[Edit: 3 Oct 2021]

[A/N: I find this old A/N excessively funny so I'm going to leave it here.] Thank you everyone for your support, this story now has 66 followers. It makes me so super-duper, extra ubber happy! Thanks to all the reviews and follows and favourites, y'all rock!

Vodka burns the back of my throat. Honestly disgusting and generally without any affect, but I allow the indulgence. Next to me the vampire throws back his shot with vigour, munches on a lemon, humming and smacking his lips after as if confronted with a choice stake rather than liquid hell. I don't envy him his enjoyment, sometimes the unpleasantness is necessary. This is one of those times.

The blood sucker grins at me, just as unaffected by the alcohol as I am, but clearly in a much better appreciation for the little affect the hellhound piss does have. Somewhere along the line – between the third and ninth shot – he lost his leather jacket, or more accurately threw it across the next chair. He sits next to me now in a black V-neck, hair in disarray and eyes sufficiently crinkled.

If it weren't for the facts of the matter, we'd look like friends out for a drink.

I wrinkle my nose but throw back the next shot waiting for me, the lemon is as vile as anything. My tongue disapproves. Damon laughs and tries to top up my glass again – I shove it a good foot further down the counter, away from him and his nefarious plans.

I offer a raised brow at his frown and wag an accusing finger between him and the bottle. "Shouldn't you only drink blood?" Granted, I've seen Rose sip win like the finest of debutantes, but she clearly didn't enjoy it and afterward made gagging sounds for a good half hour.

"There are no rules to being a vampire," As if to prove his somewhat vague and nonsense point, he launches past me to grasp my glass, sloshing it full of vodka before I have time to protest.

I watch a singular drop splat on the counter and run my finger through it to create a not-quite-symmetrical vodka circle on the wooden counter. "What about sunlight?"

"Sunlight?" He asks, his own shot glass full and halfway to his mouth.

His eyes dart down to my full glass and I sigh. I pick up the glass and make a vague gesture toward his person with it. "I'm not blind. I've seen the sparkle thing. Weird shit that," I throw back the shot.

Two dark brows shoot up almost into his hairline, he seems to have forgotten his shot. "Sparkle?" He seems dubious, I'd be too, but he's a vampire and I've spent too much time around them as it is.

I reach out to grasp his abandoned shot, he throws it back before I can claim it. I scowl. "That's not fair, you've had two more than I have."

Tapping the glass against the counter, Damon grunts, eyes scrutinizing me. "I'm not much of a gentleman, MoonMoon, but even I can tell when you need to stop. The last thing I need is you sprinting around town, waving your furry ass at passing cars – subtlety has never been a were's priority. I have enough to deal with as it is."

"I'm not drunk," I defend.

"Maybe not, but you're close. F-Y-I vampires don't sparkle."

I roll my eyes and when the world seems momentarily unstable, clamp a hand over my mouth. I might be a wolf with an enviable metabolism, but I'm also a lightweight.

"See what I mean?" Damon pokes at my hand and I slap him away, snarling. "Just don't use me as a barf bag, there's a bathroom down that corridor."

I don't appreciate his humour and narrow my eyes to express it. "You're an asshole,"

"Nicest thing I've heard all day." He says, back to grinning. He rolls his empty glass across the counter.

"Were you born like this or do you have some complex brought on by a tragic past?"

His gin doesn't falter, but he stops rolling the glass. After a moment of further scrutiny, he shrugs. "It has its perks,"

Matt has long since settled the tab of the last customers. The Grill is eerily silent and bright with all the house lights on. For some inexplicable reason they haven't thrown Damon and me out.

I lean back a bit, stretching my legs out until they bump the legs of the vampire's chair. "This Elena person put up with your garbage?"

If it wasn't already deathly quiet, I probably would've felt more awkward in the ensuing silence. As it is, I watch Damon with petty nosiness as he fights with his mouth and eyebrows for a suitable expression to accompany his answer. He settles on a sneer. "Elena, huh?" It's bitter although his eyes are bright.

I shift a bit in my seat. I recognise that tone, had to live with it for a few years too many. The answering name sounds in the back of my head, weary and irritated in the way only memories can be.

"Let me ask you something, dog. Is there anything in this world you value more than your life?"

I welcome his question if only for the brief reprieve having to answer it allows me. "Of course," My mouth twists and I try to remember whether it still matters. Bitter, bitter, Leah. I ask, "Doesn't everybody?"

"No," he bites out and places the bottle he'd picked up down with a sharp clack that makes me wince. It does not shatter or crack. "Only the irresponsible value something, someone, more than their own lives,"

"Does that mean you don't value anything to that extent?" I ask even though I know I should have taken his sharp response as my cue to shut up. I've never been the best at keeping my mouth shut. "Even Elena?"

The vampire makes a rather loud and impressive hissing sound, the smirk falling away. "So what if there is? What is it to you?"

I refrain from reminding him that he started this line of questioning, that I'm in no position to judge him on whom or what he values above his own life. My own beliefs and actions are suspect to self-interest and cynicism. It is why I'm here, why I'm drinking something I hate with a creature I despise in a place where I don't feel welcome or comfortable. No, I'm in no position to judge.

But I can't tell him that.

The warning in his crystalline blue eyes are enough. Elena is a non-topic. For now at least.

I raise my hands and close my eyes for a second. If ever there was a person who said Leah Clearwater didn't have a self-preserving bone in her body…well they might be right.

The weariness of my trip drags at me now that I've gained respite.

It'd be too late to be admitted into a hotel, although there might be a motel available – the lack of security would rankle, but sleep is as necessary as food. I crack open an eye and see Damon has composed himself. I sigh, giving him my full attention. "There a motel or something around here?"

He clicks his tongue, eyes on the almost empty vodka bottle. "Of course there is,"

He says no more and there's only so long I can stare at him before I get annoyed at his inattention. I turn to face the bar.

The wall behind the rows of stacked beverages is made up of strips of obscured mirrors. My reflection greets me, fragmented by bottle tops and murky liquid. Two dark eyes, coal lashes, and high cheekbones, flushed with a dusting of gold and pink. I know this is not how I've always looked, more rounded and cheerful at once, and somewhat gangly and nervous at another. More recently, torn apart by features that do not belong to a human's body. More creature than person. This, the me now, is new in her normalcy.

I didn't bother to cut my hair at the Cullen household, Alice would glare at me whenever I mentioned such a suggestion and she usually ended wrestling it into some elaborate hairstyle, never mind that before Jane's attack it had already started to be a little too long for my tastes. And despite my daily consumption I had truly lost a considerable amount of weight – sickly, mom would have called me, before I'd gained back some of the meat on my bones. I almost look like the Leah from Renesme's visions and for a moment I wonder if I can actually be considered anything other than a hot mess here in Mystic Falls.

It does not matter though. I will never be as beautiful as Emily, even with that scar on her face.

Bile burns my stomach and my lips curl. Right, because the woman in the mirror, although physically altered, is still the same stupid, simpering second-choice that Sam would never look at.

I turn from the view, sick to my stomach. The room spins the slightest bit, but I continue on. Beside me Damon is still silent and I give up on him somewhat. I pick up my discarded coat and drape it over my arm. My eyes flicker to the vampire for the last time, he hasn't moved, and I have no reason to thank him for his company. I did not receive the information I required, I did not obtain the promised help.

"Vodka's on you," I say. In the answering silence my feet manage to make no sound.

It is only when I reach the door that Damon finally speaks again.

"The motels here suck and are warded up to the gills," Warded? I don't turn to face him; I wait patiently with my back in his direction. "The people in this town are suspicious, for a good reason, and if you are as oblivious as you seem to be, it won't be safe for you."

Silently, I consider this and click my neck, first one way and then the other. What would he have me do? I ask him as much.

Within a blink he is at my side, he does not spare me the time to look at my face. "I can take you somewhere safe."

My eyes narrow, we don't have some sudden profound bond. He is still a vampire and I am still a wolf. There is no love lost in our natural hostility for one another. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because there's no-one else to,"

The words leave me paralysed in silence and they burn at the backs of my eyes, hitting much deeper than he probably thought they would, or could. I know agreeing to this is still not smart, I can't rely on emotions for life and death possibilities, but I'm weak and tired. "Where is 'safe' exactly?"

"Down the road," he mutters and starts to walk.

I don't know why I follow him but I do. There's no place for weakness, not in this world and not while at a vampire's side. But I step out after him, eyes trained on his back.

Off to the side, hidden somewhere beyond the shadows, crickets chirp and frogs provide a constant low drone of croaking. The sounds of night makes my awareness peak. The singing of the static in the overhead lamps and the muffle of clothing rustling as we walk is enough to have my skin crawling. The streets are dark and Damon blends almost seamlessly with the shadows, only the pearly parlour of his skin separating him from the night itself. He moves like the swaying shadows of tree branches illuminated by street lamps, his dramatic attire and dark hair like some kind of vampire stereotype. Or a ghost. With the way my every breath leaves a trail of vapour in the air, I wouldn't be surprised.

I left the truck outside the Grill. However, the old rust bucket's safety is the least of my concerns at present. It's less dangerous to walk anyway.

Houses loom up on either side of us, immaculate lawns and varnished porches shrouded in a cloak of frost. My breath fogs the air and I keep watch of the gaps between buildings. The ground is slippery, the friction is lost. I place my feet carefully, keeping a good four feet distance between myself and Damon. Wolf sense demands good defence, human senses tell me to run.

I don't run, I didn't come here for nothing.

"Why are the people here suspicious?" I ask, the frigidity of the air making me lick my lips. My feet roll slightly with each step, silent but purposeful. "Of what?"

A sigh greets my question and it's a moment before he says anything. "This town…it's messed up."

For a moment I look back to him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands curl into fists at his side. "How so?" I know 'messed up', am intimately acquainted with it, hell, I am it.

"Mystic Falls is overflowing with secrets. The kind of secrets that most people know but no one dares to say out loud," He chuckles, but I can hear the bitterness of it. "We all know how twisted everything is, but it's rare for anyone to mention it,"

I huff. He's talking in riddles. Fat lot of help that is. "Why did you say they have good reason to be? Suspicious, I mean,"

Damon makes a sound that is bordering on annoyance, his steps slow down. "Because in a place where death lurks at your door, you need to be ready for anything and everything," He turns toward a house.

I stand in the road, gapping after him, eyebrows scrunched up. What the actual hell?

[AN: I'm trying to keep the chapter edits as consistent with the original chapters as possible. It's a bit daunting considering what a mess they are.]