Disclaimer: Don't own TVD or any of the characters – am just playing.
A/N: Firstly, THANK YOU SO MUCH! Your reviews are keeping this fic alive and this writer grateful and humbled. You are simply amazing. Truly.
I've got a terrible case of bronchitis and getting this chapter to feel right was hard. I had to rewrite it at least six times and I'm very out of it on meds and such. I would have put this aside, but your comments and encouragement kept me coming back to fix it. So, thank you. A whole, whole lot. It means loads to me.
That said, I want to put out a couple of warnings. This chapter is DARK times dark. It's a little more intense/gory and less with the quippy fun. It's also seriously long. And was partly written with prescription cough medicine in my system, so it might be just awful. I sure hope not.
I hope you enjoy it and can't wait to hear what you think – drop a line if you can, every review is like a gift. Happy New Year!
"I'm a little skeptical," Stefan says, looking back and forth between Bonnie and me.
"I know it sounds crazy—" Bonnie says.
"Oh, I wouldn't say crazy," Damon interrupts. "Unbelievably stupid and pointless, maybe. But, hey, way to think outside the box."
His chair scrapes as he moves to leave, and I reach for his arm, fingers brushing his wrist.
"Wait, Damon," I say. He stops and our eyes lock.
Stefan notices. Bonnie notices. People in China notice. It is one of those stupid things that shouldn't mean anything. But it does.
He jerks free of my grip as if it's burning him.
"Just hear her out," I say.
"Hear what out? Glinda here wants to harness her inner strength? That's not magic, that's a self-help book, people."
"That spell is solid," Bonnie says. "I can feel it. Grams told me that if I was stuck, meditating and taking time to center myself would help me feel things out. We are close to this cure. I'm telling you."
Damon rolls his eyes and I give him a look that could liquify steel. He slouches in his chair like a twelve-year-old while Stefan nods, the very picture of reason and steadiness.
"It makes sense. Unfortunately, we're out of time to explore options," Stefan says. "The full moon rises in four hours."
Damon crosses his arms. "So unless you're going to harness the ability to zap a werewolf into a Chihuahua by dinnertime, I'm voting your plan off the island."
"I don't get why the two of you are fighting this," Bonnie says, turning to Damon. "Saving your sorry ass from the werewolf you pissed off is the whole reason we need a cure."
"We already have a cure," Damon says, tone flat. "Headless werewolves don't bite."
"You're not killing Jules," Stefan says.
"You're not pulling off those emo jeans," he shoots back, glancing down at Stefan's Levi's, "but you still keep trying."
I smack the table hard enough for my hand to sting. Everyone's eyes turn to me.
"Enough people have died, Damon," I say, keeping my voice soft. "And if that doesn't matter to you, then the possible federal investigation on two out-of-state disappearances should."
Damon seems to consider this until Bonnie leans in. "You could also consider that the next time I set you on fire, I'll make sure no one's there to stop me."
I see the spark of defiance flare in Damon's face. I'm sure he's going to leave. I can see it in the tilt of his mouth.
"It's a risk," Stefan says. He's not saying it for either one of us. He's got his body turned and his voice dropped to a level I can barely hear. "We've taken risks before."
Damon inches closer to Stefan and I see that usually invisible tether between them. Brotherhood. Bonnie and I may as well vanish. This is between them now.
Damon shakes his head, "It's too dangerous."
"Only for us," Stefan argues.
"What about Blondie?"
"We'll lock her up. Her and Tyler both, separately obviously. They'll agree to it."
"And the she-wolf?" Damon asks.
"You and Bonnie will stay at the manor with Elena," Stefan says evenly. "She's got you marked, so she might be watching for you. Alaric and I will go to reason with Jules."
"Reason with her?" Damon scoffs. "You going to bring Milkbones?"
Stefan arches his brows. "I was thinking tranquilizers."
Damon pulls the chair back out, sinking into it with a wicked smile on his face. "I'm listening."
I turn my head in Stefan's bed, watching the ice-dipped trees outside the window. I've been stuck here for three days. Long enough to heal. Long enough to get Damon's blood back out of my system.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was a good plan. It would have worked if the ice storm hadn't hit, turning the roads into skating rinks.
But the storm did hit.
It might have still worked if the high winds hadn't knocked out the cell tower before Stefan could warn us, but that happened too.
We thought the plan was working. We assumed everything was fine until we saw a streak of gray fur outside the window.
I clutch the blankets to my chest as the memories rush back over me like a freight train.
"Get down!" Damon roared, and behind him Bonnie started chanting.
I tried to dodge, but didn't manage it. A hundred plus pounds of fur and claws slammed into me, throwing me to the ground.
I thought I'd seen the worst side of Damon, but I was wrong. While I laid there seeing stars, he leapt on the wolf's back, burying his fangs into any bit of flesh he could find with his teeth. Hunks of bloody fur were flying.
I thought he'd rip her apart. And he tried. God, he tried. I screamed at him to stop, to get away from her before she killed him. It was like screaming at a lion.
The wolf twisted and bucked until she tossed Damon loose. He landed on the couch next to me, breaking it down the middle. And then the wolf reared back, teeth glistening.
I didn't think at all.
I dove into it like a linebacker. It shifted just enough for Damon to roll free. He tried to drag it off of me, but it bit me first, high above the knee. Its teeth were like fire. I swear the scream I let out will haunt me until I die.
I flopped back to the ground, still crying, and Bonnie must have done something because the wolf burst into flames. It leapt through the broken window, yelping frantically. Damon moved to chase but Bonnie stopped him with a shout.
"Damon!"
She crouched by my side, terror in her eyes.
"I'm alright," I said, but I felt something wet and warm puddling around my leg. It couldn't be blood. There was way too much of it to be blood.
And then I saw Damon. I'm not sure I'd ever seen him scared before that moment.
I felt his hand press hard into my wound and I made this awful, keening cry. Damon's eyes were bright, but he kept right on pressing. "Witch her better, Bonnie. Right now."
Bonnie was gasping. Sobbing. Scared out of her mind. And my head was spinning. My fingers felt so cold.
Damon hissed at her, and I looked up to see his fangs extended, dark veins around his eyes. "Fix her! Right fucking now!"
"I-I can't. I'll call 911."
"There isn't time," Damon said, looking back at me. He forced his fangs away, and his eyes were so blue. Full and gentle and for one fraction of a breath I thought it might not be the worst way to go
"It's okay," I said, my voice barely there at all. "It's okay."
"Don't you even start your martyr bullshit right now, Elena," he said, fangs flashing briefly as he bit into his wrist.
Then he hesitated, brows pinching together. His head tilted. Towards Bonnie I guessed.
"Will my blood hurt her?"
""I-I don't know," Bonnie sobbed. "It was a werewolf so…I don't know. She's so close, Damon. She doesn't have much time."
Then he looked at me, looked right at me until I felt his anguish in the marrow of my bones.
"I can't not try," he said, and then I felt his wrist at my mouth, wet and salty.
Weakly, I tried to turn my head in protest of the taste, of the whole idea of it, really. He steered me back, fingers firm but tender. I grunted a complaint, too weak to make my mouth work, but too frightened not to try. He held me tight.
"You have to do this," he said, his words rushed and desperate and almost angry, "You've never backed away from anything in your damn life and you aren't going to start tonight, Elena. Now, drink!"
I felt my consciousness slipping away. And then I saw his face, wet with blood. And tears.
I opened my mouth and swallowed mouthful after awful mouthful.
The bedroom door swings open, jarring me away from my memories. Stefan appears, tray in his hands, patented look of concern on his face. He's been nothing but sweet and attentive and patient. It should be more than enough.
But it isn't.
I force a smile and take the five thousandth bowl of chicken noodle soup from the tray. I hate chicken noodle soup. Always have. But I eat it anyway.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Fine. Bored. I paced for an hour this morning hoping you'd get the message."
"I heard you," he says, smiling. "I was hoping you'd give up and rest some more."
He brushes the hair off my forehead, kissing my temple. I close my eyes, remembering when things were simple. When there was nothing between us but this.
When he pulls back, there is something different in his smile. Something almost sad.
"He's home," Stefan says.
For a second, I think I'll pretend I don't know who he's talking about. But that's not going to fool either of us.
"He's alright?" I ask, and Stefan nods.
"What about Jules?" I ask, already knowing the answer. As if my wound alone wasn't enough, she'd attacked Alaric, too.
"Dead," he says, swallowing hard. "And before you get angry, you should know I helped."
I'm grateful for the honesty.
"He saved me," I tell him, though he knows. Everybody knows.
"He loves you," Stefan says with a shrug. Now the honesty is too much. Too big.
The silence goes on so long that neither one of us seems to know how to break it.
"I'm afraid of what this all means," I say. "Of what happens now."
"Me too," he says, and then he moves the soup to the nightstand, pushing aside the candles we've had to use through all the ice-storm power failures.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I thought you might like a change of scenery."
"Home?" I ask, hope springing alive in my chest.
He smiles and I hug him tight, loving him so much at that moment. I wish that love were enough to keep things from shifting, but the truth is, it's not. Sometimes I don't like the truth very much.
The world outside is magical, trees and grass glazed in crystal. The roads are still treacherous and Stefan takes his time. But at home I rush him off quickly with a kiss and an assurance to call.
It's heaven to be home, to stand at the foot of the stairs with my brother giving me a fierce hug and assuring me Jenna still won't be home til tonight. For now, it's just us. And he knows me well enough to give me space.
He also knows me well enough to send me to my room with a glass of orange juice, which is exactly what I've wanted in place of all the damn soup.
I've never had a longer shower in my life. I stand there letting the water beat down until my fingers are pruny and every inch of me has been scrubbed twice. I brush my hair and then my teeth and then I pull on my softest, stretchiest cami and a pair of shorts so faded they're practically translucent.
The power's only blipped once.
Maybe the worst of it is over.
Maybe everything will be normal now.
As soon as I think it, the lights are gone. I am plunged into darkness. Jeremy shouts up the stairs, asking if I need a flashlight. I tell him I don't. That I was half-asleep anyway.
I am lying. I am a million miles from sleep in this tiny, black bathroom.
Some people would feel frightened, but I only feel alone. Disconnected, like a balloon without a string.
And I'm a smart enough girl to know why. I thought Damon would come. Some very disturbed part of me had assumed that here, away from Stefan's prying ears, he'd feel safe to see me. That he'd give me the chance to thank him.
But apparently, I was wrong.
I put my towel on the counter and hear my bedroom window slide open and then shut. I go very still.
The door to the bathroom swings open and then I am not alone.
"Damon," I say, but he doesn't answer.
I smell his cologne and the cold reminder of the ice outside and I realize at once how badly I wanted him to come.
I should say something. Lots of things, starting with 'Thank You', and ending with 'Don't Get the Wrong Idea.' But I don't. I just close my eyes and wait for his touch. Because somehow I know he'll touch me.
I don't wait long.
His hands are on my face first, tracing every line, feathering down my shoulders, my arms, down to the tips of my fingers. Then I hear the rustle of denim and leather as he goes down on his knees to look at my knee.
I am not right in the head. I need medication or electro-shock therapy because him down there is doing wicked, shameful things to me. And it isn't innuendo or smirking or any thing he's doing, because my eyes are closed and he's nearly clinical down there, checking out the damage.
No, this one's all on me.
I know I should pull away, but I can't remember how to make myself do anything right now. I'm not sure I even want to. Because his touch, these reverent, whisper-soft fingers make me realize how close I came to dying.
And then he kisses my wound, a gentle, brief brush of lips across my bruise that sends heat through from the soles of my feet to my ears.
It makes me feel alive.
I'm suddenly grateful for every scar, every bruise for every moment of agony, even for the way my stomach churned at the smell of Damon's blood. I'm grateful, too, for my heart that's racing way too fast now. Tears spill hot and salty over my lashes and he catches them with his thumbs leaning down until our foreheads touch.
I didn't even hear him stand up.
We're breathing like we've just run a race. I curl my hands over his wrists and we just stand there, trembling together in the quiet.
It's wrong. I know that. I know this moment is too intimate for anyone who isn't Stefan. But that didn't stop me when he got here and it won't stop me now.
I'm not sure it will ever stop me again.
I open my mouth to say thank you, but then he is gone, leaving me alone with the sound of my heart pounding like a drum behind my ears.