Author's note: Hi everyone! I continue to be utterly delighted and astounded and joyful at the love and attention this story gets from you beautiful souls. I just wanted to express, again, that I appreciate every interaction wholeheartedly. Thank you for the loving motivation. I appreciate y'all very much. :D
I know I said that this chapter would be a bit on the shorter side, but clearly, I lied – even to myself. :D
Happy Pi Day, y'all! :D
The first thing that Elena noticed as she materialized on Earth was that the air in the woods smelled remarkably clean – almost unusually so. Although Mystic Falls was hardly a car-studded metropolis, it was, like any modern communal living space, no stranger to the smell of petrol emissions.
And yet, the entire vibe of the place felt peculiar to her.
Firstly, she was used to appearing in the same room as Damon, but instead she was in the forest by the old Salvatore property. Why? Was Damon paying respects? She found the thought baffling, since he was about the last person she could imagine indulging in tradition or nostalgia.
That just wasn't him.
And yet, she recognized this path – except the trees looked … younger?
She continued to make her way through the sunlit forest until her very breath was taken away by the sight before her – the old Salvatore mansion stood resplendently against the expanse of green. It looked new, polished – in its prime.
Certainly not the relic of rubble and ruin it was when she last laid eyes on it.
The gardens surrounding the expanse were exquisite. The blooming Virginia bluebells and irises suggested to her that it was sometime in May, perhaps – having had to stomach more than her fair share of 'Founding Family Musts' from Caroline, who steadfastly insisted on upholding any and all traditions their town's self-appointed 'aristocracy' held sacred.
She gingerly took a step closer, her eyes expanding in genuine shock as she watched a stagecoach drive by, drawn by horses. She couldn't be …
A woman exited the estate, her expression decidedly harried – though the way she carried herself was the peak of elegance. Her dark hair was gathered into an elaborate updo – her pin-straight back, raised chin, elegant gait, all what Elena imagined to be characteristic of finishing school for the era. Elena watched her curiously from behind the trees. The woman was clad in an expensive-looking antebellum dress, gently dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. When she opened them, Elena found them so familiar.
Her mind tried to rationalize the strange occurrence – tell her that she stumbled onto a film set, or perhaps an elaborate costume party in the forest. But deep inside, she knew otherwise.
And yet, she found herself drawn toward the back of the house – as if pulled by an ethereal force. Paying the woman, and the increasingly disturbing idea that she'd traveled over century back in time, little attention, Elena instead put those thoughts out of her mind for the present moment and concentrated on the quiet hum that increasingly grew to reverberate in her chest as she approached an unknown destination.
The feeling seemed to multiply as she kept walking, when she heard a wince, a gasp in the near distance.
She saw a young man – perhaps Stefan's apparent age – quite peculiarly dressed. He was clad in an old-fashioned linen shirt, his pants held up with suspenders. She vividly recalled seeing similar attire in period films taking place in the middle of the 19th century.
There was something so familiar about him – was it his gait? It was a mix of contradictions – at once relaxed and poised, even when in apparent pain.
He sat on the stone steps and trembled as he desperately held his forearm to his chest, as though trying to protect it from further harm.
Something inside Elena's heart seized at the sight, and she immediately took a seat next to him.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle, soothing.
The boy looked toward her in alarm, then sharply turned away upon noting her rather scandalous dress for the time, his tear-stained cheeks now sporting a noticeable blush. "I am fine, Miss …" he said a little too firmly, evidently overcompensating to hide the trembling of his voice – not expecting to be discovered in such a vulnerable state.
"Elena," she said softly, scooting a tad closer.
"I am fine, Miss Elena," he reiterated, embarrassed at being caught in such a state by a beautiful woman, even if she did appear to be walking around in some kind of nightdress in the middle of the day. His eyes lingered on her bare knees, her shapely calves, before he caught himself and forced his eyes to meet hers. It wasn't his first time seeing a woman in this state of undress – his escapades with Lizzie Fell in the Lockwood stables had been the hushed talks of the town for nearly a fortnight until her father quietly sent her away to live with family in Arkansas, and quick marriage followed. He had already earned himself a reputation around Mystic Falls as the town rogue and scoundrel, prompting his father to increase in threatened and delivered violence when filled with bourbon, aghast that his eldest son – his greatest disappointment – would taint the family name.
Strangely, it caught the attention of both Mary Lockwood and Abigail Forbes, who sent him flirtatious glances that led to more at nearly every Founders event henceforth – though both have been considerably more careful than Lizzie to hide any evidence of a dalliance.
What had at first begun as hormonal exploration, befitting of a boy of his age, became an act of rebellion. If father and mother insisted that all he would bring about is shame, he would revel in it. If all he could do is wrong, he would disappoint with gusto.
Let him be a disappointment of the highest caliber, he thought bitterly.
This situation seemed different, however – and everything inside Damon felt utterly compelled to see this beautiful stranger to comfort and aid.
Perhaps she was hurt and needed his help? He immediately turned to her, curious about the sharp intake of breath he heard when her eyes met his.
"Damon?" she breathed, utterly bewildered. She'd recognize those eyes anywhere. She noted with curiosity that the dark hair that contrasted his mesmerizing eyes was longer, curling slightly at the tips. He looked a few years younger, decidedly human.
Just when exactly was she?
He stared at her for several whole seconds as the remnants of tears – partly stemming from the agony of the fresh cigar burn on his arm, and partly from the sense of inadequacy his parents continuously instilled within him – cleared, his cerulean eyes now filled with concern and curiosity.
"You found him," he confirmed, tilting his head to the side to study her in a way that was profoundly familiar to her. Elena marveled at the almost subdued Damon-ness of him. The mannerisms were so similar – he even had the beginnings of a roguish smirk, and yet there was almost an innocence, an openness to him.
This Damon didn't have decades of vampirism during which to practice his perfectly performed bad boy veneer. His emotions were quite a bit more written on his face.
He continued to examine the woman before him. She was certainly beautiful – almost objectively so – but that was not why he found himself so drawn to her. There was something about her eyes – filled with an empathy, a clarity, mirth, warmth. He could swear that she was almost looking directly inside him, but instead of disdain, he found curiosity. There was also so much affection there, which he found utterly bewildering, though mesmerizing.
He desperately wanted to know her.
She was certainly odd – lacking any of the requisite propriety of the women of his social class – but she seemed so kind, and genuinely concerned for him. Nevertheless, Damon knew enough about their social mores to understand the consequences of her being caught in this state of undress – why her gown, if it could be called that, had barely touched her knees! It would be a scandal.
He had hide her before his father found her.
His mind cycled through potential places to take her while they would work out how to help her – for she obviously had to be in some distress to walk about their property so – when a familiar voice squeaked his name, in turn with tiny, little footsteps running down the mansion's expansive hall.
"Damon! Damon!" cried little Stefan, looking all of 10-years-old, as he blazed out of the backdoor. "Come back! Please don't run away!"
Damon instinctively stood in front of Elena, covering her lower half from view. "I am not running away, Stef. I just needed a bit of air, all right?" He knew he couldn't run, as much as he often fantasized about it. If he left, who would be around to protect Stefan – especially now that he was finally strong enough to physically defend himself from father? It didn't stop him from burning him while he was vulnerable, asleep, however. He promised Damon that he would find time to punish him for his transgression, and he did.
At least this time, Damon was the actual culprit, unlike the last time his father used his arm as an elaborately organic ashtray, when his mother let him take the fall for her theft.
His little brother sunk in visible relief, throwing his tiny arms around Damon's waist to hug him tightly. "Promise?" he squeaked.
"I promise," Damon soothed, ruffling the boy's hair. "Now get back inside before father catches you."
Elena watched them curiously, by now used to not being noticed by spectators, as a Specter. Her mind still reeled at all the implications of her new condition. Would she go back to normal when she woke up? Or was she perpetually unstuck in spacetime?
Just how far did these powers extend?
Damon sighed in relief, turning back to her. "We are quite fortunate my brother did not ask questions, but it would be prudent to get you way from here before my father notices you, Miss Elena."
She only smiled, seeing no harm in letting him take the lead. It's not like anyone here would notice her, anyway. "Where to, Damon?"
"Do you like horses? My father seldom visits the stables unless he has business in the town," Damon suggested pragmatically. Another option was to sneak her in through the kitchens, but it was considerably riskier.
"Love them," Elena said, exaggerating somewhat. The aspiring medical professional in her, however, frowned at his forearm, taking his wrist gently in her hand to bring it closer for inspection. "What happened here?" She recognized the placement of the wound, and an older one underneath it, a little to the side. It was where Damon would one day have a tattoo that read, 'HIC ET NUNC' – 'Here and Now,' translated from Latin. Was it a way to distance himself from this painful reminder? To separate himself from this part of his past, and reclaim ownership of his body?
Damon pulled his arm away from her in embarrassment, holding it against his chest to hide it from view. "It is nothing."
"Sure doesn't look like nothing," Elena said sympathetically. "That's a pretty serious burn. Why don't we go inside and put some medicine on it?"
Damon looked hesitant, absolutely sure that his father was still in a temper, and terrified of what he would do if he discovered her. "It would not be safe for you, Miss –"
"Elena's fine. No 'Miss' required, unless you want me to call you 'Mister Damon,'" she teased, hoping to lighten the mood a little and take his mind off his very obvious pain. "And don't worry. He won't even know I'm here. After all, Stefan didn't, did he?"
"Stefan is a child," Damon interrupted impatiently. "He was distracted with fear that I would run away, so he paid you no mind. My drunken, violent father, however, will notice you immediately."
"He won't," she said simply, a smile claiming her lips. Seeing Damon as a teenager was certainly amusing, though the thought was tainted by concern over his injury. "What happened?" she asked again, gesturing to it.
"Miss Elena –" Damon began seriously, his tension mounting as he heard his father approach, abating somewhat when the man switched directions and evidently headed to another room inside the house. Damon couldn't be sure why, but his hands flew to her cheeks to gingerly cup them. If the situation hadn't caused him utmost consternation, he would be baffled at his own forwardness with this stranger, but she didn't understand the danger in which she was placing herself. When he realized what he had done, he amost immediately dropped his hands, but they held steady. She only stared at him in wonder for a moment – the gesture achingly familiar. So him.
"Elena," she interrupted him softly. "Just Elena."
"Just Elena," he corrected with a playful smile, prompting one from her in turn. "Please, we have to get you out of here. Your being here would cause a scandal, and if my father caught you, he would see you hurt – either by his own hand or by others. You have no idea what kind of man he is."
She frowned, becoming increasingly troubled by his words – the source of his wound becoming heartbreakingly clear. "Damon…"
"I would protect you to the best of my ability, but if he uses a firearm against me, there is nothing I can do," he pressed urgently. "Do you understand?"
She was caught in his gaze for a moment, her hands mirroring his, rising to cup his cheeks in turn – a familiar gesture between them that spoke of comfort, yearning, devotion. And yet, as far as Damon knew, they'd only just met, Elena realized with a stifled laugh, but sobered when she caught sight of his injury again. Even if it returned the second she disappeared – if she disappeared at all this time – everything inside her fought to ease his pain, if only for the moment. She smiled playfully, knowing it was a long-shot, and bit her lip nervously. "Can you keep a secret?"
"What is that?" he asked with a trace of amusement.
"I'm magical," she winked. "I can make it so that you're the only one who can see me. Now lead the way. We have to treat your burn first, and then I promise to answer any questions that you may have."
Damon's eyes widened in faux amazement, dancing with mirth as he pulled back, his hands finally returning to his sides. "Oh, are you? And are you a fae who has lost her way from the enchanted asylum of unusual dresses?"
"We fairies have a very peculiar fashion sense, and quite proud of it," she said, dropping her hands to rest on her hips saucily. "Now if you'd lead the way, please. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that it's rude to keep a lady waiting," she teased in a theatrically haughty tone, prompting from him a laugh, and an extended arm for her to take. "I somehow doubt I would be the first lady you ever snuck inside, Damon Salvatore."
He blushed at her altogether true implications, though intuition told Damon that she was quite serious about treating his burn. He was touched, moved – almost petrified by the unusual turn of events. His own mother barely batted an eye, and yet this stranger seemed so insistent on healing him – perhaps this was subterfuge? Was she just a cunning thief? He'd have to watch her carefully.
A part of Elena continued to wonder what the point of treating the burn was at all, since everything the Specter touched came undone with her disappearance, anyway. But the trigger to her disappearances was always the Elena of that time waking up, wasn't it? And now she was in a place before she was even born.
She struggled to grasp the significance of this – it was amazing. Was Damon right? Were her powers really growing at astronomical rates? And if time really did pass differently in the realm where she now lived – the place she called 'Hypnagogia' – how long had she truly been there?
How old was she?
Maybe – maybe this time, she could stay. Damon told her so little of his human life, his childhood, but from what she was able to infer, it wasn't a happy one – and the way he hid his burn, rather than turn to his family to help with treatment, didn't bode well at all.
Something inside her tugged at the implications. She would ask, of course, but she was almost terrified of the answer.
They walked through the manse in utmost silence, winding this way and that to avoid main rooms, ducking behind staircases, until they finally made it to his chambers.
When they finally walked inside the washroom, she studied the ancient contraptions in fascination. So, this was an early plumbing system – only available to the absolute wealthiest families in the mid-19th century. She supposed she should be glad for one thing – and that was that they didn't have to rely on gathering well water to treat Damon's burn.
She turned the ornate knob – because everything belonging to a family of status had to scream 'pomp' during this period – and let the cool water run, adjusting the temperature with the adjacent knob to make it lukewarm.
"We have to let it run under the water for about twenty minutes, Damon," she said, gingerly taking his arm and placing it under the steady stream.
He instantly winced at the contact but was soon flooded with some relief. "Do you know a lot about medicine, Mi – Elena?" he corrected himself, schooling his face into a smirk almost immediately after his wince, clearly desperate to hide his pain. So, this habit was even older than she initially believed.
Elena smiled. "I was studying to be a doctor, but it was interrupted. I'll continue again someday."
He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that filled her with wistful aching. She missed him so much. "If you ever need to practice your anatomy lessons, as a gentleman, I would be more than willing to help - and provide any required demonstrations."
She couldn't hold back an amused grin, an adoring shake of her head. The seeds were certainly planted – the playful flirt whose core would only be enhanced through vampirism. "How old you are you, exactly, Damon?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.
"I am seventeen years of age!" he replied, scandalized at the question's implication. He was certainly not a child! At her continued silence, he uncomfortably elaborated, "in a month."
Elena smiled quite genuinely in return, a kind of wistfulness overtaking her expression, evolving in a teary laugh. "The spell has a sense of humor," she muttered to herself. At his perplexed look, she elaborated. "I met the love of my life when I was a month from seventeen."
Damon's still expressive face fell immediately, unable to hide his disappointment that this enchanting woman's heart was taken.
And Elena was the most delightful and charming kind of unusual.
"What is he like?" Damon asked instead, eager to hide his displeasure.
She immediately understood the source of his consternation but couldn't resist teasing him just a bit. The memory merge would begin soon enough. "He's – clever, almost too clever – so clever that he's able to fool himself quite easily, especially in matters of his own worth. I wish he would see himself like I see him. He's incredibly brave, and cares more fiercely than anyone I've ever met. And funny – he never fails to make me laugh, even when I'm miserable. He's saved my life more times than I could count, both through his courage and his wit. He has this enormous capacity for love, and it's breath-taking," she breathed. With each word, she saw Damon's face fall evermore, yet she pressed on. The payoff would be worth it. "I love him more than I ever thought humanly possible. He's the best person I know. You'd love him, Damon, if you gave the idea half a chance," she said, placing her other hand on his cheek, just as his eyes shut tight, and he released a sharp gasp.
Elena recognized the physical gesture instantaneously, wondering why it took so much longer than usual. She watched in fascination as the micro-expressions on his face changed, presumably with every memory. Bliss, followed by devastation, and back again. Ardent hope followed by despair. Promises to save her, followed by her disappearances.
Finally, he opened his cerulean eyes and just stared at her in outright shock for several whole moments. "Elena … how?" he breathed, trembling. "I have memories of you over a century from now. Surprise, surprise – you're not a fairy," he deadpanned, then shook his head, bewildered. "But … but I'm – a vampire!?"
She smiled, removing her hand from his cheek to place it on his forearm to ensure he didn't move it away from the water. "Look, I had to tell you something, or you wouldn't buy my completely fantastical tale of being a Specter from the future, unstuck in time, to visit my –"
"My Twin Flame," Damon finished, sighing in wonder. "That man, Luke, he said it's my truest soulmate."
"A-ha! Looks like you weren't always such a cynic," Elena winked conspiratorially. "There was once a time when even Damon Salvatore believed in such things."
He scoffed and turned away, desperate to hide his blush. "I did not think it was possible to love someone so much – like the way I love you in the future. All the memories and feelings are so vivid. It is almost like I am him – all those versions of him – and yet I am also still me," he murmured, almost overwhelmed at the sheer scope of knowledge he had just attained.
"I know," she said softly. "I didn't think it was possible to love someone that much, either. I didn't think it was humanly possible, until I met you – well, the older version of you – the you that you will someday become," she explained, only slightly confusing herself. "But I see some of those seeds have already been planted," she added with a smile, to his answering blush.
"It is such a relief to learn that someday someone will love me – truly love me," Damon said quietly, his gaze downcast. "I was so afraid that it was impossible."
Elena frowned, surprised to hear this self-admonishment already. She was certain that this came after years of vampirism, or at least after Katherine's machinations – certainly not before. Wasn't this a little too early for this kind of talk? She felt abject dread in the pit of her stomach at the implications of everything she had put together so far.
This was the most open she'd ever seen Damon about his pain, perhaps still too young to truly learn to hide it. Would it be wrong of her to take advantage of the moment and pry, to learn why he continually defaulted to thinking so little of himself beneath his veneer of bad boy swagger? Taking less than a second to make up her mind, she pressed forward. This more naïve, teenage Damon needed a friend, after all, and she would never let him feel so lonely and unloved.
"Why would you say that, Damon?" she asked softly. "Where did you get that burn?" she tried again.
"I don't want to talk about it here," he replied, still refusing to face her.
"Then where?" she persisted, her tone unchanged.
"There is a quarry near our property, where I like to hide sometimes to get away from father, when he is especially angry or besieged with bourbon. Let us sneak away there first. I have seen enough of my future memories to know that I may still be overheard, even if your voice is audible only to me."
"Okay," Elena said, acquiescing. After a moment of consideration, she smiled, and placed a kiss on the burn. "For quick healing."
After the wound was treated and dressed, Elena and Damon snuck away to the quarry to talk. She was determined to get to the bottom of this – if she discovered the foundational source of Damon's moods, his spirals, perhaps she could help him when she returned to her time and his older self?
Or was she stuck here? In truth, she'd certainly prefer it to the monotonous hell of 'Hypnagogia.' And she knew Damon would be happy if she was his ever-present company through his vampiric life. Maybe they'd spend those years together? And neither would ever have to be alone? Would she disappear again when the year of her birth came about?
Her mind was so adrift with questions that she hardly noticed them arrive at their destination, the Sun's rays on the water resplendent, glowing like stars in the night.
She took a seat on the visibly warm grass, folding her knees underneath her and smoothing the skirt of her dress. Despite her worries about Damon, she felt so at peace here – on Earth, with him. She hoped so ardently that at least this time she could stay.
"This is one of my favorite places in the world," he said, taking a seat next to her. "If ever I am here at night, I usually build a fire. I love watching fire dance."
"I know," she chuckled, having lost count of the number of times she caught him staring into the fireplace in the Boarding House's parlor when seemingly distraught. She realized a long time ago that watching flames almost had a soothing effect on him.
This was perhaps the most jarring memory merge for her to observe – a strange amalgamation of the Damon she knew, and this clearly human, innocent stranger. Even before receiving the Spectral memories, she could see traces of the man she loved in him – undoubtedly enhanced by vampirism for years to come. She saw the spirit of rebellion, the protective nature, the cleverness, the wit, the kindness that he learned to hide – but it was all wrapped in a package so unquestionably human. This was yet a Damon who still wore his emotions openly. If she was here only for a brief period, like all her other visits, she wouldn't waste this opportunity to learn about him.
To see how she could help heal his future self – learn the truths it became so second-nature for him to hide away.
"I love you," Damon murmured, bewildered in the epiphany of it. "I only met you – but I have memories of a whole life, that I can feel as deeply and vividly as though I lived it, and all the emotions that go along with it. I wonder how that life would change, if only you could stay," he said, in open yearning. "But how are you here? You are not even yet born."
Elena shrugged, visibly confused. "I honestly have no idea. You mentioned once that you think I'm growing stronger, and I think you're right."
"Perhaps with no human Elena to suddenly awaken, you need not disappear?"
"I had that thought, too."
"And if you stay," he said, vivid hope dancing in his cerulean eyes as he shyly took her hand, "perhaps you will be my constant companion as I turn to vampirism, making me the happiest vampire in the known universe," he whispered, squeezing her hand. He had to laugh at his own awkwardness. The scoundrel of Mystic Falls practically afraid to take a woman's hand – but the feelings he held for her filled him with a swell of anxiety. "Or if you ever become fully corporeal again, we can stay human, if you would prefer – get married, raise a family. I will be happy either way, as long as I am with you."
Her eyes immediately jumped to his, heart lurching with recognition as a slow smile warmed her face. To know that this was the real Damon all along – that his capacity for love was so strong and vibrant – was almost overwhelming. She'd long suspected it, of course - that the version only revealed to her in his softest moments was his truest self, but seeing such clear evidence of it was breath-taking. Although a part of her was heartbroken for him that he felt the need to hide it, she was nevertheless awed at the discovery.
She was quiet for a few moments, distinctly recalling a similar moment between them – the exact feelings it elicited – caught in the euphoria, the love, swept in the utter bliss of knowing that her future was full of him.
"I'm taking it. I've been a vampire a long time, and it's been a blast. But I'd give it up in a second to be your husband, partner, father of your kids."
The watched the sunbeams reflect off the ripples in the water, and dance on the tears in her eyes.
"I can take it for us. Okay? Because even if it doesn't work, even if all goes to hell, even if I'm miserable and alone – the smallest chance at the perfect life with you is infinitely better than an immortal one without you. And I know this, Elena. I love you - and I will love you until I take my last breath on this Earth."
"You said something similar to me once," she choked, her voice strained with emotion, caught up in the memory. "You wouldn't have memories of it yet, but for me, that moment meant everything." She released a shaky breath, trying to will the image away and focus on the present. If she had to return to that awful place, she'd like to take in as much of the moment before her, as well, to hold on to it later.
"What did I say?" Damon asked curiously, taken aback by her genuine and emphatic reaction.
She only smiled mysteriously. "Let's leave that a surprise. Now, I believe you made me a promise."
He sighed, dreading this conversation. Right now, he had such perfect memories of Elena loving him, but that's only because she didn't know – she had no idea how worthless he was. If she found out, would that future be rewritten? After all, if even his parents hated him this much …
"Damon?" she gently prompted. "It's okay. You can tell me. I want you to feel safe."
He pursed his lips, trying to will the tears away of what he could potentially lose if she began to see him like his parents did – a perpetual disappointment. But he did promise – and it's not like she wouldn't eventually discover it, anyway. He recalled vividly that feeling, as well – that he had only stolen time. Soon, Elena would see the rot hidden underneath, and then she would know just how vile and unlovable he was, and she would leave him in disgust.
"It was my father."
"Why?" she gasped, horrified. "What happened?"
He couldn't help the rebellious smirk claimed the countenance of his face, almost affecting an expression of pride.
"My father had sought to pursue politics for quite some time – steadily building a 'respectable' reputation, built on nothing but hot air circulating through a structure barely held together by playing cards. He had made plans to dine and woo Harold Lockwood into becoming his campaign manager to win a seat in Congress. He tasked us to behave well for evening dinner on Saturday, for his intended sponsor would arrive, and we must make the perfect impression. I knew, however, that father would be in a drunken rage the night before – as he always is when mother burns his roasted lamb – and as Stefan's painting tutor has taken ill, she would be too distracted to watch dinner carefully, almost certainly creating the very chaos she tried desperately to warn father against, but he was too prideful to listen," he began explaining with rapt expression, clearly delighted by his subterfuge despite the consequences.
"Damon!" Elena's jaw dropped, amused by where she predicted the story would head. "You didn't!"
"I did," he grinned. "I seized the moment and quickly ran to collect the senior Lockwood, apologizing profusely that father had switched the dates, and the dinner would take place within the hour. It was my good fortune that he was quite looking forward to meeting 'wise and measured Giuseppe's' family, and followed me immediately. By the time we arrived, father had already consumed half a bottle of bourbon, nearly rabid in his drunken rage – and the absolute best part was Harold Lockwood overhearing him threatening mother that she had 'better not repeat this monstrosity when that old fool visits tomorrow'," he theatrically explained, adjusting his voice for his father's ill-tempered delivery, his pain forgotten in his uproarious laughter. "Harold Lockwood was aghast at his true nature and left the house in a huff. Father was incandescent with rage, not believing that my gaffe was an innocent error, but it was more than worth this tiny wound. One could say I performed a service for my state – my father should never be given that level of power. And now he will never be."
Not until the vampires come, Elena thought morosely. Then Giuseppe Salvatore would once again stake his claim to power, to his own sons' detriment. She squeezed his hand in hers, smiling at his rebellious spirit, though wishing it didn't come with such pain for him. "I'm still sorry he hurt you – nothing you could have done would warrant this kind of treatment. A father's job is to protect his children, not burn them.
Damon sobered, continuously overwhelmed by her affection. "I was so happy when I grew stronger and was finally able to defend myself against him. But he threatened retribution for my misdeed, and delivered when I was asleep."
"What about this other, older one?" Elena asked, taking the story in with profound sorrow. She suspected with how much Damon buried pain behind his quips and sarcasm that there was a wounded past, but this exceeded even her most horrific expectations.
"He found some money missing and asked if I had taken it. When I said no, he threatened Stefan, so I confessed," he said quietly.
"How old were you?"
"I was thirteen."
"That looks like a cigar burn, too," she breathed, barely able to stop tears from filling her eyes. She gingerly took his hand to comfort him. "He put a cigar out on you just for taking some money?"
"I didn't take it!" he shot back, snatching his hand away in anger. "He threatened to hurt Stef if I did not admit to it, so I was left with no choice."
"Oh, Damon," she breathed, immediately reacting, her heart breaking for him. Cautiously, so not to spook him, she shifted closer, wrapping her arms around him as he desperately tried to hold his emotions at bay. "You're so brave, and such a good brother."
"It turned out to be my mother who took it. My father sent her to another room, to get his bourbon," he admitted bitterly.
"She didn't try to stop him?" Elena whispered, horrified. "She just let you take the fall?"
"Why can't they love me? What's wrong with me?" he whispered into her shoulder, finally losing what tenuous control he had over his emotions. He tried so hard to be strong, to be brave – to hold it all inside. But he'd never spoken to anyone about this – and with that release, everything else came out.
"Nothing!" she replied passionately, feeling white-hot anger course through her. "It's them."
"No, it's me – of course, it's me," he insisted "I'm … hard to love," he finally said, after a few moments. His instinct was to say he was 'impossible to love,' and yet Elena clearly did, so maybe it was just very difficult. "That's why he –"
She pulled back, gingerly cupping his face, turning him to face her. He needed to hear this. "You were a child, Damon, and he's a grown man. He's the one who should be ashamed, not you. You didn't do anything wrong." Her thumbs gentle wiped the stubborn tears that he'd failed to hold back from his cheeks as he turned away, unable to look at her. A part of her felt completely out of her depth – shocked at seeing Damon speaking so openly about his pain. "And it's your mother's job to protect you – the fact that she doesn't is not your fault, either. Okay?" She pulled him closer, stroking his hair in a way that she knew soothed him – alternating between a few with an open palm, and then running her fingers through it.
"That feels really good," he replied instead as he leaned into her touch, changing the subject.
"I know," she smiled. "You told me once it felt really warm and familiar when I stroked your hair this way. Is this how your mom does it?"
He shook his head. "No one has ever done it like that before."
She frowned, unsure how to interpret that information. "Taking the blame to save your brother is very brave and kind, Damon. I have a feeling that that is far from the first or only time, though," she said sadly. "Does this happen a lot?"
He nodded. "It is my job to protect him."
"It looks like you've done an amazing job," she soothed, returning to stroking his hair.
"Yes," he scoffed. "Stefan, the Golden Boy. He could do no wrong in their eyes now, unlike his perpetually ne'er-do-well brother."
"Is that why you've been rebelling so much?" she asked with clear affection.
"Partly," he admitted. "But I also know that this is how they will always see me, regardless of my behavior – so it may as well be on my terms."
She nodded, recognizing this aspect of Damon's personality, as well. As a human, it apparently manifested in mostly harmless rebellion. As a vampire, he was desperate to be seen as a monster – methodically hiding the good in him. She was still grateful beyond measure that she was able to see through this façade. "You deserve better parents – a happier home," she lamented. "I really wish you had that – parents who loved you, adored you for the amazing, brave, kind, brilliant person that you are. I wish I could save you from this."
"But if you stay," he suddenly brightened, pulling away to gaze at her. "I could not think of anything in this world that would make me happier than if you would stay. I saw the memories of my life before I met you, and it was so awfully lonely. It would be so different if you were there with me – if we could live all those years together. And you would not have to go back to that place."
"Maybe I can," she said pensively. "Maybe our earlier speculations were correct. Usually, the me from whatever time I visit you in is asleep while I'm there, but this is before I was even born. Maybe I won't have to disappear this time."
"Since no one can see you, perhaps you would like to stay in my chambers?" Damon asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Elena laughed, knowing this part of his personality quite well.
"I don't even know if I sleep," she frowned. "I haven't needed to sleep since I've been placed under this spell. Or maybe I'm always asleep."
"It matters not!" he exclaimed cheerfully. "Because you are here now, and you are my Twin Flame – and you are the most beautiful girl in the world, and the smartest, and kindest, and I already know how much I'm going to love you – because I love you already. And you love me back," he breathed in wonder. "I did not think that was possible for me, because I am not –"
"You're very lovable, Damon," Elena interrupted, correctly intuiting what he was about to say. "After all, I love you. And you know that, right?" she winked coquettishly.
He pulled Elena into his arms, holding her close, just basking in the knowledge that he was loved – actually loved. "If you stay, we could be so happy – we could change everything!" As soon as he said those words, in his naivete, they both realized the implications, their entire expressions shifting in horror as Elena began to phase out of existence.
They triggered the failsafe in the spell.
"No – no, I did not mean it!" he cried, horrified. "Everything could stay the same. We will not change anything. Please, stay, Elena. I need you."
"I wish I could."
He tried to reach for her hand, then frowned when it passed right through her. "What is happening?" he asked, horrified. "Why are you becoming transparent?" he pressed, before vividly recalling the exact reason. "No…" he trailed off in horror. "Not yet, please! Please do not go, Elena! I need you," he cried desperately.
Her heart sank. So much for that beautiful dream. Damon would have to live the bulk of his life as a vampire in a pit of loneliness, and she would go back to that awful place. "I don't have a choice," she said sadly, her heart breaking as she recalled the significance of those words. She then grew determined, fierce in her resolve. "But, Damon, please remember - I hope so badly that you're able to remember, at least a little. You are so deserving of love – you're amazing. If your parents can't see that, then they're the ones at fault. None of this is yours. You're a beautiful person, who looks out for his brother. And someday, you're going to be unapologetically happy. And they'll never be able to hurt you again. No one will. I'll make sure of it. I'll protect you, and I'll keep you safe, okay?"
"I will save you, Elena," Damon said resolutely, and she had to smile at his innocent determination. "I will protect you, always. I will not let that witch, or anyone, hurt you ever again."
"My Damon," she smiled. "I'll find you again."
As Elena disappeared, Damon was bewildered to find himself alone in the quarry. The bandages on his forearm were gone, but curiously, the burn seemed to look and feel considerably better than it had … seconds ago? No, it couldn't be seconds. Surely, it had taken longer than that to get here. Why couldn't he remember?
He frowned and walked back home, relieved that at least his burn didn't hurt anymore. In fact, it looked to be almost healed – perhaps this one would not even scar.
Years Later
"There is no world, no reality without her," Damon said to his brother as he sat numbly on the bank of the quarry, completely hollowed out. Somehow, he felt those words etched onto his very heart – there was something so familiar, so right about them. When he first laid eyes on Katherine, it was like something in him lurched. That face – that face – it was the one worn by his true love. He was not sure how he knew this to be true exactly, but he had never been more certain of anything in his life.
And she was dead.
And the world was thus over. There would be no more happiness – no more life. Not for him.
She was gone.
He often wondered how he knew exactly – but every time he tried to analyze that very specific and strange feeling, it would evaporate so quickly – almost like a memory from a dream. And yet, somehow, he knew it to be her.
He recognized her face immediately, written into his heart – drawn with the nimblest, most loving care, emblazoned on it forever.
And so, he tried to bid the world adieu, refusing eternity if she could not be a part of it, until his brother returned with a compelled human girl, and forced him to complete his transition.
More than halfway done!
Sooo… what does everyone think about that twist? (And yes, Damon's words about Katherine and the world not existing without her were intentionally chosen in line with chapter 5 – and canon. I know there are a ton of stories where Damon somehow met Elena first and she was somehow the one he really waited for, without realizing it – so this is just my take on it.)
But wait! Wasn't the spell supposed to prevent any changes to the timeline? :D Chapter 7 will explore possible ways to explain this.
I originally had Specter Elena visit Damon on the night Giuseppe burned him when he took the fall for Lily stealing the money, but then I realized that this was way too young for him to get some of adult Damon's memories, so I re-wrote the scene to have her visit him a few years later, instead. I still wanted them to have a similar conversation, so Giuseppe just did it again. I also liked the symmetry of Damon and Elena meeting each other for the first time at the same age – a month away from 17. We'll say that this is a few months before Lily dies. I considered having Elena visit him then, but I feel like this was already dealt with in canon, with his S6 eulogy for Liz. The bombshell S7 dropped with Damon having an abusive childhood – especially given how little Lily did to protect him (and how little she seemed to care, with how she spoke about it to him as an adult), seems like the foundation for a lot of what went wrong with his life, and probably needed to be addressed and healed more. So, I just re-created a similar scenario to the one that canonically happens when he's younger.
I read that wealthy families in the mid-19th century had indoor plumbing with hot and cold running water, and the Salvatores were undoubtedly wealthy, so I incorporated that into the story to save myself a headache. :D
TVD's interpretation of 1864 lingo seemed to essentially be "no contractions," so here we are. :D Pardon any anachronisms. I'm not a linguistic historian, by any means.
The title comes from Einstein's sarcastic description of quantum entanglement. I thought it would be a cute name for the farthest trip she'd taken.
Reviews are expressions of love, everyone, so please let me know what you think and how you feel about the chapter. I appreciate it all. Much love, all.
