Author's note: Thanks for the love, everyone!
I thought I'd try something different in this chapter and have it open and close with bookends. The goal with this one, more or less, is to establish how Specter magic works, so it's a bit of a montage.
The memories that flood Damon's mind are in italics.
Tyler Lockwood bit him. Having seen, in great vivid and agonizing detail, what a werewolf bite did to Rose, Damon wasn't exactly optimistic about the outcome of this latest misadventure. Maybe he'd let the sunlight take him out tomorrow, so he wouldn't have to go out like a chump.
He wanted to apologize to Elena first, though – see her one last time.
His heart constricted. Had Elijah been right? Would she never forgive him?
He threw the tumbler of bourbon that he'd been nursing into the fireplace, satisfied at the sound that it made when it shattered upon impact. Steffie would have to buy some new crystalware during his next hair gel supply run. That's three tumblers broken just this week.
But not that one – never that one.
He looked at it warily – the container that he couldn't bring himself to break – the one that almost seemed to contain her essence.
That's it. He'd gone insane. Completely and unequivocally.
At least he'd be dead the next day. Good riddance.
He could have groaned at the maudlin direction of his thoughts – practically dripping with disdain. He might as well give himself Hero Hair and a Bunnies Beware Badge. Disgusting, he thought, filling up that tumbler with bourbon.
"I'm here to officially request that you greet me with Dom next time – not that … barely ingestible gasoline," Elena – who had quite suddenly materialized in his room – said with a playful smile as she dubiously observed the contents of his glass.
He smirked, fighting everything inside him to appear nonchalant that she was here. Did that mean that there was a chance at forgiveness? "And yet you've stolen enough of my drinks that I'm tempted to ask if you have a taste for car fluids."
"Desperate times," she shrugged. "About that Dom?" she queried with a grin, trying to puzzle out when she was exactly. He seemed more okay than the last few visits. Calm. Resigned. That could either be great news, or the exact opposite.
"If you want to see me naked, Elena – all you have to do is ask. No need to ply me with champagne first," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Maybe it's not for you," she teased, stifling a shocked gasp when seconds later, Damon blurred back into the room with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal champagne flutes.
"How are you doing?" he asked her cautiously as he poured. She seemed a little too cheerful for someone who'd just come back from the dead, and would have to bury her aunt and biological father the following day.
"I'm dealing," she replied evasively, which was technically the truth. She supposed that the thin line of his lips was meant to be a reassuring smile, though its unconvincing shape, combined with its lack of impact on his eyes, signified its complete failure.
"To survival," he toasted, unable to hold back a laugh at the irony.
She furrowed her eyebrows, studying him, then echoed his salutation. "To survival – and to love – always to love," she breathed, carefully observing his initial pained reaction that he quickly hid, before they clinked glasses and drank.
The flute was crushed in Damon's hand as she shut his eyes tightly, his mind suddenly flooding with memories.
Elena – a future Elena – on the night of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant. Enzo's alive. Telling him she loves him, that it'll always be him.
Elena walking into the parlor on the night he confessed his love and compelled it away – wearing that dress – always that dress. Her warnings came to pass.
Everything within his heart expanding and constricting – on fire – as she explained to him that he's the reason she was able to heal, and is happy again, how much she loves him.
He squeezed the remaining glass in his hand, cutting into his skin, in shock.
Elena as a vampire? A sire bond? But when? How? A future memory?
The sire bond, broken. Reassurance of love. They'll find each other. They'll always find each other.
After being interrupted several times during increasingly heated moments, a decidedly frustrated Elena growled when she found herself whisked into the Mystic Grill, next to an increasingly intoxicated Damon, who'd apparently been cajoling, coercing, and all manner of convincing a steadily reluctant Matt to ply him with bourbon.
Did it have to be a public place? She wasn't sure that the sheltered regulars at her hometown watering hole were ready for what she had in mind. And then she remembered that only he could see or feel her and grinned wickedly.
Wait, how did he know this – the direction of her thoughts? Right, she confessed it to him later over a giggle, in the garden.
The memories began to arrange themselves in a version of a chronological order, if it could even be called that.
"Hey, lover," she whispered sultrily into Damon's ear right after jumping into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him sensually.
His only response was to let his jaw hang agape, as his shocked gaze cartoonishly shifted to and fro, between her eyes and the bottle on the bar, clearly questioning both his sanity and his senses. "Elena?" he choked.
How did she manage to sneak up on him? Was she even here? Wasn't she supposed to be at Whitmore?
Matt rolled his eyes with a pronounced scoff. "Yeah, I get it. You dumped Elena, and now you need to hold the Grill's entire bourbon supply hostage until you finish it off."
Elena groaned. Right. The time Damon broke up with her. She was probably having troubled sleep in her dorm at this moment, hours away from being woken up by Caroline for her 'break-up breakfast.' And least she hoped it wouldn't be for hours.
He looked like he was going to ask her another question, but since this memory was painful for her, as well, she thought she'd just silence him with a kiss – and after only the slightest nanosecond of frozen shock, he immediately began reciprocating.
At the moment their lips touched, Damon's psyche was immediately flooded with memories of the Specter's previous visits – Miss Mystic Falls, the night he first confessed his love, the night he sent her home using the sire bond. With each increasing visit, Damon was dismayed to discover that Elena held back a lot of information about the obstacles they'd have to overcome – some of them seemingly insurmountable.
At least she'd been telling the truth about them breaking the sire bond.
Recalling the act of recalling had been one of the trippiest sensations of his life - and he had vivid memories of Woodstock, where he partook in a massive share of psychedelics both through blood and straight from the source.
He meant to question her, but he couldn't resist – couldn't pull away. He groaned as he felt her tongue on a particularly sensitive part of his neck. A light bite that sent the sensitive nerve endings into raging wildfire.
He wrapped an arm around her waist to grind her against his steadily growing erection, with the other threaded in her hair.
Elena moaned into his mouth, feeling everything inside her yearn for closeness. It never seemed like enough time – and each moment spent apart was too long.
"Uh, what are you doing?" asked a decidedly bewildered Matt, knocking them both out of their shared haze. "Why do you have your tongue out like that? And what's up with those noises? Are you okay, man?"
Instinctively, Matt backed away and wondered if delirium was something that happened to vampires. Damon looked like he was making out with someone invisible, and it was freaking him the hell out.
So he told him, though Damon couldn't recall the exact words.
"Sorry, Donovan," Damon sassed. "My libido was desperately trying to prove its own existence to me after nearly dying by listening to you wax philosophic about your high school football glory days all night, so I had to save it by imagining myself elsewhere. On the list of things sexier than listening to a failed Quarterback are such unexpected delights as 'watching DIY hair tutorials with my mopey bro' and 'waiting in line behind Coupon Karen.'"
Elena giggled and hopped onto the bar, taking a seat. "I think we might need to switch locations to something a little more private," she said, letting her legs dangle.
"Yeah, whatever," Matt said, rolling his eyes. "Screw you, too."
"Not likely," Damon replied, disturbing Matt even more when he seemingly winked to an empty space at the bar, then promptly got up and walked out.
Elena took his hand as they found themselves in the Grill's garden area – closed to customers at this time of night, and thus conveniently secluded.
"This was the fastest I've ever realized who you were," Damon revealed pensively.
"Must be my magic touch," Elena grinned, going in for another kiss. She pulled away with a frown when she needed to catch her breath. "Are you okay? You told me what my appearances mean."
"You didn't tell me we fought the Universe itself to be together," Damon snarked, desperately trying to sound nonchalant, and largely succeeding. But Elena knew him too well.
"I knew you were more bothered by that than you admitted," Elena sighed with an attempt at a cute pout, taking both of his hands in hers. "It's not the Universe. It's just some guy – a Traveler witch – named Markos. He cast a love spell on all doppelgängers fifteen hundred years ago, because the Travelers need our blood to break their generational curse. It's to make us seek each other out," she explained, rolling her eyes and affecting a sardonic took at the absurdity of the notion. "With the promise of 'true love,' or whatever. It's just a spell."
"How do you know that?" he asked with more hope than he consciously allowed.
"He revealed it to you – and Enzo. Enzo couldn't shut up about it after you came back from –" she cut herself off, her eyes suddenly widening in alarm. He narrowed his own, knowing that she almost revealed something she didn't plan to, but she continued before he could ask. "Because apparently back then there was nothing that he loved more in this world than pissing Stefan off," she said with a shrug, hoping that if she made light of it, he would, too.
"You were right about Enzo," he said, frowning, choosing to ignore her gaffe – for now. "We found him. But every time we tried to save him in the past, something would get in the way. You woke up – then the notes I left myself regarding his whereabouts disappeared. The timeline's trying to protect itself," he realized.
"Then why am I visiting you? If not to change things, then what's the point?" Elena demanded.
"We'll figure it out, Elena – together," he said emphatically, taking her face in his hands, letting his thumbs trace patterns on her cheeks. "The world be damned, I'm going to find a way to save you."
"I know," she breathed, leaning into his touch. Of all the tumult and uncertainties in her life, Damon being willing to move the very cosmos to save her was a constant. She smiled then. "I hope you realize that this silly break-up won't stick."
He kissed her, savoring the feel of her lips on his. Reality caught up to him, and he let his forehead rest on hers, his eyes still closed. "This is for your own good. I can't take the chance of changing you, Elena."
"But you already have," she breathed. "You showed me what true happiness is – you helped me remember what it was like to live without feeling like I don't deserve it." She let her hands rest on his cheeks, as well, mirroring his affection, savoring their shared breath. "More than live – you helped me come alive. I've never felt more happy or alive than when I'm with you, Damon," she whispered, finally opening her eyes to meet his gaze – intense, vulnerable, loving, disbelieving, hopeful.
"You don't know everything," he insisted, but his conviction sounded weak even to his own ears.
"I know more than you realize," she said enigmatically, before they claimed each other's lips anew.
Damon drove for hours, without any destination. Elena finally came to her senses and left him in the dust. He knew it was only a matter of time before she realized what a vile, unlovable monster he was.
And she was right.
He proved as much when he tore out Aaron Whitmore's throat a few hours prior. Afterward, he and Enzo found a place to crash for the night before making plans to begin a cathartic killing spree. They were both monsters. Broken men, whose jagged pieces cut everyone who got too close. All they knew how to do was break, destroy – and so they would.
It was only a matter of time, anyway. It seemed like no matter how hard he tried, this was always going to be where he ended up. Alone. Unloved.
A monster.
Might as well embrace it.
Maybe Enzo hated him – and he had every right – but at least he was an ally. An ally that was once a close friend, one whom he'd betrayed and left to die alone.
Because all he was, was a monster. And all he knew how to do was to destroy.
And so, they would be monsters and destroy together. At least they'd have their revenge. Next on the agenda was to find Wes Maxfield and carve out his fucking eyes. See how he liked it.
At least it got his mind off his pain – his broken heart – how close he came to real happiness.
If the fucking Universe wanted his brother and Elena together so badly, then he'd leave them to it. The farther away from him, the better.
And so it was with profound irony that Elena appeared next to him in the vehicle, looking intensely sad, heartbroken.
"It wasn't me," she breathed through the tears falling down her cheeks.
She instantly knew where she was, feeling the spirit of Katherine around her so strongly, she thought she was going to choke – only half here, because the Elena of this time wasn't truly asleep – but instead trapped inside her own body while it was commandeered by another.
She told him this during a later memory. Earlier?
His mind fought to make sense of every moment flooding him at once, desperate to sort it chronologically. Yes, during the following visit, Elena explained how she knew – what she felt. He recognized all the traces of it on her face.
"Elena!?" he gasped, nearly losing control of the wheel in his shock as he frantically pulled over. He reached for her, but she wasn't corporeal. His hand passed right through.
"Why can't I touch you?" he demanded, panicked.
"I think – I think it's because Katherine's possessing my body," she cried in a spike of anxiety Her voice seemed far away, more like an echo than any vivid sound – one that wouldn't be entirely comprehensible if not for supernatural hearing.
She was a ghost.
"What!?" he roared in alarm, before shutting his eyes, as memories of an Elena wearing this exact dress bombarded him - the act of recalling within recalling continued to be one of strangest experiences of his life. He remembered in vivid horror what it meant when he couldn't physically feel her.
She looked right at him, almost transparent. Her expression was so defeated. "I wish you realized it wasn't me – that I would never do that to you."
"We have to stop her! We have to –" he cut himself off, taking out his phone to text his brother, Blondie, Witchy, Wolfboy, fucking Donovan – anyone. He was too far away to make any difference tonight, but if one of them found her…
No reception. The texts wouldn't go through. Funny, he wasn't driving through a particularly mountainous area.
"You will," she said, pulling her legs onto the seat and wrapping her arms around them. "But not before she does her damage – looks like she already has."
"Elena, I –"
"You never told me what she said to you – how she hurt you," she lamented, looking into his eyes. "I wish you would trust me with that part of you."
"I'll get her out of you, Elena," he promised, deftly avoiding the topic.
She nodded sadly, expecting exactly this. Damon would defy the very laws of existence to keep her safe, but he wouldn't let her into the parts of himself that hurt.
And she had no idea how to get him to start.
He drove home in the same silence that haunted him since they left Denver. After dropping off Elena and Jeremy at their house, he sequestered himself in his bedroom, content to spend the night alone and away from goddesses with big brown doe-eyes whose list of hobbies included reaching deep inside him to forcefully open him up to love again, just to rip his undead, still-beating heart from his chest.
Or maybe he should go out, instead. The Tri-Delta sorority house had been severely deprived of the Eternal Stud, and he could use the ego boost. He'd been about to head out, when suddenly Elena appeared in his room.
He sneered, desperately hoping that it concealed the anguish he felt at the sight of her.
"I don't want you here," he told her coldly.
"You might change your mind about that in a few seconds," she said confidently.
She kissed him. The memories of her previous visits flooded his consciousness. They spoke about everything - for ages. He felt warm, safe. Loved.
She began to disappear again. He felt agony, despair. Resolve.
He would save her.
Damon ripped through the hospital. Nonono, she couldn't be dead. But Ric was, and that meant – no, he couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
The second the idea of Elena's mortality took hold, all thoughts of her choice fell by the wayside. Of course, he wanted her to love him – to choose him. He craved it desperately.
But that's not what mattered to him truly. All he ever wanted was for Elena to be safe, happy – alive. Even it wasn't with him.
He wasn't Stefan. Stefan yearned for her love above all – even willing to let her walk to her death, as long as she chose him and loved him.
And while it hurt unbearably, Damon was more concerned with her well-being than her love.
As long as she was happy. Safe. Alive.
"I'll make all the life-and-death decisions, while you're busy worrying about collateral damage. I'll even let her hate me for it. But at the end of the day, I'll be the one to keep her alive."
He barely registered Meredith Fell approach him until she revealed the news that filled him with both ire and elation. She could be saved! But she never wanted this – it wasn't her choice.
And yet, if Meredith didn't treat her with his blood, Elena would have been gone for good.
He numbly walked into the room, everything inside clenching at the thought of seeing her lifeless body on a metal slab. When he looked up, though, he nearly stumbled in shock.
Two Elenas. One lifeless; and the other, very much alive. The standing Elena's shocked expression reflected his own inner turmoil, as she studied both him and her other self intently. For less than a second, he entertained the idea that it could be Katherine, but no. He'd know Elena's eyes anywhere.
Katherine would never fool him again. He was certain of it.
"Elena?" he breathed, walking closer to them both.
Distantly, he heard Stefan explain something about her being in transition, clearly unaware of the other her in the room. Was he hallucinating? Dreaming? Had he finally gone completely insane?
"It's me," she whispered in response.
He barely had a moment to take her words in, when his eyes shut, and he was overwhelmed with an influx of memories – all of which had Elena wearing that same navy-blue dress.
He also instantly knew that Elena would complete her transition, and that she would be okay.
But this wouldn't be the last time Katherine would fool him, he thought bitterly.
"I don't understand," Elena said, frightened. "I'm not asleep – I'm dead! This has never happened before."
Damon took her hands in his, heedless of how he looked to the other occupants in the room. "I don't understand it either, but we'll figure it out together, okay?" he said firmly, reassuring her. She nodded, squeezing his hands in return.
"That's very generous of you, Damon," Stefan said sarcastically, "but the choice is Elena's."
He wanted to ask how she died, but he instantly knew – because he had all the memories, experiences, emotions of himself in his own future, his mind temporarily melding with a Damon yet to come.
All Damons from the Specter's visits hitherto.
Stefan let her die. He wanted to rip his brother's head off – at least metaphorically – for allowing this to happen. But right now, Elena needed him more. He stepped forward to take her in his arms, but his own went right through her, phasing in and out of a corporeal state.
She stifled a sob. "I don't want to go back there, Damon. I want to stay here, with you."
"I'll bring you back to me – I promise," he soothed. "We'll research this. We'll figure out what's happening to you, and we'll stop it. We'll save you, Elena," he urged, just as she began to nod frantically, and disappeared.
"Research?" Stefan queried, looking pensive. "Like if there's a way to save her from having to complete her transition?"
"What are you talking about?" Damon scoffed. "That's literally the only way for her to survive. Don't you dare fill her with false hope just to snatch it away by the end of the day when she has to feed or die. You wouldn't be doing her any favors."
"But you said –!" Stefan began, profoundly confused. "Nevermind."
What followed was a particularly pointless exercise in false hope and unnecessary risk, during which Stefan managed to convince Elena that Bonnie would find a way out of her having to complete her transition. He risked her life for nothing, leading her to delay her first taste of human blood until it was almost too late, Damon scoffed. It was practically a miracle she survived. Fucking idiot.
Breathing heavily, Damon came back into his own mind. It took longer every time, given the sheer span of experiences that he had with this Elena – this future Elena that visited him during seemingly random moments in time whose only tether was his soul-aching need for her.
"Welcome back," she smiled, kissing his cheek. She let her hand caress the other as she gazed into his eyes, relieved to be in his presence again. After that last, chaotic visit where she was a corpse about to enter transition, she couldn't be sure that it would normalize again.
He took the hand on his cheek and turned to kiss the pulse point on her palm, delighted at her visible shiver. "You, too."
They drew together in aching relief after the scare of her last visit, frantic lips meetings tongues and wandering hands, needing to feel the closeness – the evidence that the other was really, truly there.
They pulled apart to breathe, still unable to disconnect in any way, needing to hold each other close, if only through eye contact.
"Remembering future visits feels so weird," Damon said half to himself.
"You say that every time," Elena laughed, cuddling into his side after they both moved to the bed.
"It's hard to piece together at first. I feel everything that he – I – felt – will feel – when you visit me during the sire bond, after our break-up, when that doppel-bitch possesses you. How did that turn out, by the way?"
"We got her out," Elena replied evasively.
"Anything else you want to share about our apparently rocky road to bliss?" Damon sassed.
She instantly deflated, her mind involuntarily shifting toward his temporary death – her despair, her slow turn into a monster, and how she reluctantly gave away what was dearest to her lest she become the very nexus of agonizing grief, spreading it to all humans who encounter her when she was in the thick of her bloodlust. "Not particularly," she whispered, her eyes downcast, unable to meet his.
"So, there is more," he frowned at having correctly surmised her abrupt change in mood.
She nodded. "Yeah, one more really painful bump in the road, not counting the spell."
"Want to talk about it?" he asked without judgment, tilting her chin to meet his gaze.
"Maybe later. After almost losing you – losing this – I'd rather just be happy for a while. Celebrate," she gestured to the bottle with her head, "that we could at least see each other like this again."
"I've been thinking – and I'm not sure that we're losing anything," he presented. "I think you're getting more stronger. Whatever it is that was done to you, your power is expanding."
"Why do you say that?" she asked curiously.
"Think about it – you've always made jumps through time, but now you can move backward – and somehow share with me my own memories from a future me that encounters you," he elaborated excitedly. "And you're able to appear when your physical body during that time is dead or possessed. You're growing. We should be looking into this. If we can figure out what's happening to you, maybe it'll provide a clue about how to wake you up."
"Yeah!" she replied enthusiastically, bubbling with warmth. "We probably need to talk to some witches. Too bad there's no occult library nearby, but maybe the Occult Studies department at Whitmore?"
"Great! I'll drive."
"Wait …Damon, when am I?" she asked cautiously, biting her lip.
He winced, distinctly feeling that her learning about her exact placement in time might put a damper on their plans. Nevertheless, he uncuffed his sleeve and showed her the early manifestation of his werewolf venom infection. "Tyler Lockwood bit me a little before the ritual."
"We are not going anywhere today!" she cried adamantly.
"Elena … come on. I already know that the Original Drama-Lord is going to cure me with his magic blood. I've seen it in my own memories."
"Exactly! He needs to cure you. I'm not taking any chances that we're somewhere else, and he can't find you in time." When it looked like he was about to argue, she nearly lost it, panic seizing everything inside her as she gripped his hand impossibly hard. "Damon, please! I can't lose you. Not aga –" she stopped, desperate to catch her breath over the shudder fighting its way out from the deepest parts of her. "Please," she begged, her dark, expressive eyes pleading.
Damon frowned. He sincerely doubt that the spell would allow them to make any moves to kill him, since he imagined that his own nonexistence henceforth would alter her timeline irrevocably, at least from what he'd seen. But if the spell felt that them leaving would open him to any potential danger, it might wake up the Elena of this time immediately, cutting their time short, so he indulged her.
"Okay," he breathed, unnerved by the sharp rise of anxiety he just witnessed. "But next time –"
"I promise!" she interrupted, flooding with relief as she pulled him into a frenzied kiss. "Now, I believe you owe me some champagne? Don't start holding out," she teased playfully.
He was back seconds later with a fresh flute and an adoring smile. The sparkling beverage was poured into each respective glass.
"To love – always to love," he smiled, echoing her earlier toast with a lot more confidence than before. Her eyes were glassy with emotion as she took her sip, only to drop her flute as she disappeared from sight.
The following day had a despairing Elena cuddling into an increasingly resigned Damon, accepting his fate, but grateful that his last few minutes would be spent in such a blissful state.
"I know you love Stefan, and that it'll always be Stefan," he wheezed, fighting through the painful effects of the werewolf venom. "But I love you. You should know that."
"I do," she whispered, nodding through her tears. The moment gripped her in sheer its agony. She couldn't believe it – wouldn't accept it. She couldn't lose him. Without thought or preemptive motive – before she could properly analyze her own behavior – Elena's lips met Damon's in a chaste kiss. All she knew was that she wanted to give him some happiness, before ... It hurt too much to finish the thought. She just wanted him to experience being loved, because he was - she stopped herself again. She wanted him to know she cared.
And quite suddenly, in a manner profoundly similar to when the Specter visited, Damon's consciousness was flooded with memories. He opened his bleary eyes, the effects of the venom clouding his vision. Elena was next to him, holding him – crying.
"I'll be fine, Elena. Don't cry. And we'll save you from the sleeping spell. I promise we'll save you," he whispered brokenly.
She looked at him strangely, wondering if perhaps the delirium had begun. At least he knew that he was speaking to her.
"Ssh, don't try to talk," she told him tenderly, stroking his cheek. "I'm here with you – until the end."
"Thank you," he whispered, losing the battle with consciousness.
"Well, it's me you should be thanking," Katherine purred from the doorway, cure to Damon's ailment in hand.
Elena was profoundly distraught – a veritable mess of emotion. The palpable relief she felt at Damon's survival versus the agonizing news that Stefan was gone, left with Klaus to aid him in his homicidal endeavors.
The now undeniable feelings she had for Damon blossoming from within her versus Katherine assertion that 'it's okay to love them both' because she did, like ice water in her veins.
She was just like Katherine. No – no, she couldn't be like Katherine. Katherine tore them apart. She would never do that.
She had to stifle her feelings, freeze them, hide away anything even remotely romantic that she felt for Damon. She couldn't be like Katherine. Katherine destroyed them. She couldn't spread that kind of pain – she couldn't hurt them like that – not her.
If only she'd met Damon first. Perhaps things could be different.
No – she drowned the thought before she could even examine it.
The object of her at once desire and consternation walked into the room, looking pensive, troubled. It pulled at something deep within her that she wasn't ready to explore. Instead, she aimed to distract – perhaps to lighten the mood. "You were so weird yesterday."
"Yeah," he wryly scoffed. "Werewolf venom, meet brain, get temporary psychosis."
"You kept telling me something about saving me from a sleeping spell," she giggled. "It made no sense whatsoever."
He frowned, something about the notion tugging at him, but refused to elaborate.
"It's funny," she mused. "I had that dream again. It's so elusive. Every time I have it – I have these plans to research it. Why I have this recurring dream about a lonely field filled with nothing? But then I forget it ever happened. And I only remember when it happens again – only to forget again soon after," she breathed.
"Nope! Sounds like you're the weirdo," he winked, playfully ruffling her hair.
"It's like the dream doesn't want to be remembered," she frowned.
"Sentient dreams, Elena?" he teased. "Maybe I'm not the only one with werewolf venom temporary psychosis."
"Temporary?" she shot back with a grin, feeling lighter – marveling at the effect he continued to have on her, but she fought the notion as soon as it began. He was forbidden. Exploring her feelings in this manner would only lead to pain for everyone involved, but a deep part of her still ached to do just that.
If only she'd met him first.
So, this chapter's admittedly a bit weird (which is always fun for me). In case it was unclear, Elena's POV showing up in Damon's memories is explained by her telling him about this in a later memory, so his mind recognizes the expressions on her face to piece it together.
Also, in case it's unclear from this chapter, every time the Specter visits Damon, he regains all memories, experiences, feelings, etc. the Damon of her previous visits, even if it's in his future. But it's from the perspective of her timeline, which is why S2 Damon didn't know nearly as much the first time she visited him as the second. For Specter Elena, it happened later, so he got those memories later. On that note, though, did he really just get them later, or were they just dormant, and does her presence awaken them? More on that in chapters 6 and 7. :D (Really psyched about those.)
Just to be clear, Stefan doesn't get the idea to look for the Cure from Damon's brief interaction with the Specter - it's to have Bonnie seek for an alternative to completing the transition, at which Damon scoffs in canon.
Yeah, yeah, I know that Enzo didn't go around, shouting from the rooftops in canon about Markos' revelation, but I kind of feel like it would be in character for him to do so. Enzo loves stirring pots (quite like Damon), and he really had a penchant for getting to Stefan back then, so it's my head canon that this is exactly what happened.
The Katherine-possession scene is partly inspired by Florencia7's very, very brilliant "I Carry Your Heart With Me," in the sense that Elena wasn't completely audible. (Except she kind of was here - just not as vividly as usual.)
Much love, all. :)
