Blasé.

Remember. Blasé.

JAxxon had said so. Alaric had said so…

As if he needed some newbie vampire to coach him. He was rounding on two hundred years. He didn't need advice from some history buff who used to be human five minutes ago.

Why should he need advice at all? He wasn't confused about anything. He was a vampire. He drank blood. He was in love with a witch. Wasn't that simple? Dragons hoard gold. Irish people wear green. And vampires fall head over heels in love with the one human that's immune to them. Ever since Mr Dracula got things going way back when in Transylvania.

If he were human, he'd probably give Bonnie the once-over, a twice-over and move on. Humans were good at moving on. They excelled at it. Vampires? Not so much. They're the worst at rejection. They can't even fucking comprehend it. Or maybe that's just him.

So what if the sight of him stimulated her gag reflex? They'd get over it. He'd tie her up, put steel bars on the doors, board up the windows, shackle her to the floor, attach a ball and chain for good measure and cut out her tongue just to be safe from all the spell chanting.

How was that a bad plan? He'd have his Bonnie. He'd feed on her, have sex with her, slip into her mind every now and then and watch her dreams… That was all a vampire really needed.

He didn't need popcorn and a movie. He didn't need Valentine's Day. He didn't need to remember birthdays or have anniversaries. He didn't need to have a neat, expensive wedding ceremony with a priest acting all divine. He didn't need an album filled with photos of picnics and beach excursions. He didn't need to be added on Facebook. He didn't need someone to make breakfast for him in the morning and iron his shirts.

He only needed to own that one thing… to win that one jackpot. To have one single person to claim as his own and to have that person lay claim to him in turn to the exclusion of all others. He only needed to be owned. To have some one single person acknowledge his existence. To have one single person weigh him, measure his summation and find him worthy of their time and their love.

His real, physical heart was dead and useless, but he was willing to give his metaphorical, imaginary, pseudo-heart away.

Bonnie…

He couldn't pull the wool too far over her eyes. She'd seen him. Not the Varvatos wearing version, but him him. The real blood drinking beast that slithered underneath the skin. She'd peered under his surface and glimpsed the nightmare of what he was. And there'd be no sweet-talking that away. You can't kill a girl's grandmother twice and expect her to be cool with it. Not in the real world. In his world, maybe. In his world, shit like that would fly. No problem. But guess to fuck what – the population count of his dark psychotic realm tallied in at 1. The loneliest fucking number ever.

Not that he was lonely, per se. He was simply… tired of it all. If the purpose of his existence, of his century and seventy years hadn't been to meet this one Bonnie Bennett and love her completely to the best of his power, then he could as well as die. In the next couple of years if he kept himself safe, there'd be another Katherine clone surely. A lazy part of him was suggesting – forget the witch, and just wait it out for the next one, Stacy, or whatever her name might be – but the majority of his conscious mind was just one big 'fuck it.'

More than lonely, he was tired. Tired of trying to be human. Tired of constantly reminding himself to keep up the pretence.

Buy a bed to sleep in.

Blood bags instead of jugulars.

Don't walk on the roof, it'll freak them out.

People don't like it when you stream their thoughts.

Blah, blah, blah. Pretend, pretend, pretend. Everything was pretend. Pretend family. Pretend friends. Pretend roof over his bedroom – the blue tarpaulin Alaric had used to keep the remnants of his personal possessions dry.

Not that he was severely opposed to it. Only the motivation had to be right. He'd wear a leash and pretend to be a Border Collie if the motivation was right… and recently all his motivations seemed to be centred around Bonnie. Some unholy, centrifugal force was making his world revolve around her.

If Bonnie wasn't there to see it, then it wasn't worth the effort getting out of bed. No point in putting on underwear if Bonnie wasn't going to take them off. No point in opening his eyes if he couldn't just stare at her. No point in breathing if he couldn't smell her. No point in living if he wasn't going to share that life with Bonnie.

He could always change her against her will. That'd be the smart way to go. She'd forgive him in a century or two and they'd sort out all their other issues… Except in that one century or two where they'd be on opposite sides of the world. Yeah… he'd most likely just go sun-tanning sans day-ring. And what would be the point of that? She'd end up all alone and a vampire. Best he just leave her alone from the get-go, right? Unselfish, right? They were always prattling on about him being selfish…

He rolled over on the couch, doing his best to ignore Elena and Stefan and the sound of their kissing coming from the kitchen. He should move. Best if he just die, really.

Except he'd tried death already. Twice.

"So…" Damon chugged down the last of his milky, caffeinated drink, licking the froth from his lips and sparing a wink for the waitress of the newly opened roadside café. Trelawney's. "Just to be clear… Repeat it back to me."

The man opposite him, as straight-laced an Ivy-leaguer as he could find, leaned forward and straightened his collar. He was taking the compulsion rather well, starting to adjust to it and was just beginning to recover a little in way of facial expression. "My purpose is to become Bonnie's best friend."

"Check. And?"

"And I protect her from any and all dangers."

"Including…"

"Including werewolves, hybrids, witches, and other vampires."

Damon smiled broadly at the newbie vampire, a quick and recent creation of his. "Exactly. Any questions?"

"Just a few," the boy leant over the counter again, "If at any point there is any trouble–"

"You'll get in contact with me and I'll deal with it."

"And Bonnie's a witch, right?"

The smile froze on his face. "Don't see the relevance… Jakey boy."

"No, well," Jake shrugged. "If she's this badass witch… she's totally going to know that I'm a vampire. What's stopping her from setting me on fire?"

Nothing really. That's why he had back-ups. There was Scott, and Mark, and Riley, and Paul, and Steven Irons Jr.… "How's she going to know you're a vampire? Just don't touch her."

"What if I do?"

"If you do what?"

"Touch her."

Kids say the darnest things. Touch her? What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Touch her where? With what? His imagination had always been stellar. "Just don't. It's easy, Jake. You keep your hands in your pockets and keep a ten foot distance between you and her at all times."

"Well, duh. That's the plan, but what if I touch her by accident. I mean, we go to school together. I have math and lit with her every single day. Say she slips and falls into me, know what I mean? Accident."

"How the fuck do you not hear me when I tell you over and over again that you do not fucking touch her?" Damon kept himself from going ape-shit in the public café. In a blur, he broke the boy's neck, relocated to the restroom where he proceeded to rip the boy's heart out and clog a toilet with it, then returned to his seat where Alaric was perusing the pastry menu like nobody's business.

"Was that called for?"

"Friend of yours?" He flashed some fang at Alaric and hissed.

Unaffected, Alaric shrugged. "His mom does the PTA thing. She's nice."

"Gee, Al. You should have told me. I'd not have killed him had I known."

Alaric ignored the tone. "So… On a scale of one to ten. How serious are you about going AWOL?"

"Come on," Damon missed his ring. Oddly, the absence was what seemed burdensome. Emily had given that to him. And he wanted it back. "I can't sleep on a couch forever."

"Move back in with me. I've got a big bed. We can share."

"Really?"

"Well, no." The waitress came over and Alaric ordered a hazel nut, triple layer slice of red velvet cake. He waited until the woman left to resume their talk. "What about Elena? She's back at the house now?"

"What about her?" God… If he had a nickel for every time someone tried to work him over by the power of Elena… he'd be rich. Richer than he already was. Not significantly richer, but still, it'd be something.

"Well, Stefan was compelled to kill her, so it can't be too hard to cause a rift there. You can do something there, I guess…"

"Hey, remember when I fucked your wife?"

The silence was long and awkward between the two of them. Other noises tried to fill in the void, car horns, mindless chatter, a kid slurping a slushie, forks and knives chipping away at cheap china, donuts frying and someone slapping a rolling pin down.

"Not really, Damon."

"I do. It was after she ran out on you. I fucked her, then I killed her, then I fucked her again."

"Your point?"

"Don't tell me about Elena," Damon slumped, strands of hair falling loose. Remember, we're doing Jekyll today, he coached himself to calm, Save Hyde for when you're alone. "She's Isobel's daughter, and while in my professional opinion Isobel was a dirty street-side whore, she was your wife, and despite the fact that she was a major two-timer, you loved her. You still love her. And Elena was her kid. So…"

"So?"

"So, I get it."

Alaric swirled his drink. "Get what? I wasn't going all Aesop on you. I was–"

"Trying to throw me a bone. I appreciate it, but she's like your stepdaughter or something. Step-niece? Some weird thing like that, and you're like my brother… and the whole thing feels kinda iffy. Stop worrying about me. "

"I'm not worried."

"So it's just my imagination, and you and Caroline aren't taking turns at playing babysitter? The two of you are on my ass from sunrise to sunset?" His own personal suicide watch. Somehow or the other, word of his heroics back at Klaus' place had got out. Caroline was getting closer and closer… only a matter of time before he tried to hug him, or throw him an intervention. Stefan was practically a sentinel of vigilance, never sleeping, or sleeping with both eyes open.

"We're hanging out with you."

"You're keeping tabs because you're afraid I walk out into the sun. Or I go insane and rip everybody's hearts out. I can tell you right now, your concern is appreciated, but unwarranted." He might go insane and kill everybody, but he could give his word not to walk out into the sun. He was pass the stage where he'd incinerate instantaneously. It'd take him a good couple of minutes and he wasn't up for that. There was such a thing as too much pain, and if anyone cared to notice, he was doing his best to avoid sunlight, which was extremely difficult. Umbrellas, gloves and baseball caps could only get him so far.

"So this here…" Alaric leant back in his chair, looking every bit a shady vampire in his vertically striped shirt and corduroy pants. The dark life had suit him. Made him look like a retired Welsh rockstar. Kinda Bon Jovie going home.

"This is me moving on. Moving out. I can't take Mystic Falls any more. I can't. I can't stay here and watch her live here and not be with her. I don't want to see her get old. I don't care if she lives happily ever after, I'll fucking hate it. At some point in time, someone's going to be able to get under her skin deeper than I could and work pass all her issues. She's going to let somebody into her heart someday, but if it's not going to be me, I don't want to fucking know about it. If I stay here, I'm going to lose it, and I'll change her. Just snap her neck."

"Damon…"

"No…" Damon's shoulders squared. "You don't get what I'm saying. You're still human enough to remember what love is supposed to be like. I'm describing this to you, but you can't understand… My love is selfish… and violent… and all-consuming. I need something to devour, Al. I need…" he sighed. "And the thing is… I know she loves me. I know it, but she can't admit it to herself or me or anyone because, let's face it, I'm the evil parasitic vampire who's killed her grandmother twice."

"You're being harsh."

"I am harsh. We're just dudes hanging out. You don't have to tolerate any of my shit, but imagine that you're Bonnie. Would you really, honest to God, give me the time of day?"

"If you give her time–"

"I can't do that. I'm a vampire, Al, and one of the bad kinds. It's getting harder and harder to remember who I'm supposed to be on a day to day basis. Am I still good? Am I drinking my blood fresh or from the bag today? If I rip Jeremy's heart out and burn his body to ash, would they mind? Is it possible for him to survive that? Because he's immune to death… I'm tired of not being me. That's what I've learnt on this entire, depressive adventure. A – that I should have loved Bonnie from the very first time we collided, and B – that my life is one big cosmic ball of suck. And it's not fair, because in a way, I'm better than Stefan. He rolls his crazy up into a nice little bundle and puts it away in his closet. Then he takes it down every decade or two and has himself a RipperFest. Me, I display my crazy. I put my psycho on stage. What you see is almost what you get, but chicks digs the brooding type, right? The silent serial killer types always get the girl."

"Why Bonnie?"

"Because she's the best person I've met in my hundred and seventy years. Pretty damn near perfect, and if she of all people could love me, then I validate my sordid existence and life is worth living. Can you imagine how utterly depressive it is being my age and realising that your entire life is shit? Nothing? If it's between dying and prolonging this continued animation, I pick dying any day."

"I thought you were moving out of the Falls."

"I am moving. Then I'm going to jump in the nearest fireplace."

"And what if Bonnie changes her mind, like five minutes after you go ashes to ashes?"

"Too much Shakespeare, Al."

"Really? Cause your life reads like a tragedy."

"And then you don't see why I believe in euthanasia? Somebody should have put me down years ago. We need more of your kind in the world."

"My kind?"

"The vampire hunting kind. I suddenly get why you people do what you do–"

"You people?"

"You crossbow-wielding vervain suckers. By the way, how's that going, building up your tolerance?"

"It's good. I'm up to two sips a day."

"That's nice. Keep that resistance up… otherwise…" he chuckled, "Well, you've seen Stefan. I don't need to go into that."

Alaric exhaled, watched the sun reflect off his shiny new blue ring… "Yeah… Fine whatever. Go kill yourself."

"I will,"

"See if I care."

"I don't care if you care."

"Fine, whatever dude."

"Don't call me dude."

"If you're going to kill yourself, I'm going to call you whatever I want."

"Seriously? You're playing that card, on me?"

"And I'm playing another one. I'll tell Bonnie."

"Tell her what?"

"That you're going suicidal."

"And then what?"

"Even if she doesn't give a shit about you, she'll never let you go through with it. She's a volunteer humanitarian."

"And then what?"

"And then, if you still go through with it, she'll feel bad about it."

"You're trying to guilt trip me? Me? I'm not after some pity hug."

"Then don't call it a pity hug. I thought you were the master schemer. The mack daddy pimp of all time and you're telling me you can't work over a seventeen year old girl? Shame on you, Damon."

Damon looked around the café, just in case Alaric was talking to another Damon. "Excuse me?"

"I said shame on you. All this shit. You're a quitter. You're giving up."

"I'm–"

"I've seen you work harder at Elena. You went on for months making a right jackass of yourself hounding after her, tongue dragging behind you… and now, you say that you in love love with Bonnie, and you give up after what, a week? You're chickenshit."

"It wasn't a week! I died and went to witch heaven!"

"And what? That was an opportunity and what did you do with it? You embarrass me."

"I embarrass you?"

"Yeah! If Bonnie was my chick–"

"Don't go there."

Alaric loosened his posture, "If Bonnie was my chick, my seventeen year old, underage, roiled with self-esteem issues chick, my name would be tattooed on her ass by now."

"Al."

"In fact, after you kill yourself, I think I'll make a play for it."

"You're way too old for her."

"Says you? Right."

"And she'd never go for you."

"Really. Because I've already got a plan going that might work. I fail her in some assignment or the other, she comes up to my desk and asks 'Is there anything at all I can do for some extra credit?' And I go 'No, you failed.' And then she puts her hand down my pants and does that pouty thing with her mouth, 'I'll do anything'. And I lock the door–"

"Have I ever told you what a complete asshole you are?"

"I am an asshole. An undead asshole thanks to you, and you are a super asshole. You're a total dickhead, and that's why we're friends. You're the kind of dickhead I wish I could be. You know how many days I wished I could get up, burn my clothes and just wear black? I didn't, but I wanted to. Since I've known you, I've been living out my dickhead dreams vicariously through you."

"Touching." It was.

"Seriously. I live for crazy shit like Damon doing karaoke at the Grille. And I don't want to see you go out like this. You can do it."

Damon got up to leave. "All right, Alaric."

"You can do it," the vampire history teacher repeated, the second time doing a spot on Rob Schneider impersonation.

"Alaric…"

"Okay, check this deal out, Damon - try your hardest, 110 percent hardest at landing Bonnie. Try anything, try super-sexy, try puppy-dog, try anything. All hundred and seventy years of your life have been leading you up to this point where you need to pick up the chick. Use every line in the book, every gimmick, every trick you've ever used to stupefy a girl. Look at that shit you pulled with Andie – half the days you didn't even have to compel her, that's how bad you had her whammied. You give it your best shot Damon, and if she's a no-go, then fine, go kill yourself. If you can't get Bonnie 'can anybody find me somebody to love' Bennet, Bonnie 'I'm so desperate I dated my Elena's baby bro' Bennet, Bonnie 'sweet valley high virgin' Bennet–"

"I get it."

"She even does that retarded PETA thing. She takes stray, mangy dogs off the street and bathes them at the pound. If you can't get that Bonnie to give you a chance, then I think you owe it to the world to kill yourself. I'll push you out into the sun."