A/N: Finally updating xD Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this.
Sunday morning was spent at Lowe's. Per Zach's texted advice, Rory found a grow light, a rectangular pot with decent drainage, and appropriate soil to plant vervain in her walk-in closet. The only floor space left in her entire room was between her high-tops, wedge heels, and ankle boots and the wicker basket for laundry against the back wall.
Rory had enough time to eat lunch at home and pack supplies for the Founders' Party that night before she left for the YMCA. When she'd parked, jogged in to claim a locker between Tessa Ruiz's and Rachel Goldstein's, and pushed her pale blue Nike bag into the locker, she noticed her phone light up with a notification.
As Tessa and Rachel gossiped about the freshmen Kylie Park had apparently invited as some sort of test, Rory plucked up her phone to check it. Of course that row of angry red emojis had texted her.
DAMON: youre inviting me to the founders party later
DAMON: just text when ur outside
Rory rolled her eyes.
RORY: Fine
She shoved her phone into her bag and almost slammed her locker shut. "Rory, you ready?" Tessa asked.
"Yep," confirmed Rory bracingly, and she left the locker room with Tessa and Rachel.
Despite Kylie's machinations—she was somehow convinced she'd be voted team captain senior year, even though she barely bordered on polite with most of the other softball players—the game was still much more fun than Rory was already sure the Founders' Party would be. Afterward a few players stuck around to practice for a while, learning from Clarissa's collegiate softball experience.
When the sun had started to lower behind the chestnut oaks that lined the softball field, streaking the sky with orange, Rory ran back into the Y to shower and change into the short semiformal periwinkle dress she'd brought. She had to settle for removing her smudgy eyeliner and just applying eyeshadow before she headed back to the Bronco to drive over to the Lockwoods', where the party would be held.
The historic streets were increasingly familiar as Rory drew closer to Tyler's house. When she drove over a ridge, she caught sight of cars parked on the street before she even glimpsed the house. Ugh, thought Rory, and she didn't bother going further to find a spot. Instead she pulled up to the curb in front of the neighbors' house, behind a scratched Accord.
Rory drew in a breath to steel herself as she dug her suede wedges out of her bag to tie them on. She used the rearview mirror to ensure she looked at least passable and her glasses weren't noticeably dirty—and slicked on a coat of lip gloss—before she climbed out into the comfortably cool late afternoon air.
She swung the driver's side door shut and withdrew her phone from her crossbody bag. She could already hear distant chatter and the faintest strains of acoustic guitar from the party, and rather than text Damon and wait, Rory shrugged to herself and called him.
Damon answered with, "Are you here?"
"Yeah. I'm—"
"I see you," said Damon, and he hung up.
Rory rolled her eyes and lowered her phone. She clicked off the screen and returned it to her crossbody bag, and when she turned back toward the Lockwoods' house, Damon materialized. She jumped and almost smacked her elbow into the Bronco's rearview mirror. "Hey," said Damon, unbothered. He held out an arm. "Let's go."
Rory threaded her arm through his, touching him as little as possible in the process, and walked up the street with him. She couldn't resist sneaking a couple of glances—he was in a debonair black suit, the top button of his collared shirt undone to show more of his alabaster skin, and that unforgettable face was somehow more impressive in the sunset lighting. It was kind of irritating that he had to be an evil two-hundred-year-old twenty-five-year-old.
Soon she was distracted by the Lockwoods'. Across a wide, perfectly cut lawn with a circular fountain at the center, there stood the old plantation house. Rory winced as she studied it in the deepening light. It was as antebellum as that ominous cellar beneath the Salvatores', big and symmetrical, red brick with stately white columns lining the porch. As Rory had visited several times the year before, she knew that aside from the black walnuts and white oaks that framed the house, there was a pond and veritable golf course around the back.
There were a number of guests scattered across the street, the winding stone drive, and the lawn. Rory could see Lockwoods at the door, greeting people, but she couldn't tell if Tyler was there. As it was she'd already started noticing other classmates—Rory exchanged a few smiles and waves with them, and she realized most of Student Council was gawking openly at Damon. Caroline Forbes didn't even look at Rory.
Well, thought Rory, trying to scrounge up any potential decent result of this excursion, maybe it'll get around to Tyler that I'm over him? Not that he even cared at this point, considering how often she'd seen him hanging out with Vicki Donovan over the past few weeks.
Rory and Damon joined a burgeoning, loose receiving line of people approaching the door. They didn't talk until they reached the brick steps, when Rory asked, "Um, what do I introduce you as?"
"Whatever," said Damon. He'd been looking ahead, either checking out the other guests or studying the Greek revival architecture. "You weren't already going with someone, so I guess calling me your boyfriend would be fine."
"No thanks."
"But whyever not?"
Rory gave a sarcastic laugh before she could stop herself. Damon glanced at her with a hint of a smirk curling up one corner of his mouth. "A variety of reasons," she told him, "but let's start with you're twenty-five."
"Oh," said Damon as they ascended the first few steps in the shade of the porch, "you know what they say—age is just a number."
Rory had to lower her voice to answer, and as a result leaned a little closer, ensuring she was still a polite distance from him. "Not when you're two hundred."
"Let me get this straight," said Damon, leaning toward Rory, too. She caught a trace of his cologne. "If you met a spectacularly handsome five-hundred-year-old seventeen-year-old, you wouldn't date him?"
"Or her," agreed Rory. "Or them."
Damon straightened as they stepped up onto the porch, where Mrs. Lockwood was the only family member at the door. The woman had always been intimidating, evenly tan with short brown hair and a constant air of personal, knowing judgment. "Oh, Rory!" said Mrs. Lockwood, a smile spreading across her face. "It's so nice to see you."
"Hi, Mrs. Lockwood," said Rory with an awkward little wave she immediately regretted. "Um—this is Damon Salvatore."
"Hello," said Mrs. Lockwood. Her gaze flicked over both of them and she glanced back at Rory, eyebrows lifting as if to ask what the situation was here.
Rory had no idea where to start and as a result said nothing. Damon, for his part, gave Mrs. Lockwood a charming smile. "Good to meet you," he said to her, recapturing her attention. At least he was distracting enough that she seemed to forget to question them. "I've been looking forward to this party for quite a while."
"Well, come on in," said Mrs. Lockwood, and Rory and Damon passed her to enter the house. It was flooded with well-dressed guests, and Rory only managed to see a few of the framed paintings she remembered and the eggshell-white walls—and that spiral staircase—before Damon faced her.
"Alright," he said, bright blue eyes flicking over her face. "Do whatever you want. Keep your phone on."
With that he left.
Rory waited for a minute in the high-ceilinged entryway, half-expecting Damon to reappear with a random, unreasonable request. When the most that happened was Pietro Vasari waving, Rory exhaled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. She elected to march to the nearest sitting room, as it was opposite the direction Damon had gone.
When she was out of sight of the entryway and standing beside a polished bookcase of literary classics, Rory fished her phone out of her bag. She texted Lauren—Mackenzie was working and wouldn't have come anyway.
RORY: Please tell me you're at the Founders Party
LAUREN: YUP out back
Thank God. Rory hurried through the main hallway toward the French back doors, slipping between other guests and stopping only once to chat with the sophomore class rep. Outside in the waning afternoon light Rory slowed again. The back patio was packed, and a massive white canvas tent had been set up in the grass, between the patio and the pond. It was lined with fairy lights and covered a parquet dance floor.
Rory spotted Lauren at the edge of the dance floor, snagging something sparkling from a passing waiter's tray. She trotted down the back steps and strode over to join her. "Lauren!"
Lauren had just taken a sip of her drink and almost spat it back out in her haste to automatically greet Rory back. "Argh—hey!" she said when she could, and with no qualms she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her scalloped off-white sweater. She beamed at Rory. "What's up? Cute dress."
"Thanks!" chirped Rory. "Yours is cute too." Lauren grinned and gave her a flourishing little bow. She was in a hunter green knee-length dress that complemented her naturally tan skin tone. "And I'm on call for Damon, so there's that."
Lauren's eyes widened and she turned to scan the guests. "Oh my gosh. Is he out here? I want to see him. Does he look like Stefan?"
"Not…really?" Rory more guessed than said. "They're sort of opposites." Stefan was broad in the shoulders and an average height while Damon was narrow and tall, and other than the differing complexions, they had different hair colors and eye colors. Rory wondered what their parents had looked like. "Anyway I don't think he's out here." She rose to her toes to search for him and had to balance herself on Lauren's shoulder. She saw no heads of messy black hair. "But if you see someone who's tall, dark, and looks the way I'd picture Dracula, that's him."
"Wow," observed Lauren. "That's not very undercover evil vampire of him." Rory swatted her arm for her volume and Lauren grinned sheepishly. "Anyways! Let's dance or something! Come on." She grasped Rory's arm and tugged her out toward the dance floor.
As the sun continued to set, turning the air blue, Rory hung out with Lauren outside the Lockwoods' house. It was much more fun than she'd been expecting from this party—Rory didn't see Vicki or Voldemort at all, and as Lauren knew 75% of their class and Rory knew the other 25%, various classmates kept wandering over to talk to them.
Rory was discussing the Major League with a football player she'd met through Tyler when her phone vibrated in her bag. Ugh, thought Rory. She excused herself and moved back over to where Lauren was with a few of the swimmers. "He texted me," Rory said to her, and Lauren watched as Rory withdrew her phone to check it.
DAMON: meet me on the back patio
Rory gave Lauren a longsuffering look as she returned her phone to her bag. "Want any backup?" offered Lauren. "We can, like, insist we're a package deal. I'd totally tackle him if he tried anything."
Rory laughed at the mental image. "It'll be fine," she said. She didn't want Damon to even know who Lauren was. "I'll keep you updated."
"Be careful!" called Lauren as Rory walked back around the crowded dance floor.
Rory crossed the grass between the big tent and the patio and flashed a smile at her aunt as she trotted up the few steps. She found Damon a second afterward—he was loitering near the French doors, and there were a few women staring at him. Trust me, don't even think about it, thought Rory. Just in case, even though approaching the man put her nerves on edge, Rory tried to stop near enough to him that they seemed to be together. "What's up?"
Damon studied her and held out his hand. "Come on. You're gonna distract Stefan while I talk to Elena."
Rory hesitated, but she took the offered hand. He laced their fingers together and they moved back through the French doors and into the house. "Um, how am I supposed to do that?" Rory asked as they did.
"I don't know, ask him to dance or something," suggested Damon. They walked through the guests in the house, milling around and examining the historical artifacts on display. Rory spotted Mr. Lockwood—the mayor and Tyler's father, as intimidating as his mother—and gave him a polite nod in passing.
Damon slowed to match his long pace back to Rory's as they entered one of the sitting rooms. It was focused on the Founders themselves, most of the on-loan antiques labeled with names such as Forbes or Gilbert. Speaking of, thought Rory—the other Gilbert at the party was standing across from the door with Stefan.
Rory forced Damon to stop for a second to whisper, "You're not gonna do anything, are you?"
"Relax," said Damon with a trace of irritation. "I'm just sowing discord."
He walked Rory toward the wall where Elena and Stefan appeared to be studying some sort of town charter. "Is that Damon Salvatore?" Elena was asking. "And Stefan Salvatore?"
Y'all are literally in these artifacts?! Rory thought, tempted to laugh. "The original Salvatore brothers," said Damon with not even an ounce of his usual sarcasm as he and Rory halted a polite distance from the other two. They turned—Stefan was in a black suit, his navy collared shirt buttoned up in a way that made him look somehow wholesome, and Elena had pulled her straight hair half-up and opted for her pink-and-orange semiformal dress. Neither looked particularly pleased to see Damon or Rory. "Our ancestors," continued Damon. "Tragic story, actually."
"We don't need to—bore them with stories of the past," said Stefan, those serious green eyes warning Damon.
"It's not boring, Stefan," said Elena. She half-smiled at him, sincere. "I'd love to hear more about your family."
You're gonna take that back, thought Rory. Damon squeezed her hand and she took it as a prompt to remove Stefan from the picture. "I would not," said Rory probably too bracingly. She let go of Damon's hand. "I would prefer to dance. Can I borrow you, Stefan?"
Although Rory was asking Stefan, she glanced at Elena. Her twin was calculating, her gaze flickering over Rory's dress and briefly to Damon. "I don't really dance," Stefan hedged.
"Oh, sure he does," said Damon to Rory. He nudged her arm. "You should see him. Waltz, jitterbug, the moonwalk. He does it all."
Stefan didn't say anything, and when Rory checked, Elena was still watching her, brow furrowed slightly. But she didn't protest, either. Well, silence can't count as disagreement, thought Rory, and she stepped forward to snag Stefan's sleeve. "Come on, teach me how to moonwalk."
He let her tug him away from Damon and Elena and back out through the door to the sitting room. Rory didn't slow her pace until they passed all the way back through to the patio, in the fresh night air. "Sorry," said Rory as she let go of Stefan's sleeve. They both continued down the steps toward the dance floor at a more natural pace. "You know how it is."
Stefan rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately."
When they reached the parquet dance floor, just beneath the edge of the tent, Stefan paused. Rory saw something flash over his face, and he glanced back at the house before he withdrew a little glass vial from within his blazer. He gestured for Rory to move closer and she did, puzzled. "I brought vervain," he said in a low voice. "I want to spike Damon's champagne with it."
"What?" demanded Rory. "He'll notice!"
Stefan maintained grim eye contact for a second. "Not if you do it."
Rory tried to think. "What's the plan after that?"
"I'm going to let him desiccate," replied Stefan. Rory leaned away, startled and alarmed. "Dry him out for a few decades—then reevaluate."
She didn't even know how to answer that. She didn't know what vampire punishments were or how to control Damon, but—decades? Then again, Rory mused, vampires must have been so out of time they probably barely noticed it pass. She couldn't wrap her mind around the concept and had to force herself to refocus. "I—meant logistically," she said to Stefan. "Would he pass out in the middle of the party?"
"You'll have to catch him alone."
"Listen," said Rory without having to think about it. "I'm not a sleight-of-hand artist, and if it doesn't work, he'll go off the handle. You might be better off waiting around a corner with a bat."
It was then that Lauren slid between two dancing couples to join them. "Hi!" she chirped. She glanced from Rory to Stefan, whose face had turned unreadable, and back again, less cheerful. "So what's the drama? What did Damon want?"
Stefan speared Rory with an accusatory glance. "You've been telling her his plans?"
"I don't know his plans!" returned Rory. "And he gave me two free passes, so one's Lauren and the other's Mackenzie."
Stefan briefly pinched the bridge of his nose before facing Lauren. "I want to vervain him," he informed her. Lauren frowned. "I mean knock him out. We'd have to spike his champagne."
"You want to roofie him?!" Lauren yelped. She swatted Stefan's arm. "We don't know how to do that! You're the one that's older than dirt! Can't you figure out how to rein him in?"
"This is me figuring out how to rein him in," snapped Stefan, and he looked back at Rory. "Will you do it?"
Rory considered. Stefan was still annoyed but visibly hopeful and Lauren was skeptical, and she glanced back at what she could see of the enormous plantation house. She thought about the Monday after the only official football game of the season. She'd seen Tyler ditch before AP US, and when she'd arrived, the class had been half-empty and much more subdued than usual. No substitute had even shown up for five full minutes, and when a woman from the front office had come in, all she did was awkwardly announce that they were being given a free period.
Noah Kim had raised his hand. "Are we going to have any history classes this year?"
"Or football games?" Jo Newman had mumbled.
"We—aren't sure," said Mrs. Summers, and she'd given the entire room an apologetic glance. "For now, though, you have the free period."
She'd left, and for a second no one had moved. Rory had stared at the chalkboard, still covered with Mr. Tanner's neat handwriting, and her eyes had filled. As the other students had slowly gathered their bags, Rory had thought about Damon's face the night he'd threatened to throw Vicki Donovan off the roof of the Mystic Grill—and as she'd grabbed her backpack and stood, she'd wished she didn't have to help him with anything, ever.
But was effectively killing him for several decades the answer? Rory bit her lip. Removing Damon from the equation would prevent him from hurting anyone, but—he hadn't attacked anyone in a few weeks, and he'd been kind of normal the whole weekend. Rory didn't know what his ultimate goal was, but if he wanted to destroy the entire town, he could have done so by now.
She needed to find out what his goal was, and if achieving it meant he'd leave Mystic Falls. But there was no way he'd tell her. Jesus, I'll just—decide later. Rory turned back to Stefan and held out one hand. "I'll take it."
Relief crossed Stefan's face, and he set the glass vial in her palm. She shoved it into her bag and glanced at Lauren, who raised her eyebrows. Rory lifted her shoulders a little to indicate she still wasn't sure what she'd do, and Lauren nodded. "I'll ask—text Mackenzie," Lauren offered, and she half-glanced at Stefan before excusing herself to disappear through a group of guests.
Stefan focused on Rory. As she'd accepted the vervain, his shoulders already seemed a little less tense. Because he thinks I'm going to effectively kill his psychotic brother. What the hell is my life? "Should we dance?" Stefan asked.
"Probably."
"Let's go, then," said Stefan, and he and Rory moved out to the center of the dance floor.
As it was the Founders' Party, the acoustic music played by the band was mild, and Stefan was Elena's boyfriend, the two of them opted for the classic, awkward middle school dance positions. Stefan placed his hands as politely as possible on Rory's waist and Rory just set both of her hands on his shoulders.
It was too socially painful to stare at him in silence. "So—are you caught up on The Office?"
They discussed the TV show for a few minutes, until they determined enough was enough and drifted toward the refreshment table. Rory was sipping fizzy champagne from a flute and wondering why no one was even trying to keep an eye on the underage guests when Damon and Elena came through the crowd together. Elena's expression was impassively polite, and she didn't even look at Rory. "What'd we miss?" Damon asked as they arrived.
"We were just chatting," said Stefan with a glance at Rory. And with no finesse or attempt to hide it—in what must have been a deliberate move to get Damon's guard down around Rory—he lifted a glass of champagne toward his brother. "Drink, Damon?"
Damon tilted his head. "No thanks, I'll pass."
The two maintained increasingly tense eye contact for a second and Rory took a bigger sip of her own champagne, making her nose feel bubbly. "Stefan," said Elena, staunchly ignoring the tension. "Do you have another dance in you?"
He smiled at her. "Absolutely."
Stefan set the glass he was holding down on the refreshment table and left with Elena, walking her out onto the dance floor. As they moved out of earshot, Damon turned to watch them, his shoulder brushing Rory's. She glanced up. She could've asked how whatever he'd been doing had gone, but she didn't bother. "Text me," she told him, and she walked around him, toward the back patio.
Rory wandered into the house and both set her champagne flute aside and dug her phone out as she did. She decided to visit the sitting room Stefan and Elena had been in before, as it was doubtful either of them or Damon would return soon, and checked her friends' group chat.
LAUREN: Stefan wants Rory to help roofie Damon btw
MACKENZIE: ?
RORY: He wants to desiccate him "for a few decades"
MACKENZIE: uhhh. is desiccation vamp death ?
RORY: Yeah kinda. Advice?
She waited for a couple of minutes for either of her friends to answer, studying the nearest lacquered, carved wooden boxes, labeled Fell. They gleamed in the artificial light from overhead.
MACKENZIE: lemme get the options straight
MACKENZIE: a, help stef and prob fail
MACKENZIE: b, tell demon and get stef in trouble
MACKENZIE: c, ignore them both?
LAUREN: I vote C tbh
MACKENZIE: stefs in trouble in any option. u gotta choose
Shit. Mackenzie was right. Rory gritted her teeth and tried to think through the low hum of chatter from the other guests and the clinking of glasses. Which of her options would make her the fewest enemies and save the most lives?
She started to pace, and when she caught sight of a waiter passing with a tray of champagne held aloft, Rory hurried over to snag two full glasses. Afterward she retreated to the same sitting room as before, where she ensured no one was watching before she withdrew the vial of vervain and poured it into one of the champagne glasses. There. Now she had the option of drinking the vervain herself or passing it to Damon—as long as she remembered which hand the vervained champagne was in, anyway.
Rory returned the emptied vial to her bag, and her phone vibrated. This time, rather than either of her friends, it was Damon.
DAMON: come upstairs
Rory furrowed her eyebrows, but she plucked up both champagne glasses and left the sitting room for the spiral staircase at the front of the house. She slid through a couple of dads laughing about a football team and paused at the base of the stairs until no one was looking—and she drew in a breath, prayed she would somehow make the right decision here, and ascended the stairs to the second floor.
She found Damon loitering in the hall. "Hey," said Rory as she reached the landing. And as she approached him, running on complete instinct, she held out the vervained champagne. "Here." Although it was kind of an obvious move, to her surprise Damon took it without question. Which made it worse, since it meant he at least sort of trusted her—
He tilted his head toward the nearest corner. "Come on," he said, and he strode ahead. Rory followed him onto a hall where she'd never been allowed when she'd visited before, and he swung open double-doors into a wide study. When she was one step in, Damon grasped her shoulder to turn her toward the open doors. "Keep watch," he ordered, and she heard his footsteps retreat. From the sound of it he started rummaging through boxes.
Rory fidgeted with her champagne flute as she listened to Damon creak open some old box behind her and the air-conditioning whir on overhead, that acoustic music vaguely audible from the backyard. She couldn't stop thinking, still turning over her options in her head, and her heart started to pound. What if he didn't drink it? What if he did? Why did I have to meet two vampires this year?! I'm supposed to be worrying about Algebra and Tyler and Matt!
She gritted her teeth. And despite everything, she turned back toward Damon. She watched him return whatever box he'd removed to its place and tuck an unusual, amber-colored crystal into his blazer. He plucked up the champagne flute Rory had passed him from where he must have set it down on a side table. He stepped toward Rory—
"Wait!" she blurted.
"Is someone coming?" asked Damon, moving backward.
"No," said Rory, and Damon furrowed his eyebrows. "Just—here," she said again, and she had to step toward him to swap glasses with him. She instinctively shifted backward again, putting a little more space between them, and he watched her, some combination of irritation and skepticism warring on his face. Well, gotta do it now. "Stefan wants to desiccate you."
Something shadowed Damon's face for an instant, but his expression turned carefully neutral before he said, "I'm not surprised."
"Can we—make a deal?" Rory asked. At the tilt of Damon's head, she said, talking too fast, "If you stop hurting people, I'll stop Stefan, and I'll keep helping you."
"Where the hell is this coming from?" Damon asked back. He nodded toward the glass she was holding. "I was two seconds away from drinking however much vervain is in that. You could've been rid of me."
Rory could feel herself turning red. "I, um, don't want—you to die?" At Damon's startled glance, she explained before she could stop herself, "I just—I mean, I don't want anyone to die. And I don't know what your goal is, but if you wanted everyone dead they would be, and you're a person, too, so—"
Damon just studied her for a second, that bright blue gaze too perceptive. "Let's say I agree," he said. "How do you know I won't waltz out of here and murder your friends or your brother to keep you and Stefan in line?"
Rory swallowed. "I don't."
They maintained eye contact for another minute, Rory holding her breath. She heard a sudden burst of laughter from somewhere below and almost flinched—and abruptly Damon threw back the entirety of the champagne Rory had handed him. He waited a second, and when he focused on Rory again, his expression was clearer. "You should play poker," he informed Rory, and he strolled toward the doors, touching her elbow to nudge her along with him. Rory matched his pace. "That was quite a gamble."
"Does that mean you agree?" Rory asked as they followed the hall back to the main one.
Damon glanced down at her. "Guess so."
Rory released a whooshing breath of relief. "Thank God." Damon snickered, and she half-grinned somewhat sheepishly. "I'll talk to Stefan."
"You'd better," said Damon with a hint of warning. Rory nodded, and they descended the spiral staircase together, reentering the hum of chatter from the other guests, the music already louder. "After that," Damon added, "you're free for the evening."
That must have meant he'd gotten whatever he'd been here for. That crystal? "What did you take?"
Damon paused as they reached the base of the stairs and gave her a good-natured glance. "Don't push your luck." With that he was gone.
As soon as he was, Rory pressed her hand to her forehead. Oh my God. She tried not to think about the various much worse directions that entire conversation could have gone in as she fished her phone back out to update her friends. When she had, she texted Stefan to ask where he was.
He was still outside, past the white tent and the band, lurking near the pond. The water was shimmering in the moonlight and the fountain splashing at the center was loud. What is he doing brooding over here? Rory wondered as she approached, her heels sinking a little into the less firm grass. Is he fighting with Elena?
That was awkward, but it didn't matter. It would probably be best for all involved if he and Elena broke up. "Hey!" Rory said when she reached him. Stefan glanced up and nodded. "You have to stop trying to stop Damon."
"What?" said Stefan, startled. "Why?"
"I made a deal with him," explained Rory. Stefan leaned back as if she'd taken a swing at him. "If you stop trying to stop him, he won't hurt anyone."
"You can't trust him, Rory!" Stefan almost snarled. Rory automatically, instinctively shifted backward, and he caught himself, giving her more space at once. "He'll turn around and hurt your friends, or Jenna, or Jeremy."
Rory prayed he wouldn't. "I—don't think he will."
"Look, I tried telling him that there was still good in him," said Stefan. He moved closer again, but his tone had calmed down, more desperate than angry. "And in response he killed Coach Tanner!"
Rory blinked. Damon's reaction had obviously been—well, overkill—but something rubbed her the wrong way about Stefan's statement, too. There's still good in him. It was kind of pretentious. And kind of implied everything else about Damon was inherently bad. "Are you going to stop trying to desiccate him or not?"
"I guess I have no choice!" said Stefan. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Rory watched him take a deep breath. When he'd exhaled, he lowered his hand and said, already calmer, "Would you at least warn me next time if you're thinking of offering him a deal?"
Rory snorted. "There had better not be a next time." Stefan rolled his eyes. "But sure."
"Thanks," said Stefan, shaking his head. He studied Rory for a second as he seemed to consider—then he asked, "Is there any chance you could try and warn Elena about Damon?"
Sowing discord, Rory remembered. "No," she informed Stefan. From his face he seemed to have known asking was a long shot. "But I'm about to go find Lauren, if you want to come with."
Stefan glanced back at the canvas tent, still crowded with guests. "Sure," he seemed to decide aloud, and Rory walked back to the dance floor beside him.
