A/N: Good God. It has been Two. Full. Years. Here's the deal: five more chapters 'til completion, no timeline except a promise that it'll be done before 2015. And it's going to be dark, guys, so you've been forewarned. Here it is. Enjoy.
v.
They stood under the flat night sky. The firelight twisted their shadows. The cold air at their backs and the hot air from the bonfire made them shudder, which aggravated the terrible soreness of their limbs. The moon hung in the sky, a rusted sickle. They howled in concert, a low, rolling note.
"They are hungry."
Elena turned away from the sight. The cabin looked even more bare at night. Fire flickered in an old brazier; an icebox with a pack of granola bars and a carton of milk sat in the corner; a cot covered with blankets and a large pack; a table with a single map, a journal, two satellite phones, and a laptop. Even though Tyler stood at the table, staring at the map, she felt alone.
"They are tired," Elena corrected. She joined him at the table.
"How many have come to our side?"
"Two hundred, not including the hybrids outside. We'll get more once we gather," Tyler looked at her, "and you show yourself to them."
Elena booted on the laptop. "I don't need an army of hybrids. You do. Have them fight under you."
"Elena, we've already been through this. If you plan on killing Klaus, you'll need-"
"I know what I need. And I am tired of arguing this point with you," she turned her attention to the laptop, "the hacker said he'd be able to tunnel in and transfer the money in thirty minutes."
She went to the cot and pulled on thick mittens and an earflap hat. "If it's not done by then, kill him."
Tyler watched her button on the parka. She resembled the girl he grew up with, down to the way her mouth curled into a grin, but that was where it ended. Elena caught him looking and held his gaze until he dropped them to the map.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'll be back when it's done."
Elena went to the cabin door.
"Take Mara or Devin with you at least," Tyler said.
She waved a hand. "I can take care of myself, Tyler." The door opened and shut with a soft scrape.
Elena walked by the group of newly freed hybrids, felt their eyes shift towards her, but they did not smell fear, or hear a trembling heartbeat. She walked past them, beyond the light of the bonfire, walked straight out into the dark winter night, her eyes cold and remote like starlight.
Once she was sure no one watched or followed her, Elena strayed from her straight path and broke into a run. Her lungs burned with a pleasant and welcomed warmth. Her thoughts fell in rhythm with her footfalls. Excitement blossomed in her stomach. She picked up speed, running headlong towards the treeline of a small forest. She passed between the trees, running with purpose, exalting in the feel of her muscles working, of the terrain shifting beneath her feet.
She saw the blue flame and began to slow. It didn't matter where Elena happened to be, they always met in the same small clearing, around the same blue flame. All she had to do was run. Elena approached with cautious steps.
The clearing was empty except for the blue flame. She edged nearer to it, keeping her body poised to duck and run. She smelled the electricity before the hair rose on her knape. She stepped to the side at the last moment. The spell hit the blue flame, throwing off purple and white sparks. Elena slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew a handful of ash. Another spell came at her but she threw the ash and it dissipated around her, shaking the snow from the trees.
"Very good," a voice said.
Elena twirled. Marlisa stood on the other side of the flame. She smiled. Outwardly, she looked like an adolescent, with round cheeks and big, reflective brown eyes and smooth, taut skin. Elena had been fooled by the youthful face and the small, plump frame until she looked into Marlisa's eyes, really looked. Age wore the roundness flat until only two points on a white plane remained. And if the eyes didn't alert you, her voice, an easy river of many accents and currents, did.
Marlisa cupped an elbow and angled her face towards the flame. "I find myself surprised by you, Elena. You constantly outpace my expectations."
Elena nodded. "I know the feeling."
Marlisa grinned. The flame grew bright then lapsed into the regular swirling and flickering reddish orange of a hearth fire. Its heat reached Elena's face and she could not help but to close her eyes as it burned away the frost of months.
"Rebekah Mikaelson is dead."
Elena smiled. "A fitting marker for a new beginning."
"There will be a backlash," Marlisa said.
"I know," Elena stretched out her hands towards the fire. "I expect it."
Marlisa raised an eyebrow. "And what will his witch do, Bonnie Bennett?"
Elena hunched before the glow. She had been weighing the many possible reactions of Bonnie Bennett since the start. She thought it would be the least difficult course to plot, Bonnie was the back of her hand, but all that changed that night. When Elena now thought of Bonnie, bile rose and her mind recoiled. What this Bonnie would do, Elena couldn't begin to guess. How the old Bonnie reacted to drastic change, well, Elena knew best.
"There's only one person whose death might...affect me. I already sent a pack to protect him but now, with the open act of war, they won't be enough." She played with the end of her braid. "Before, Bonnie would go to protect him."
"But she is not the same girl you used to know."
"I know."
"So what will she do?"
Elena stared into the flames. What will she do? What will she do? What would I do? Elena blinked. "What would I do," she whispered.
"Marlisa," Elena started, "I think it's time for us to visit my brother."
Weak early light cut across grayish blue sky in the least spectacular sunrise Damon ever witnessed. A wet breeze didn't do much to cool the sweat from his brow. He stretched out on the concrete and waited. He dozed off a few minutes later, the pain gradually too much to withstand conscious.
He slipped into a hollowed out memory, the closest to dreaming his mind allowed. It was that night, Hell Night. All the chaos, all the fire and blood, it remained. Damon searched for the others, his fear tearing at him like a wolf, but there was no one. He heard the screams, though. Heard Elena yelp one anguished note. Elena, he called. He ran to Old Wickery Bridge. Elena, he yelled.
"Hello, Damon."
Damon turned. "Elena," he said. He went to her, held her, exhaled all his worry into her soft curls.
He stiffened and drew back. Elena's mouth lifted into Katherine's impish grin.
"What's wrong? Have you forgotten me already?"
Damon dropped his arms. "How are you here?"
"I'm always here. Lingering in the dark edges of your memory," Katherine said. She touched his nose. "It's not easy getting rid of a love that lasted centuries."
Damon turned away to find himself staring out at a grassy lawn from the back of the Manor. Stefan played catch with little Frederick Gilbert while two house slaves stood by, holding silver trays of lemonade.
He touched his head, felt the wavy side part, groaned, and walked around to the front porch. Katherine stood by a pillar, fanning herself. She wore a white and mint green dress with lace edging the collar and sleeves, and heavy curls tumbled from atop her beautiful, dewy head. Damon frowned. He strolled up to her.
"What are you doing?'
Katherine dabbed at the sweat along her clavicle. "Attempting to create some artificial breeze, though I daresay I am failing miserably. My wrists are too weak."
"And this is where I lend my naive, young wrists to attend to your wilting flower routine." He snatched the fan away and tossed it into the hedges.
Katharine pushed her mouth into a red pout. "Oh, poo. I thought you liked this one. You visited it often enough."
"Is that why you're here?" Damon stepped closer. "You want to vicariously screw me?"
"Yes," Katherine wrinkled her nose, "but since you're on to me I guess we should move on, huh?"
"What-"
They stood outside Stefan's study, circa the 21st century. Damon shook his head. "-are you-"
Katherine pinched his arm. "Hush," she said. She pressed an ear to the door, absolutely gleeful. Damon stood quiet for a second. Crying. Muffled pleas. Cold brow silence, then:
"Why do you even care, huh, Elena? Why? Why are you clinging onto me when you and I know you want to be out there, with him?"
Katherine leaned back. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard Stefan go above angry whisper."
Damon said nothing. Just like he did that day. He stood in the hall and listened to Elena try to dissuade Stefan, begging him to stay, to not go back, to not leave her alone, again, but Stefan already left. Stefan had never truly returned. Damon realized the truth that morning. He lost his brother and got the girl.
"Or so you thought," Katherine said. They were in the downstairs library.
She stood over Bonnie as Alaric tended to her. Damon sat by the fireplace, nursing a glass of scotch. The werewolf paced the other end of the room, having given up trying to turn.
"What a pitiful tableau," Katherina stated. She looked down on the sleeping witch. So unlike the others. None of them ever dared to stray from the righteous, subservient path.
"This is just downtime," Damon said.
Katherine wandered over to the pacing woman. "I suspected as much. The calm before the conflagration."
"Or storm."
"No, fire is better. Fire cleanses. It burned away all of that nauseating innocence your little band of saints used like a shield." She peered at the woman. "I don't know why you kept her alive."
"Fire covers everything in ash, releases noxious chemicals, literally kills things. But forgive me," Damon stood and bowed, "I forget you are loathe to witness the aftermath of good, old-fashioned destruction."
"Yes, I'm a terrible, monstrous coward. You hate me because you loved me and died for me and lived for me, and it means nothing to me. You hate me and you can't kill me, no matter how much you want to."
Damon grabbed her arm and yanked her around. "Didn't you hear? Klaus beat me to it."
Katherine tossed her hair. "Technically, Stefan beat you to it."
The oncoming rage sputtered out. "Stefan did what?"
"Oh, don't cry for me, Mystic Falls," Katherine said. "At least not yet."
Moonlight and pine replaced that of firelight and furniture. Damon stepped back into shadowy darkness, back into a tree. He smelled the werewolf's blood seeping into the earth.
"Why did you come back?" Katherine asked.
Damon edged forward. He saw them between the trees, so still he thought maybe something had happened, some magical pause button had been triggered.
"Because I saw Stefan's face."
Katherine tried as well but was limited by the bounds of this particular memory. "Well, what did you see?"
"Did you ever meet Ripper Stefan?"
When Katherine didn't respond, Damon continued. "After he turns people into human puzzle pieces, he tries to reassemble them. It's gruesome enough, the blood, the viscera, but it's his face, that expression of utter helplessness, that tips the whole scene into horror."
Bonnie blinked. Stefan grabbed her and kissed her.
"He showed her that face and she didn't run away screaming."
They watched in silence until Bonnie broke away. Tears shown in her eyes. She shook, hard, but she didn't notice. She didn't notice Stefan's hands as they opened and closed.
"Troubled love," Katherine said. She gazed at Damon. "Have you figured it out yet?"
Damon rolled his eyes, shook his head, and sighed in a move Katherine found to be his one endearing quality. "No, Sister Katherine, the moral of this story is lost on me."
They were back at Old Wickery Bridge, except the sky was watercolor blue and the air was warm. Katherine was back in his favorite costume, that white and mint dress with the lace trim, her lips red and her eyes shining.
Damon stared at her for a long moment, disquieted by her serene, almost complacent look.
"Am I dying?" He touched his head. Modern haircut. He looked down at himself. His favorite leather biker jacket, favorite shirt, a white tee from 1953, his dirty Liverpudlian black jeans from 1967, and the old black boots Stefan gave him as a birthday gift. "Am I dead?" he amended.
"Yes to the former, not yet to the latter."
"Katherine," Damon said.
"I never loved you," Katherine said.
"Jesus Christ. You know, I have much bigger shit to deal with than you hammering-"
"But I respect you," she interrupted, "because you love Stefan even though he's the worst kind of monster. It makes you not just a good man, but the better man."
Damon stared at her. The taste of bad blood permeated his mouth. His stomach clenched. Was she fucking with him? It disturbed him that he wanted to believe her.
"What do you want?" Damon asked.
Katherine squinted towards the slowly setting sun. "I want you to leave the revenging and the fighting to Elena and Bonnie. They're on course to destroy our little supernatural universe. And they will, and that's fine, but you and your brother have to survive."
The blood turned to that familiar burn of bile. "You want me to save Stefan."
Katherine snapped her eyes to his. "You're still so naive to think this is about romance."
"Isn't it? Isn't it always?"
"No," Katherine said, "it never was. It's about family, Damon. Family above everything else."
She gazed at him for a long while. The sun slipped behind the water, the light turned blue and cool, a sick, dizzying sensation overwhelmed him.
"What's happening?"
"They're trying to bring you back."
Damon staggered to his knees. His head pounded terribly. His body trembled. "Katherine," he reached out.
"I only ever did one right thing," Katherine said. She began to fade. "Don't let my only good deed go to waste."
"Katherine," Damon gasped. Darkness began to eat up the scenery. She stood at the edge, a glowing picture of a time forever lost. She smirked. Damon grabbed his chest. His heart shuddered. The darkness descended with a clap.
"Katherine!"
Bonnie placed the syringe back into the velvet-lined wooden box and set it on the side table. She looked to Alaric.
"It's a good thing you found him."
Alaric sank into an armchair. "He went up there to die."
Bonnie almost said something to the contrary, but couldn't quite muster up the necessary sincerity. Alaric knew Damon better than anyone. If he crawled off to the roof to die, then he crawled off to the roof to die. Except, Bonnie touched the silver ring on his finger, he should have died. They found him too late, the poison already sent him into the writhing, blood deranged throes of The end. Either he had an exceptionally strong will or...Bonnie shook her head. No other explanation existed.
"Well, he'll live. That's the most important takeaway," Bonnie said.
Alaric nodded. He shifted with some discomfort. Bonnie eyed him. He cleaned the gash on his cheek but he must have irritated the hip during the fight. Bonnie snapped her fingers. The bowls of incense around the room started to waft pale purple smoke.
"A less invasive healing art. It should help," Bonnie said.
They looked at each other. Damon almost died, Alaric was an injury away from an assisted-living program, and she was tired. Tired of losing, tired of the long odds, tired of being confronted with the limits of her power. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't suppose to be their lives, hiding in an apartment in D.C., hanging on by a thread.
She looked away, towards the door, unable to breathe. A fear she hadn't encountered in years suddenly bled through. She felt herself slipping into a paralytic fog of horror and guilt and doubt and need. He used to be there to pull her out, force her to action, but now he was gone, back to his place, and she was here, among the broken.
A hand covered her own. Bonnie started at its warmth. Damon gripped her hand. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack, but his grip was strong.
The bed sunk as Alaric sat against Damon's legs. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Bonnie closed her eyes and breathed. The fear subsided.