It's officially Thanksgiving week! And apparently, Virginia is about to get a fair amount of snow - which means more time for writing, as I'll be snowed in and all!

Thank you so so much for reading and reviewing. Damon and Molly will interact plenty in chapters to come and I don't plan to drag out Damon finding out the truth. It's still a few updates away, but really, the story starts from when he finds out. :)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.

Damon sidled up the bar, slapping a hand on the back of a familiar brown jacket.

"Kol," he greeted. The man turned towards him.

"Salvatore," he replied with his cheeky grin and British accent. "No daddy shadowing you?" He pretended to look around for Giuseppe.

"Go to hell," Damon muttered, settling onto the stool next to Kol. "Where is Elijah?"

"Over in the corner, making his move," Kol answered, jerking his head towards where Elijah was working his charm on a couple of blond co-eds.

"He's starting early tonight," Damon commented. The bartender slid a glass of straight bourbon in front of Damon. He frequented the bar enough that the staff knew his drink of choice. He nodded his thanks before raising the tumbler to his lips.

"He has been drinking since noon," Kol supplied. "You were invited, but didn't show. Klaus bailed too – he's still hungover from last night."

"Some of us had a drivers meeting they had to attend," Damon answered.

"Never stopped you before," Kol pointed out.

"Like you're fond of reminding me, Daddy runs a tight ship." Damon took a long swig of his bourbon. He reached into his pocket, took out a small blue pill, and popped into his mouth, chasing it down with alcohol. Kol raised an eyebrow.

"Should you be doing that?" he asked. "I'm sure the bottle that came out of had some sort of warning label about mixing prescription drugs and alcohol."

"It's just a Valium," Damon said dismissively. "Not like that shit's strong enough to work on me anyway. I need a horse tranq to take the edge off." Kol shook his head, but didn't argue. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed Damon chase a pill or two with a glass of bourbon.

"How's that fancy new publicist of yours working out?" he asked instead. Damon shrugged.

"I haven't pissed her off yet," he said. "Which is saying something, seeing as she's my ex-girlfriend." Kol's eyes widened.

"Elena Gilbert?" he asked. He remembered the petite brunette with curves in all the right places. He had been envious of Damon back in the day for landing Joseph Gilbert's granddaughter.

"One in the same," Damon confirmed. He downed what was left of his bourbon and signaled for another round. He had been on edge since his walk with Elena and that edginess had only been heightened during their drivers meeting, with her sitting across the table from him and his father laying down the law on how he expected drivers to behave throughout the season. Giuseppe presented it as a blanket statement, but Damon knew the message was really meant for him.

"She still hot?" Kol inquired. Damon nodded.

"Very," he confirmed. "Despite the fact that she has a kid." Kol raised an eyebrow.

"She has a kid?" he repeated. A thought hit him. "It's not yours, is it?" Damon scoffed.

"Of course not," he said, dismissing the ridiculous idea. A new glass of bourbon appeared in front of him. He picked it up and took another long swig. "I haven't been with her in years."

"Can you work with her?" Kol asked. "Without trying to get her in bed, I mean?"

"If I can work with my dad, I can work with anyone," Damon commented. He rolled his neck, feeling some of the tension leaving it as his Valium kicked in. "You testing next week?"

"Be a fool not to," Kol replied. He looked at Damon again. "You're testing, right?" Damon nodded.

"Got to get the feel of the new ride," he said, trying to sound casual. "I've drove a Toyota for the last few years. Switching over to a Chevy is going to take some getting used to."

"Is it the Chevy you have to get used to? Or is it restrictor plate racing?" Damon didn't say anything in response, but glared at Kol who chuckled. He took a drag from his beer. "Just checking," he said.

"Kiss my ass," Damon muttered. He continued downing his bourbon and talking about Daytona testing. He was halfway through his third glass when a statuesque strawberry blonde with green eyes sidled up to the bar next to him.

"Hey there," she said, giving him her best sultry smile. He returned it with one of his own.

"Well, hello," he replied. He turned on his bar stool so he was angled towards her. On his other side, Kol smirked into his beer.

"That guy over there said you would buy me a drink," the girl replied. Damon looked in the direction she had tilted her head to find Elijah. He grinned at Damon and raised his drink to him in a toast. Damon winked at him and then turned back to the girl in front of him.

"Did he, now?" he asked. The girl nodded in confirmation. Damon couldn't help but notice her generous chest and slender waist. She wasn't drunk, but she had already had a few drinks, based on the smell of her breath. He signaled the bartender. "Another bourbon for me," he said. "And for the lady…"

"A PBR," she supplied. Damon raised an eyebrow. She was drinking cheap, domestic beer. In his experience, that boded well for how his night would end. The bartender nodded and disappeared to get their drinks.

"You're a fourth year?" Damon guessed, knowing the students at the local university referred to themselves by how many years they had been at the university instead of whether they were a freshman or a senior.

"Third year," the girl answered. "I'm pre-med."

"Most of you are," Damon said with a casual shrug. "And those of you aren't, are either future MBAs or pre-law."

"What do you do?" the girl asked. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. Damon's smirk grew. His job title happened to double as great pick up line.

"I'm a NASCAR driver," he said smoothly. The bartender brought their drinks. Damon handed the girl her beer.

"Oh, really?" she asked. She leaned in closer.

"Really," Damon confirmed. "I like to drive fast." The girl reached out and put her hand on his forearm.

"Maybe you can give me a ride sometime," she proposed. Damon grinned.

"Maybe," he agreed. He clinked his glass with her beer bottle. It was going to be a good night.

"He's twenty minutes later," Giuseppe stated. Elena sighed and tapped her pen on the legal pad in front of her. He had been announcing Damon's tardiness in five minutes increments. She didn't need his timekeeping skills to know how late Damon was. She had her own schedule to keep.

"Maybe he didn't get the meeting invite," Elena suggested for the second time since they entered the conference room, even though she knew he had. He had accepted the meeting request almost as soon as she sent it.

"He got it," Giuseppe grumbled. "He went out last night. He's sleeping it off somewhere instead of honoring his obligations." Picking up on Giuseppe's disgruntled mood, Elena kept quiet and busied herself with checking emails on her iPad. She was reading an email about the upcoming school carnival when the conference room door swung open. Damon entered the room, his hair as rumbled as his clothing. She didn't have to look past his bloodshot eyes to know he was hungover.

"And so it begins," she muttered. No one heard her, however. Giuseppe was too busy glaring at Damon who was staring daggers right back at him, daring him to say something. Giuseppe wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

"You're late," he stated. Damon looked at his wrist as though checking his watch, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing one.

"Well, look at that," he drawled. He meandered over to the conference table and took a seat across from his father. "Don't worry, Daddy. I didn't do anything that made the papers."

"It's more Facebook and YouTube I'm worried about," Giuseppe countered, still glaring at Damon. Damon merely shrugged. From her spot at the head of the table, Elena's eyes darted between the two, waiting. When nothing else was said, she seized her opportunity.

"Now that you're here, let's get started," she said, passing Giuseppe and Damon each a stack of papers.

"All business," Damon stated as he took his.

"I have another meeting right after this one," Elena said pointedly. Damon had the good sense not to respond. "The agenda for our meeting is on top of the papers I just handed you. To paraphrase, we're going to go over media protocol for the upcoming season as well as a few preliminary appearances I've scheduled, mostly for Daytona week. You will have more throughout the season, as well as sponsor obligations, but we can discuss those as they come."

"'Media protocol' sounds like one more list of rules I have to abide by," Damon stated, flipping through the stack without really reading it.

"It's nothing I haven't said to any of the other drivers," Elena replied. "Most of it is common sense." She looked directly at Damon, challenging him with her tone.

"By all means, continue," he said with a wave of his hand. Elena barely refrained from rolling her eyes, reminding herself she had to be professional. She turned to the next page in her own packet and following her example, Giuseppe and Damon did the same.

"First of all, you need to be on time." Elena game him a stern look. "When you are expected somewhere, be it driver introductions, an autograph signing, an interview, a fan event, or a sponsor event, you show up when you are supposed to. It wouldn't hurt for you to be five minutes early, if you can swing it."

"Especially for a sponsored event," Giuseppe added. Elena's eyes flickered at him, ready to cut him off if needed. She knew his relationship with Damon was volatile and felt like she needed to be a mediator just as much as a publicist when it came to the two of them.

"I'll be Johnny on the spot," Damon said with an edge to his voice. He ran a hand through his already messy hair. Elena used to find his habit attractive. Now, she thought he needed a shower.

"I'm also going to need you to look the part, Damon," she told him. "None of this showing up hungover business. I don't give a damn what you do on your own time, but when you have a Salvatore Racing obligation, you turn up dressed in a team polo, tucked in, and not reeking of alcohol."

"I don't smell like alcohol," Damon argued, even though he could still smell the previous night on his clothes. He hadn't had time to change.

"You do," Elena informed him. "Speaking frankly, you also smell like cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, bad decisions and mouthwash."

"Bad decisions is relative to the one making the decisions," Damon mused. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands together behind his head. He knew he was pushing his luck, and he had promised Elena they could work together, but he wasn't in the mood for business this morning, and he was never in the mood to deal with his father.

"That's not what we're here to discuss," Elena stated. Giuseppe raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Elena was laying down the law from the beginning and he was going to let her. "I don't care if you're the owner's son. You're going to be held to the same standards as every other driver on the Salvatore Racing roster."

"Not to mention the impossibly high, completely unattainable ones of my father," Damon said, shooting Giuseppe a dirty look.

"You have brought it on yourself," Giuseppe told him. "You're on probation from NASCAR, Damon. Or have you forgot?"

"Not like you would let me," Damon fired back.

"We are not here to discuss Damon's probation," Elena spoke up. "We are here to discuss marketing plans." Damon sighed as did Giuseppe.

"Let's hear it, then," Damon said, settling back into his chair. Elena continued rambling down her list and then walked Damon through his first media obligations. He raised an eyebrow as she read through the short list. "That's it?" he asked when she finished. Elena looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that's it?" he repeated. "I've got like, four interviews and an appearance at my sponsor's headquarters during Daytona week."

"That's it," Elena confirmed. Damon shook his head.

"There has to be more." He had been at this for a while. He knew what Daytona week was like, whether in the Nationwide Series or the Sprint Cup Series. He typically had more obligations than he had time, sometimes so much so that he was double booked. Elena blew out a breath and somehow, he knew the real answer before she said it.

"You don't have the best reputation," she said gently. "We're working on turning that around. It's just going to take some time." Damon sighed and shook his head.

"You make one mistake…"

"You have made more than one," Giuseppe said sternly. "We both know that."

"Do you have to consistently remind of how big of a fuck up I am?" Damon asked. "I hate to tell you, Dad, but I'm pretty well versed in what you think of me by now."

"I think you are a talented kid with a broken moral compass," Giuseppe fired right back. "I'm trying to help you, Damon. But I can only do so much. You showing up almost a half hour late for a simple marketing meeting isn't proving to me that you are trustworthy. And I'm not the only one watching. NASCAR has their eyes on you."

"Yeah, the whole probation thing," Damon said, his voice raising. "Which is a bunch of bullshit anyway."

"You got into a brawl in the Talladega garage and intentionally wrecked a fellow driver," Giuseppe pointed out. "As a NASCAR driver, that is not something you can do and get away with. You are lucky you got off with probation and a fine."

"Yeah, I got off real easy," Damon responded. "I'm driving for a prison warden."

"That prison warden is the only one who would give you a ride after the stunt you pulled at Talladega."

"Never mind the fact that I nearly died at Talladega," Damon scoffed. "That's not important."

"Enough!" Elena erupted, slamming a hand down on the table. The two Salvatores looked at her, both surprised by her outburst. "I don't know the whole story and I don't want to know the whole story. But, the two of you need to put your anger at one another aside and be professionals. Focus on racing. You don't have to break bread together but you damn sure need to be respectful of one another. And of me and my time. Damon has already wasted 30 minutes of it by being late. I don't need to waste any more of it listening to the two of you argue over something that is between the two of you. I have other meetings today, a growing pile of work to do, and a daughter I need to pick up at four o'clock sharp."

Damon had been reprimanded every way from Sunday in the last six months alone, but there was something about the way Elena had cut into their argument that made him feel small. He shrunk back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking at Elena. "I got carried away."

"I apologize as well," Giuseppe supplied. He glanced toward Damon for a moment. He hadn't heard his son apologize, at least not genuinely, in so long he had started to believe Damon had forgotten how. "I can't say it won't happen again as Damon and I are both passionate people. But, if we start up again, by all means, interrupt us and set us straight. I daresay you reminded me of my wife." Damon smiled. It was brief, but Elena caught it.

"You are both forgiven," she said. "Can we continue?" Both men nodded. "As I was saying, we're going to have to work on turning around the public – and NASCAR – perception of you, Damon. That means being on time, presenting yourself well, and not saying anything moronic."

"I can do that," Damon said with a nod. Elena nodded as well.

"I know you can," she agreed. "I've seen you do it." There was a brief moment when they both thought back to the days when they were together and Damon was winning big on the NASCAR Nationwide circuit. "Just be patient, Damon. And keep your nose clean. We will get things turned around."

Damon nodded, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. He found that he believed Elena when she said things were going to turn around. She sounded so confident. It had been a long time since he felt hopeful about the days and weeks ahead, but he felt a faint stirring of sorts that things might work out in his favor for once.

"That's why we hired you," Giuseppe said with a nod. "Anything else, Elena?"

"One more thing. Damon, Salvatore Racing is going to be making a donation to the children's hospital, specifically the NICU. The check presentation is the Tuesday after Daytona and we're asking that the drivers make an appearance, visit with the parents, maybe some of the kids in other units as well. Are you up for that?"

"Shaking hands and kissing babies? I can handle that," he agreed. "Just – one question."

"Let's hear it."

"Why the children's hospital?" Damon asked. "I mean, I get it. Sick babies tug at the heartstrings or whatever. But we had a tire changer whose wife had some kind of cancer, right? Why not support that? Something that Salvatore Racing has a direct tie in with. Isn't how this stuff is supposed to work? I don't think we have any tie ins with sick kids."

"You've put some thought into this," Giuseppe mused, clearly surprised that Damon seemed to be taking an interest in the company's charitable endeavors. To keep the peace, Damon opted not to reply.

"My daughter was a NICU baby," Elena said softly, avoiding making direct eye contact with Damon. "Giuseppe asked me to put something together and this is what I thought of."

For the second time in less than a half hour, Damon felt like someone had stepped on him.

"I didn't know," he said. He realized he had said some form of 'I didn't know' to Elena several times now, between finding out she had a daughter, Jeremy's death, and now learning her child had spent time in the NICU. "Again, I'm sorry." He had been saying that to her a lot too.

"It's fine," Elena said with a shake of her head. "You wouldn't know. If you would rather do something else…" It was Damon's turn to shake his head.

"I'll be there," he said.

"Good," Elena answered with a nod. "That's all I have. You're free to go."

"Thank you, Elena," Giuseppe said, standing. "Damon," he added with a cordial nod which Damon returned. He excused himself from the room, leaving Damon and Elena alone. Elena gathered her things while Damon stood, his eyes on her. He felt guilty. He pinned it on the fact that he had been ate and then unknowingly suggested an alternative to something he had already figured out was close to hear heart. Except he had a feeling his guilt had a lot more to do with things that had happened years ago as opposed to a few minutes ago.

"Need any help?" he asked. Elena glanced at him, then shook her head.

"No," she said. "I've got it." He still hovered, working up the courage to say something. Elena raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She started towards the door.

"Hey, Elena?" he called out, just as she made it into the hallway. She stopped and turned around.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "For being late and for arguing with my dad. Both were unprofessional of me."

"It's okay," Elena said. "Just – be on time next time?" Damon nodded.

"Cross my heart," he said, drawing an 'x' over his chest. Elena smiled at the motion. "And, well, thank you, too. It's been a while since… Since someone was on my side." Again, Elena took a moment to study Damon before she answered. She was afraid to admit it to herself, but she still knew him exceptionally well. It hadn't taken her long to figure out there was a lot more going on with Damon than just a habit of making bad decisions.

"There are a number of people on your side," she told him. "But, you have to let them be on your side." With that, Elena disappeared down the hall, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts.

Damon drew in deep breaths as he approached his car. It was shining like a brand new penny, freshly wrapped with sponsor logos and his red, black and metallic gold paint scheme. He dropped his hand on the front fender when he was close enough and let his fingers drag over the lines of the car as he walked the length of it. When he reached the spoiler, he turned around and walked back up the length of the car, his fingers still trailing along the car's lines.

"She's ready to race," came Enzo's voice. Damon looked over his shoulder to see his car chief approaching.

"The crew has been putting in a lot of hours," Damon agreed. Enzo came to stand beside Damon and leaned against the car. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Damon.

"The car is ready to race," he said. "But are you?"

"Of course," Damon answered easily. "Racing is what I do."

"You sure?" Enzo countered. Damon finally looked at him.

"I've been racing since I could reach the pedals of a go-kart," he reminded him. "It's what I do. Of course I'm ready."

"Talladega was rough," Enzo started.

"Talladega was three months ago," Damon cut him off. "I'm all healed up and ready to go." Enzo knew his cue to let it go.

"That's good to know," he said. "The hauler rolls out in the morning. We'll fly down the day after tomorrow. Then, you get to drive the wheels off of this thing."

"It's what I do best," Damon agreed. He rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that had settled there, along with the faint soreness he carried around with him on the left side. "I'm going to go work on the Camaro for a while."

"We lifting in the morning?" Enzo asked. Damon nodded.

"Eight o'clock," he confirmed. "Bright and early. We've got a team meeting after that."

"Look at you, keeping up with your calendar," Enzo teased. He cuffed Damon good-naturedly on his tender shoulder. Damon smiled tightly to cover up his grimace.

"Comes with the job description," he said. With a final nod of his head, he headed off in the direction of the garage bay he had claimed for his Camaro.

He managed to slip into the bay unnoticed by those busy around him. Unlike the other bays which held race cars in various stages of development, he kept the heavy door pulled down, entering through a side door. The bay had become his place to escape, to be alone, sometimes with his thoughts, sometimes without them. It was his sanctuary.

This visit, he opted to lose himself in his engine, slowly building it by hand and making it into the machine he wanted it to be. He had spent a lot of time in the bay lately, hidden away from the reality that was just on the other side of the metal wall. He avoided his modest apartment as it was too quiet, stayed away from his parents' home to keep what little peace they had managed to salvage. Stefan and Caroline's place was out as well. That left the garage and bars. Since he was supposed to stay out of trouble, he found himself at the garage with an increasing frequency.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but the noise in the shop on the other side of the wall grew quieter, eventually ceasing to a low hum as employees went home for the day. He startled when he looked up to find Stefan standing in front of him, dressed in jeans and a Salvatore Racing polo. He hadn't heard him come in, had no idea how long he had been standing there. Stefan chuckled at Damon's reaction.

"Scared much?" he asked.

"I was concentrating," Damon responded. Seated on an overturned milk crate, he looked up at Stefan. "Can I help you?"

"I saw you come in here earlier and the side door was still open so I figured you hadn't come out." His trained eye studied Damon's work as he talked. Damon resumed working, feeling as though he were being observed. "I just finished talking with Mason. We're going to pull the engine from your car and put in the prototype. I've got it in Jeff's car, but I want some more data before we decide what to run at the 500."

"You sure about that?" Damon asked. "I know this prototype of yours is supposed to be some major breakthrough in engine technology, but I would really like to know how the engine I will most likely be running in the 500 performs."

"We'll swap them out after the first day of testing," Stefan promised. "Trust me on this." Damon shrugged.

"I'm just the driver," he said, still focused on the engine in front of him. Stefan tore his eyes from the engine to Damon and studied him for a few moments. He hadn't missed Damon's frequent visits to the closed off garage bay. While they were on rocky ground these days, he still knew his brother well enough to know he liked to get his hands dirty when he had something on his mind.

"Want some help with that?" he finally asked. "Head gaskets are tricky." Damon's instinct was to tell him no, but he could use a second set of hands.

"Grab a wrench," he said, jerking his head towards the well-stocked tool chest. Stefan nodded in agreement, found the wrench he needed, and pulled up another milk crate.

"Where did you find the milk crates?" he asked Damon. They started working together in a natural rhythm that came from years of working shoulder-to-shoulder in pit stalls and grease pits. Turning wrenches and tightening bolts was one of the few things they could still manage to do together without going to war.

"I've had them for a while," Damon replied. "Grandpa used to swear there wasn't a better seat in the shop. I snagged a few back when Dad was cleaning out the old and bringing in the new when he opened the new shop."

"I miss that old backyard operation sometimes," Stefan admitted, referring to the early days of Salvatore Racing when Giuseppe had rented a small shop a few miles away and hoped to be successful as an owner once his racing career wrapped up. He laid his wrench across his knee and reached across the engine to hold a part in place for Damon to tighten bolts.

"Please," Damon scoffed. "You like the bells and whistles you've got these days. All that technology and the computer programs you spend all your time playing with."

"It's not awful," Stefan agreed. "But, you can't deny that things were simpler back when Dad had a car and a few mechanics and not much else."

"A whole lot was simpler back then," Damon muttered. He tightened the last bolt and Stefan removed his hand. "Why aren't you running home to Caroline?"

"She's out with Elena and Molly," Stefan answered, resuming his work with is wrench. "Care loves having Elena back here. And she adores Molly." He grinned a bit at Damon. "Dad said Elena put the two of you in your places earlier."

"She didn't mince words," Damon answered. He stood and went in search of another wrench. "She's changed."

"People generally do," Stefan mused.

"She's stronger, more confident."

"She's a mom," Stefan reminded Damon. "Can't imagine that's the easiest job in the world."

"Yeah, well, being a mom looks good on her." The words were out of Damon's mouth before he could take them back. He was relieved when Stefan didn't respond as he was working hard at pushing down any thoughts of Elena that weren't strictly professional out of his mind. He found the tool he was looking for and returned to his milk crate.

"You ready to get back behind the wheel?" Stefan asked.

"That seems to be the popular question of the day," Damon commented.

"You haven't been behind the wheel since Talladega," Stefan pointed out. "A lot of people are looking forward to seeing you on the track."

"People do like to watch a train wreck," Damon stated.

"I don't think 'train wreck' is the right phrase," Stefan ventured. "More like, they're curious to see how you handle being back on the track, racing again, after the crash."

"Does he succeed in finishing the race? Or does he crash and burn?" Damon said in his best television announcer's voice. "Tune in to the Daytona 500 to find out. But first, he'll have to qualify."

"You'll qualify," Stefan said with confidence.

"I want to qualify," Damon clarified. "Not get a provisional spot because Dad's got a million owner's points."

"You will," Stefan said again. He looked up just at Damon winced and rolled his shoulder before going back to work. "Shoulder still bothering you?"

"It's just stiff," Damon replied. "I'm fine." Stefan sighed.

"Damon, if you're not ready to get back behind the wheel, there's no shame in taking some more time off."

"I'm ready," Damon said with determination. "I practically shattered my shoulder, remember? I'm probably going to have some soreness there for the rest of my life."

"I'm good if you're good," Stefan said, moving to diffuse any potential arguments before they happened. They continued to work for several more minutes. Stefan waited, knowing there was something on Damon's mind. He would either talk about it or, more likely, keep it bottled up, but Stefan knew instinctively not to push. He was surprised when Damon cleared his throat.

"When I crashed at Talladega," he started, his voice gravely, "what did you think?" Stefan raised an eyebrow. He and Damon very rarely just talked and they never talked about Talladega. It was a subject that Damon had deemed largely off limits and any mention of it usually caused another round of loud, hurtful, arguments. It was Stefan's turn to clear his throat.

"What did I think?" he repeated, buying himself time to assess the situation. Damon nodded.

"What did you think?" he asked again. "In the moments after the crash, what did you think?" Stefan shook his head, trying to push images he tried to pretend he had never seen out of his head. It had been a near perfect October day, the sky blue, not a cloud to be had, the temperature just right. In the space of seconds, the day hard turned dark, and not just from the heavy black smoke that hung over the speedway.

"I thought my big brother was dead," he admitted. He swallowed hard, remembering the scene that had unfolded almost directly in front of his team's pit box, giving him a first row seat. "I didn't think there was a chance in hell you were going to walk away from that."

"If you want to be technical about it, I didn't walk away. They carted me off on a gurney in the back of an ambulance to meet the life flight helicopter." Stefan shook his head.

"You walked away," he said. "I don't know how in the hell you did it, but you managed to survive that. To be honest, Damon, if you can survive that crash, you can do just about anything."

"I got lucky," Damon said. He was already regretting bringing up Talladega. "That's all." Stefan shook his head again, knowing a hell of a lot more than luck had been on Damon's side.

"You really don't remember any of it?" he asked. Damon shook his head.

"Not really," he said. "Just the sound of crunching metal. Being airborne. And the heat from fire. That's all." He busied himself with the tool in his hand. He didn't remember much about the accident, but he did remember the days after it. He remembered the guilt. The loneliness.

Elena.

"Mom was beside herself," Stefan recalled. "She had the entire hospital jumping at her orders. And then she broke…"

"I think we've rehashed Talladega enough," Damon interrupted. He didn't need to rehash how his mother, the strongest person he knew, had finally broke down, collapsing into a chair and crying hysterically while she waited for news on her son. Stefan looked at him for a long moment and then nodded, knowing he had already pushed his luck. He checked his watch.

"I should probably get going," he said. "I didn't realize how late it was getting. Care is probably back by now." Damon wordlessly passed him a rag to wipe off his greasy hands. "You packing it up too?"

"Think I'm going to stick around for a while," Damon answered. Stefan nodded. He had suspected as much.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow," Stefan said. He tossed the rag back in the general direction that Damon had retrieved it from.

"Guess so," Damon agreed. He waited until Stefan was gone to put down his wrench and lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Without regard for the fact that his hands were covered in grease, he rested his head in his hands. The pills he kept in his front pocket started to seemingly burn, now that he remembered they were there. "Dammit," he muttered, sitting up straight again.

With an extreme amount of effort, he pushed down the urge to pop the handful in his mouth and picked up his wrench.

NASCAR stuff: I think I've already mentioned in an earlier update, but a "Provisional" starting position in NASCAR are spots 37-43 in a 43 car field; They are for drivers who don't qualify in the time trials, but are past champions or else their team owner has enough ownership points. Damon really wants to qualify on his own.

Other stuff - Damon isn't really an addict. He's a recreational user, more than anything. And now you know a bit more about what happened to Damon at Talladega; More to come on all of that. There's an awful lot going on with our Damon.

I also love this Elena. She's got a backbone, this girl. Bit of a Mama Bear.

Next chapter, LOTS of Damon/Molly interaction!

Please let me know what you think!