Author's note: Hi, everyone! This is a story I have going on AO3, but I wanted to try bringing it here, too. Since this one updates rarely, I made it so that the chapters almost feel like self-contained stories, with a subtle tease, rather than an outright cliffhanger.
I've been exceptionally busy - and a bit sleep-deprived as a result. Hope you enjoy! :)
The title is inspired by the Mathematics (specifically Probability) term, but is only loosely applied to the overall theme. Essentially, results can be predicted from random steps taken because they create a cumulative effect. How this relates to the story will be revealed in due time. ;) My very, very favorite applications of random walk are those in Astrophysics! The most famous example of applied random walk is probably Brownian motion, though, so if you want to give it a Google, you'll be delighted! :D
Full summary: Kai's sleeping spell is known in clandestine witch circles as The Sanity Syphon and has the unintended consequence of driving its victim insane due to prolonged solitude and monotony. Hearing of this, Valerie whispers a spell over a sleeping Elena to turn her into a Specter for the remainder of her magical coma, allowing her to detach from time and space to visit her Twin Flame when his subconscious calls her. Each time she disappears, so does all memory of her and her visit. Or does it?
The first time Elena appears to Damon is on the night of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant.
The first few chapters can be read as thematic one-shots, before the plot really picks up.
How long had she been here?
Elena idly wondered, as she walked through the space between life and death. It was where Kai's spell placed her. She liked to call it Hypnagogia – though a more rational part of her realized that it was probably more akin to purgatory. Still Hypnagogia had a better ring to it, didn't it? The aspiring medical professional within her certainly thought so – after all, it was the official term for the state of being between wakefulness and sleep, which was technically true of her condition – though 'life' and 'death' would have probably been more accurate, she surmised. And it lacked all that pompous Biblical gravitas that came associated with hellfire and judgement and Carol Lockwood's fundraisers of self-righteousness.
The terrain seemed to vary depending on her mood, so she quickly decided that it was at least partly a manifestation of her subconscious. Most of the time – and this was probably as close as she came to really seeing this place for what it was – it appeared as a verdant meadow. Whenever she wandered to its end, however, she would encounter a familiar locale. Most often, she'd find herself revisiting places of her past – the high school, the Salvatore Boarding House, Wickery Bridge …
But all of these places seemed empty and devoid of people, except when she'd occasionally run into a freshly deceased soul - most frequently in the meadow, which she inferred must have held some universal power. These spirits would be awash with fright and confusion, desperate to either return to their corporeal form on Earth or move on entirely, once their situation had been made clear. If it was a particularly social soul, she might even get a brief conversation out of it, but that was rare. Usually, they were whisked away to Peace before they ever acknowledged her existence. In alternate cases, she'd see great gales pull them somewhere ominous – underneath. She shivered whenever she thought of that place.
Sometimes, she would see others there for extended period, deducing that like her, they were also somehow in the in-between – perhaps comatose – though they were rarely able to see her. Perhaps with age, she reasoned, belief in magic dwindled, and envisioning such a place would become quite impossible without at least considering its possibility. In order for the wilds of imagination to roam free, the mind had to stay open, after all.
It was different in the heartbreaking event that it was a child, however, since they were the most frequent believers in magic and thus corporealized quite easily. She had always been maternal, and thus gravitated to the wayward youths immediately – wanting to at once ease their fears and give her own existence meaning. Sometimes, she would merely talk to them console them, make them laugh; occasionally, they might even play a game. She loved the moments when the confused tears would subside and the kid's fright was overtaken by laughter – the joy of it so contagious that she almost felt like she slipped back into childhood as they crawled around the space pretending to be ancient dragons that once allegedly roamed the Earth, in their fantasy land. Before long, however, a mysterious entity would come to collect the child, and she would be alone. Again.
She would either witness them disappear, presumably back to their respective bodies on Earth; or she would be shattered to watch them ascend to Peace, years and years before their time.
Elena always loved children – planned to have some of her own with Damon before … well, before all this. Perhaps someday they'll get that chance again.
But most of the time, she was utterly alone. And this would go on for nearly a century – or whatever the remaining lifespan would be of a Bennett witch, a bloodline whose members were known for their longevity.
The sacrifice had been worth it, and one by which she stood. Bonnie fully deserved to live a complete and actualized life, filled with happiness – chasing her hopes and dreams.
But she missed social interaction. She missed her friends.
Most of all, she missed Damon. Sometimes, in this ethereal world ruled as much by sentiment as imagination, she could almost imagine his arms around her, his warm breath on her cheek – his sardonic chuckle in her ear and the light of love in his cerulean eyes. She would melt into those moments, but then they would dissipate just as quickly, like a whisp of smoke in a glacial tundra.
She tried finding ways to alleviate boredom – to break the monotony of her existence – through reading. This unusual place was ruled by emotion, however, so she was unable to simply transport herself to the world's greatest libraries. Only the places that held a special significance to her heart.
As such, she'd gone through nearly the entirety of the Salvatore Boarding House library. How long had she been here, anyway? All that were left for her to peruse were books on gardening supplies and 17th century woodworking – hardly what she considered entertaining reading, but it was certainly better than nothing.
And that's what this place was fast becoming, with the increasing feeling of her mind practically shutting down from lack of use. Maybe The Neverending Story – a book she was certain she read at least a dozen times since being trapped here –was right: the Nothing really was the scariest adversary of all.
Despair driven by the complete destruction of imagination, of hope, of happiness – of dreams. Destroyed by a lack of the unexpected – a day where everything would be the same, for nearly a century.
She contemplated the meaning behind those words in one of the hundred or so journals she'd filled up with her musings since she arrived. Maybe one day someone would find this not inconsequential batch – the deliriously whimsical philosophies of Elena Gilbert as she struggles to entertain herself, she snorted derisively – who longed for a moment to think and feel and process the tumultuousness of her life ever since she encountered the supernatural, and then got entirely too much of it. 'Be careful what you wish for' never felt so twistedly poignant, and Elena often wondered just what prying genie she'd accidentally scorned or stirred in her young adult years.
It was precisely when she recorded her musings on the apparent precision of wishes that she felt herself being pulled away and transported into a very familiar place from her past.
"How many times do I have to say it, Damon?" Lily Salvatore stared her son down from the threshold of the Salvatore Boarding House in a haughty tone that played at faux patience – a mother disciplining the son that she abandoned over a century ago to the whims and torments of an abusive father. "You killed Malcolm, and now you get to lose something that's important to you."
"And I told you that Taken is just a movie that launched a thousand memes, and not a how-to guide on modern living. I know adapting to the twenty-first century is hard, mother –" Damon began flippantly.
"Enough of your quips," Lily interrupted harshly. "Either you leave Mystic Falls by sundown, or Elena's going to find herself at the bottom of the river – and cloaked, so you'll never find her."
Inside the estate, Valerie Tulle studied the casket curiously, taking the chance to open it. So, this was her – the doppelganger that had the Salvatore brothers both ensnared at one point, though by this time it was undoubtedly the older sibling whose heart lay in the coffin with her. She knew of the spell that Kai cast at Lily's insistence – heard whispers of its deceptive tenacity in clandestine witch circles during her travels with the rest of the Heretics. Its nickname, in the groups that understood its true significance, was The Sanity Syphon.
It seemed innocuous at first glance, but its true cruelty was hidden. All its victims were driven insane by the time the spell was lifted – forced to endure solitude for decades on end – stuck in the realm between life and death as they watch others expire, unable to intervene.
Although she loved Lily, she had to admit that the matriarch of their found family had a penchant for senseless malice where her Heretic 'children' were concerned – and this was especially true for the monster she'd taken as a lover, Julian. The woman who bestowed them with love could easily turn from Florence Nightingale to Nurse Ratched when provoked – and it appeared that her own birth children would not be spared her wrath.
Even when it involved hurting an innocent, just to inflict unspeakable pain on her eldest son, in revenge for taking away a child she chose and preferred, when the truth was that both the offspring she abandoned probably longed for their mother's love.
So, having developed a healthy sense of rebellion against certain members of her family, especially after her tragic dealings with the brutal Julian, Valerie took a chance to surreptitiously light a few candles cast a spell, whispering the words she'd only heard once on a sneaky trip during their bloody tour in Europe over the sleeping girl.
It was admittedly a longshot, but if Elena had the good fortune of meeting her Twin Flame at any point in her life, then she'd get the brief reprieves from the spell's cruel monotony and keep the stifling Nothingness at bay.
The spell Valerie had cast was chaotic at best, and its exact effects certainly varied by subject, but there were some similarities in all the narratives.
The incantation would turn the version that wandered the realm between life and death into a Specter, allowing them to freely wander time and space, much like a spirit called from the Other Side, back when it existed. The difference here was that the Specter could be corporeal when appearing in the waking world, though visible only to the one who called them. In the case of this spell, Elena's Twin Flame, whoever that may be.
This would enable her Twin Flame in the past to call her on a deeply subconscious level when she was needed, and she would appear while the version of her that existed during that time slept, visiting the nether realm in her dreams. The instant the past her would awaken, however, The Specter would disappear from that moment, as would all memory of her – only to return when she was called again. It was a loophole that was worked into the spell to prevent wayward Specters from changing the past in potentially volatile ways, though there were whispers of the Specters becoming stronger with time – gaining more agency, and perhaps with that, the ability to affect the fabric of spacetime.
And no one really knew the full potential of a Specter who was decades old.
The world around Elena dematerialized for a few brief seconds, only to rematerialize anew. She found herself at the Salvatore Boarding House, which wasn't really unusual for her, but it typically didn't involve so much drama and fanfare.
Perhaps her subconscious was looking for ways to dress up the expected to create the unexpected?
She walked through the parlor, noting that the pool table that Damon installed after their post-Katherine-body-heist breakup was missing. That's strange. Maybe this place was finally letting her redecorate? Just how far would she be able to push these new abilities?
Maybe the next time she met a child who acknowledged her presence, she'd actually be able to create an animated dragon for them to play with?
Her eyes wandered the expanse of the room, and she could have sworn that it had been years since it was decorated that way – long before she ever moved in. A smile surreptitiously snuck the expanse of her face as her gaze caught Damon's wet cart, filled with crystal decanters of what she presumed was bourbon of exceptional quality. At least that part would always remain the same. She was almost tempted to try some the spirit, despite her rather sharp dislike of it, just to feel close to him again. Tears came unbidden to her eyes as her fingers danced along the sculpted ridges of a crystal tumbler as she imagined that he held it once upon a time, though logic was quick to remind her that none of this was real – that she was still stuck in the realm between life and death, and this was just her mind's way of coping with it – by fabricating something familiar.
At that moment, though – that aching moment of abject loneliness, she wanted so badly to pretend. She poured herself a measure of the closest decanter, and brought the tumbler to her lips, imagining that his were on the same glass just recently – that this moment was almost like a time-displaced kiss with the love of her life.
She allowed herself to be haunted by the memory of soft lips and laughing cerulean eyes as her own eyelids fluttered closed over her dark irises, her lips parting to drink Damon's beloved spirit, when all of a sudden, she was seized by a cough and violent burn to her throat. Yep, and this is why she hated whiskey, Elena thought as she moved to place the tumbler back on the cart.
"Elena?" Damon asked with undisguised amusement, watching her take tortured sips of his beloved amber ambrosia, followed by barely contained coughing and adorably aghast facial expressions. "If you wanted some of my stash, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak around longingly like Steffie at a dog show," he said wryly. She instinctively laughed, the tumbler dropping from her hand onto the floor, its shards scattering throughout the space like resplendent beams of sharp light.
The melodic sound unwillingly stirred parts of Damon's heart that he would have much rather left locked away, trapped in a box, bolted in a safe, dropped into the heart of an active volcano where no one could ever reach it. But it seemed like ever since Elena came into his life to officially short-circuit his dimmer switch, his humanity came roaring to the surface every time she was around, scorching every flimsy obstacle in its path.
What was once a titanium cage became a flimsy aluminum sheet; what was once a sturdy prison of rock became shifting sands; all attempts and methods to keep the entirety of his emotional spectrum – including empathy and that pesky ability to love – were utterly decimated in her presence.
And after a while, this extended outside of her influence, as well. Maybe if Damon Salvatore had known that Elena Gilbert was the key to his humanity, he would never have even returned to Mystic Falls.
Who was he kidding? He would have ripped through the speed of light itself to find her – because with the admittedly agonizing pain of humanity came the capacity for true happiness as well – the kind that could never be achieved when the switch was off.
And a silly, romantic, naïve part of him consciously decided to wait for the day that this fabled happiness was within his reach, and all the anguish that came with the turn of his switch would be worth it.
He was still waiting, because all it had brought him so far had been heartbreak.
Luckily, Damon Salvatore was an old friend of heartbreak, having lived with it for far longer than he cared to admit – from early childhood when he'd yearn for approval from an abusive father, affection from a negligent mother, finally devotion from a capricious lover who saw him as little more than a fun physical distraction while her heart lay with his brother – and this experience helped him hide it behind a quip, a smoldering smirk, a well-delivered one-liner.
Damon and heartbreak were old friends, and he knew exactly how to hide its effect on him. And so, he found himself gazing longingly on the girl he'd come to love more than any other before her – and likely afterward – behind an almost indifferently amused façade, only softening around the edges to someone who knew what to look for.
Elena turned to find Damon leaning casually against the doorway to the basement, with his arms crossed over his chest. He must have just come up. He wore a suit jacket over a crisp, white shirt, though the tie was notably missing, and the first few buttons were undone. Her breath found itself suddenly trapped inside her as she took him in, the image increasingly blurry as she lost the battle with her emotions. Her body approached his seemingly of its own volition – a magnet being pulled to its true north pole as though he were her personal Polaris, her guiding star. Her hands were on his cheeks – a familiar embrace shared in clandestine moments of love and reassurance between them countless times, even when she laughably made herself believe that she could ignore how she felt about him. Just as her legs carried her of their own volition; her arms then snaked around his neck, and she pulled him in for a frenzied, passionate kiss.
He immediately froze, decidedly bewildered at her strange behavior, but he couldn't resist the initial pull, melting into her completely. His hands were suddenly in her hair, on her waist, everything in between as he felt her pull him closer and closer. He tasted the salt of her tears on his tongue, and it was as though shards of ice suddenly collided with the passionate inferno that overtook him, freezing him to his core. She was crying. Stefan. This wasn't about him, but was about Stefan, and – he had to stop before what was left of his heart shattered completely. While Damon was absolutely no stranger to casual sex, this wasn't what he wanted with her. To let himself have her – to let her use him to forget – she'd take away every piece of him and leave nothing behind. Reluctantly, he pulled back to look at her. "Elena…"
She let herself get swept away in the emotion of the happy reunion with her one true love, when she suddenly felt him pull back. Confused, she turned her expressive dark gaze to meet his blue irises, only to recoil in horror as her hands covered her mouth to stifle her gasp. "No, no, no, Damon, you can't be here," she shook her head frantically, her vision steadily blurring with quickly accumulating tears, as she took frantic steps back. Distractedly, she heard the broken crystal from the tumbler shatter further under her heels, along with her heart. "Not yet, please," she continued murmuring with barely discernible coherence as despair began to shake her form. If Damon was here in this place between life and death, that meant … that meant … she couldn't force herself to finish the horrifying thought of the implications of his presence and her ability to see him.
Her interlocutor, on the other hand, appeared to be the height of bewildered. How much did she have to drink? Did she get into Jeremy's stash? What was in his stash, exactly? Understandably, the day was fraught with tension and remarkably eventful. From that dance, during which his heart beat a crescendo he hadn't imagined possible – that completely knocked him sideways and brought with all the feelings he thought he'd long buried. Then to Stefan's predictably dramatic brush with human blood, now detoxing in the basement. Why couldn't his brother stop acting like such an emotional pendulum – perpetually swinging between human blood abstinence and overindulgence – self-flagellation and gluttony. The Coalition of Creatures of the Forest and Collective Humanity would probably all be grateful if he could just chill the fuck out. Needless to say, a lot happened on the day of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant. "Are you okay?" Was she having some kind of nervous breakdown? Why isn't he supposed to be in his own house?
Elena fought to control her breathing, to quell the rising panic within her. Maybe there was someone – an entity – she could speak to? A deal to take his place? To keep him alive? She couldn't bear the thought of living in this nightmare for decades more, only for him to be gone. The last time had nearly destroyed her; she'd known how she would fare in a life without him entirely too well, and she would not allow the experience to repeat. "I think we need to hide you," she whispered, taking both of her hands in his. "Before they realize you're here."
"Did you have trouble sleeping?" he asked, now genuinely worried. "That had to have been the shortest nap in existence. You were only gone a few minutes." Did she encounter a witch? Was she compelled? She seemed alert enough, if a bit crazy-pants.
"A few minutes?" she asked incredulously, thinking that had to have been a joke, given the nature of the spell she was under – then took another look at him. He was staring at her with an expression she hadn't seen in years. He was so – guarded. She used to see it frequently before she finally admitted that she loved him, and even long after that, she thought with a pang. It was only after she fell in love with him the second time – after her brain had been specifically rewired to hate him – that he lost that peculiar look, the one that looked like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop and embraced the idea of her truly loving him wholeheartedly.
When she was finally able to prove to him that in any world, in any time – no matter the circumstances – she would always choose him.
Why would this guarded look be back? "Damon, what is it?" she asked softly, letting her hands gingerly cup his face before sliding into his hair to stroke it in a way that she knew soothed him. "You can tell me."
"Oo-kay," he said wryly, wrapping his hands around her wrists to pull them back before he allowed himself to get too lost in the moment and the hope it inspired. "I think you've been indulging in some mushrooms from Jeremy's 'special collection,'" he said very slowly.
"Are you seriously asking if I'm on drugs right now?" Elena rolled her eyes, not understanding why he was being so thick. Was he suffering from some kind of massive head trauma back in the living world? Was he comatose? Can a vampire actually fall into a coma? Oh no! Was he placed under a sleeping spell, too?
"You have a better explanation for why you're suddenly kissing me?" Damon asked through narrowed eyes, his tone back to normal.
"Why wouldn't I kiss you?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"Ooh, I don't know. Maybe Stefan, your so-called epic love," he shot back, barely catching his voice from breaking. If it had been any night prior to this night – prior to his realization and acceptance of his feelings, the depth of his love for her – he would have just gone with it. He would have let her do what she wanted, if only for the thrill and pleasure of rubbing Steffie's self-righteous face in it.
Hell, if she hadn't been actually crying while she was doing it, he thought bitterly.
But now that he was finally able to accept his feelings, everything inside him hurt at the notion of this meaning so little to her, and he only hoped she'd back off soon, because he didn't know how long he'd actually be able to resist her. As is, his will was waning fast.
"Stefan?" Elena laughed at the absurdity of the notion, though his behavior was admittedly starting to make her nervous. Did something happen while she was asleep? Her expression momentarily darkened before she caught herself, as all kinds of unwelcome thoughts crossed her mind. Did that bitch Katherine somehow manage to come back to life, masquerade as her again, and break his heart anew? "I haven't been with Stefan in years. What are you talking about?"
"Really?" he asked flippantly, doing his best to mask the pain behind the playful indifference of his tone. "Because from what I saw just a few minutes ago you were on the verge of composing the most gag-inducing sonnet on the planet," he said, then raised an arm above before himself theatrically, affecting a near-perfect imitation of the Received Pronunciation reminiscent of the stage. "Oh Bambi, Thumper, how blessed you both to grace the palate of the Great Stefan Salvatore, the most noble Mopey Monk in all the land. Ooh, his forehead wrinkles are sculpted like the finest –"
"Oh, I don't know," she interrupted wryly, tilting her head to the side in a manner that was almost entirely too reminiscent of his. "Bambi and Thumper might take issue with his carbon footprint, and its effect on their home. His aerosol emissions are no joke," she mock-scolded.
He allowed himself a genuine chuckle before sobering to scrutinize her, his eyebrows drawn together pensively. "Where'd you get that dress? I don't remember ever seeing it before."
Elena instinctively looked down at the cocktail ensemble she'd worn ever since she'd been trapped in this realm, assuming someone changed her into it – probably Damon, himself, given the outfit's significance. The navy satin shimmered in the glow of the fireplace, illuminating the darkened floral patterns on the brocade. Now he had to have been playing with her. She took a sultry step forward, before losing the momentum and erupting in giggles. "Okay, now I know you're messing with me. I wore it on our first date," she nudged with a warm smile that slowly morphed into a grimace when she realized that he wasn't smiling, too. Maybe he wasn't playing with her, after all. Slowly, she chanced a glance about the room, studying her surroundings. She made note of the missing pool table from earlier; the chair that had been broken during a sparring session when Alaric trained her, suddenly whole again. She stifled a gasp, meeting his concerned gaze. He looked at her almost cautiously now.
Wringing her hands, biting her lip, and all her other very personal signs of anxiety seemed to soothe him somewhat, but he still didn't say a word. "Why are you dressed like that?" she asked, almost trembling, suddenly remembering this exact ensemble. "Party?"
"Seriously?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, then his expression affected one of almost shock. "Ka—"
"I am not Katherine!" she growled, feeling very much offended.
"And yet, there's no other feasible explanation," he shrugged with a mocking display of casualness, aggressively strolling to the wet cart to pour himself a tumbler of bourbon. He noticed the crystal remnants of the one his mystery broke, thanking all the deities of wool and weaving that none of the bourbon spilled on one of his precious rugs.
"I think I have one," Elena breathed, finally admitting the impossible to herself, as her legs walked her to tumble a seat on the sofa of their own volition.
"Yeah? What's that? Your title of Hide-and-Seek champion for the last hundred and fifty years is being threatened by Bigfoot?" he asked sardonically, polishing the glass off before pouring himself another. This was already looking to be a long and annoying night. At least Elena was safely upstairs and Stefan was detoxing in the basement. This left him to deal with this farce.
"I – I think I traveled back in time," she said, laughing nervously at the absurdity, yearning for him to please believe her. "This is the night of the Miss Mystic Falls pageant, isn't it? You finally convinced me to go sleep upstairs after we watched over Stefan for a few hours."
Damon allowed himself a long-suffering breath, joining her in the laughter, though his held a considerably more bitter inflection. "Time travel? Really? I can't believe I spent over a century thinking you're this fiercely intelligent woman, but all you're sprouting is derivative clichés. Maybe you're from an alternate uni –"
"I can prove it!" Elena beamed, shooting up. "I can tell you something Katherine couldn't possibly know – that no one knows, at this point in time, except for you," she expressed, growing more excited with each coming word, her eyes and smile and whole face coming alive as she stood directly before him.
"Oh yeah? What's that?" he asked condescendingly.
She steadied herself for a second, knowing the words she would say would have the most profound effect on him imaginable. She took care to speak slowly, clearly – enunciating each consonant so that there was no misunderstanding – but she kept her tone soft, gentle, infused with her love for him. "Enzo's alive."
He stared at her for so long that she half wondered if his brain short-circuited and was now faced with an infamous blue screen known to have once infected computer screens everywhere at the most inopportune of moments. His lips moved, even quivered, but no sound came out. She knew the significance of those words – his guilt over betraying a friend who had become more like a brother; the agony he suffered at the hands of the Augustine Society; the remorse he carried over the crimes he committed when he flipped his switch on the night he abandoned Enzo to die – the only way to survive that room, that place. She waited patiently for him to say something. Finally, a faint whisper that she had to strain to hear. "No, he, he can't be. Is he?" he asked with such raw, naked vulnerability, the blue of his eyes practically shining cerulean in the glowing firelight with his tears.
"He is, Damon," she assured confidently, gently, cupping his face with her hands and directing his gaze to her. "We can go rescue him tomorrow. Together," she pressed. "I love you."
"Who are you?" he finally asked with heartbreaking sincerity, not knowing what to do with those words if they didn't come from the right person – from her.
"I'm – me," she said with a slowly building smile, her voice edging playfulness that she hoped would calm him. "About four years from now, give or take. I was rounding out my sophomore year in college."
"Who are you to me?" he asked with more vulnerability than she'd seen from him all night.
"Who do you think?" she asked rhetorically with a wink, then stood on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his lips.
His body responded before his mind could even register what was happening, the kiss deepening as his arms snaked around her waist to pull her close. When he pulled back, one of his hands was on her cheek, he was delighted to find her breathless, eyes clouded with desire. "Am I dreaming?" he asked her as much as himself. This couldn't possibly be happening, the rational part of him argued – and Damon always prided himself on his ability to make decisions based on cold, hard logic rather than flighty ideals or the sensitivity of social norms. Sure, it often led others to believe him to be unkind, unfeeling – a monster – but he'd be remiss if he didn't admit that he fanned those flames himself a bit, or a lot. At the end of the day, he was the one willing to do what needed to be done, while the rest of them judged and stroked their own fluffy, white feathers of self-righteousness. And this – there was no logical explanation for this, was there? Time travel was impossible. The paradoxes alone…
"If you are, then I am, too – and for the first time in ages, I don't want to wake up," she choked a laugh, feeling the swell of tears in her eyes not for the first time that night. "I haven't seen you in so long."
"Why not?" he chanced to ask. He might as well give in to this fantasy that his mind concocted just a little longer, before the inevitable happens, at the harsh realities come back to haunt them all anew.
"We were happy," she whispered into the swirling photons of the night. "We definitely had our obstacles – I mean – it's us," she laughed wistfully, and was relieved to see him smile genuinely in return. "But we were happy. We finally figured ourselves out," she breathed. She didn't want to tell him too much – even this much information was probably overwhelming. They'd have time, she reasoned.
"So, what happened?" he asked with a tone that matched her softness, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear to remove it from covering his favorite face in all the cosmos. "You said you haven't seen me in ages."
"A witch," she said morosely. "A witch named Kai – he placed me under a sleeping spell, meant to last decades. I've been trapped in this realm between life and death," she revealed with a murmur, leaning into him as she inhaled his scent, feeling safe and peaceful for the first time since the night of Mystic Falls' very own version of the Red Wedding. "I like to call it Hypnagogia," she laughed through her tears with returning excitement, letting her eyes close as she nuzzled into his chest.
"The state between wakefulness and sleep?" he queried, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer.
"Mmhmm," she sang through her very soul, then pulled back to look at him, joy returning into her expressive, dark eyes anew. "But it's okay! Because we'll do things differently now. We'll spare ourselves the tragedies. We'll outsmart Katherine – and Klaus won't take anyone we love for his ritual, and…" she trailed off, realizing he had no idea what she was talking about and was honestly worried that this may have already been too much information for one evening, so she leaned up to kiss him again, just savoring the moment. "We'll be really happy. Starting now – because I love you, more than anything in the world, more than I ever thought humanly possible," she whispered against his lips, and kissed him again.
Damon closed his eyes, letting himself get lost in the sensations, and decided that this was probably the best dream he'd ever had. "I love you, too, Elena," he whispered, giving voice to the blaring feelings inside his heart, burning through every part of him, unrelentingly scorching any obstacle and doubt, for the very first time. If he said it out loud, it would become real. But this was only a dream, wasn't it? Couldn't he let himself indulge in this joyful fantasy just a little longer?
She pulled back after a few long moments to study him affectionately, turning her head this way and that. "I'm surprised you're not talking my ear off about paradoxes and closed timelike curves," she teased with a poor imitation of his voice and a subtle tilt of her head in his direction. "Why are you taking this so well?"
He allowed a pained chuckle to escape as he stroked her hair, gazing at her in a way so open, so vulnerable, so loving, that she hadn't thought to associate with a Damon of this time – not yet. "Because I want to hold on to this for as long as I can."
She frowned, squeezing his hands in hers. "It's not a dream, Damon. I'm becoming increasingly sure of this."
"It would explain how you knew about Enzo," he pointed out with a playful wink and a tap under her chin, guiding her for another kiss. "You know everything I know. And everything I want – everything I wish was true."
"You're so frustrating!" she growled, extricating herself from his arms to pace. "How can I prove to you that this isn't a dream? I know!" she beamed. "I'll tell you what's coming – unless you think you have prophetic dreams," she deadpanned.
"Fine, Elena," he smirked indulgently. "Predict the future for me."
She took a pensive sigh and sat back on the couch again, tapping a rhythm against its soft material as she tried to recall the exact sequence of events. "Hmm. I think Isobel's planning a visit soon, to get the Gilbert device that Pearl gave you – unless that already happened?" she asked herself rhetorically. "You'll ask Bonnie to remove the enchantment, she won't – because someone decided to spend the better part of the last few months acting like a complete ass," she chided playfully, wagging her finger at him, then took a sobering breath. "We'll make sure you're nowhere near that fire," she mumbled to herself, which Damon only heard thanks to his supernatural hearing. "After the parade, Katherine's going to show up, looking for the Lockwoods' moonstone," she said with less emotion than one would think reasonable, sounding very much like she was listing off a sequence of events rather than dropping bombshells with appropriate gravitas.
Damon looked at her, eyes sparkling with amusement. "Moonstone? Really? After a century and a half of avoiding this place, Katherine's going to come to town for a moonstone. Is that like the Hope diamond of the witchy-woo world?" he asked mockingly, not really expecting an answer.
Elena nodded uncomfortably, wondering if she was starting to overwhelm him with the influx of shocking information. "Something like that – the Lockwoods are a family of werewolves –"
"Okay," Damon interrupted her with what was clearly an uproarious laugh. "Now I know I'm dreaming. Werewolves don't exist."
"Neither do witches," Elena countered smartly. "Or vampires for that matter. And yet?"
"Fine," Damon rolled his eyes, choosing to indulge her. He was, after all, very curious to hear what his Dream Elena had concocted. Or maybe they should skip right to the good part, he thought, as his eyes darkened with desire, and he crossed the space between them in few easy steps, pulling her in for a searing kiss right before she had a chance to reply. Instead, her heard a surprised squeak, that quickly settled into a moan as she leaned into him, making short work of removing his jacket and tossing it to the floor. "Still think this is a dream?" she asked breathlessly, not missing a beat as she ripped open his dress shirt, buttons scattering in every direction.
"Uh huh," he replied huskily, his hand flying to the zipper behind her dress. "I can hear you sleeping upstairs."
"What!?" she suddenly stopped, frozen. "How …unless," she frowned, trying to wrap her mind around this new information. "I must have been sent back with my body – that's why I'm still wearing this dress. There are two of us," she concluded. "Do you think I'll disappear as soon as I alter the timeline?"
"I think you'll disappear as soon as I wake up," he told her with an almost penetrating sadness, letting his thumb gently trace the contours of her cheekbones, her lips.
"What if I won't? What if neither of us disappears?" she asked with a hint of challenge, evoking a memory of yesteryear, when long-restricted love and passion overwhelmed them at a remote motel in Colorado, with nothing but the mountainous night as their witness – that was until Jeremy arrived.
What if I didn't? What if there was no bump?
A sharp exhale that bordered on a disbelieving laugh was all that came from him, all that he could produce. He wanted so desperately to believe her – believe that this could be real.
"Okay, Elena," he told her indulgently, as he placed both thumbs upon her cheeks, letting the palms of his hands rest gently against her jaw, his fingers just tickling her neck. "If this is true, then it's some sort of miracle – some scientific marvel that –"
"It's true, I know it is," she tearfully insisted, breaking her own heart with the recollection of that desperate tone, and the last time she used it.
It is real. I know it is.
It had to be real, because she didn't change states anymore. All her life had become one long dream after Kai had done his work – and none of it felt so beautiful, so poignant.
So real.
"Then time will tell, won't it?" he asked simply, the sadness in his smile shattering her heart like the fragments of glass beneath their feet.
"It will, and you'll see that I'm right – you'll see it's real –" she said, just as they heard a particularly loud bang downstairs, and the Elena in Stefan's room was stirred into awakening. "What's happening?" Elena asked in abject panic, feeling the surroundings dissipate.
"I don't know," Damon frowned, devastated to feel his hands go right through her. It was happening way too soon. Not yet. "Don't go," he begged, not willing to let this dream end – not when it was the first time he felt true happiness in what felt like decades. But in the next instance, the Elena he held only moments before was gone, as was all memory of her.
He heard soft footfalls coming from upstairs, as the profoundly sleepy form of Elena descended, stifling a yawn. "What was that sound? Is it Stefan?"
"I don't know," Damon said, bewildered, suddenly overcome with the most unusual feeling, though he couldn't quite imagine why.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly as she stepped closer to him, genuinely concerned at his curious behavior – the faraway expression that seemed a lot less guarded and genuinely carefree than she'd ever seen before, until he quickly masked it with a familiar smirk yet again.
"Never better," he said, and led her out of the room.
"I had the weirdest dream," she murmured under her breath, mostly to herself.
"Oh yeah? I was there, wasn't I? One dance, and you're already picturing me naked, not that I can blame you. Tsk Tsk, Elena. I feel so violated. Juuust kidding! You have my consent to undress me anytime you like," he said with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows, prompting her to turn away as a blush slowly traveled the course of her cheeks. Without analyzing her odd behavior too much, he just playfully gestured to her top. "It would explain the drool stains on your shirt."
"What?" she gasped, momentarily checking herself for errant saliva, then shoved a snickering Damon's shoulder with a mock-glare, unable to resist taking a brief glance at his lips as her heart sped up. After a few measured breaths, she deflated, now actually thinking about her dream. "No, it was so strange. There was no one at all. Just a vast open field. I've never felt so alone."
All memory of the Specter's visit was gone. His suit jacket and dress shirt were back on, buttons in pristine shape yet again. The tumbler that she'd broken was mended anew by magic, back in its place on the cart – the only signs of its once disrepair were the invisible lines of breakage embossed with a peculiar magic.
Anything the Specter touched held an unusual magical signature.
But Specters weren't really able to alter the fabric of spacetime, were they?
After all, no one really knew the full potential of a Specter who was decades old.
Aaah, angst-fest. I guess this is what happens when I don't get a lot of sleep on a regular basis! :D
Damon concluding that he's having a dream is honestly a much more logical explanation than suddenly believing that time travel is possible, so while it's sad, it's really reasonable. So clearly neither of them figured out what's actually happening here yet, but they will. It's not a dream, and it's not exactly time travel (in the conventional sense) - it's something else entirely! :D
S4 reveals that Elena hates whiskey, so it's fun to use that knowledge in stories, mostly to have her react weirdly when she tries to drink it.
Damon quoted the velocity formula correctly (seriously probably the only time anyone had anything resembling a coherent reference to Physics in this series - side-eyeing you, comet-cliche Stefan) to Galen Vaughn in S4, so I use him as my Physics mouthpiece in Timey Wimey, citing that he got really bored in the '60s, and compelled his way into Richard Feynman's Caltech lectures. :D No humanity = no empathy (and this was later confirmed in Legacies - that the humanity switch doesn't actually affect all emotions), but has absolutely no effect on curiosity and intelligence. And since all my stories are in a multiveeeerse! Well, let's just say that Damon knows what a closed timelike curve is. :D
I picked Valerie to be the one who casts the spell because she has the biggest reason to take issue with Lily out of all the Heretics.
So, the next time Specter Elena visits, Damon's going to remember her post-Miss Mystic Falls visit and the validity of her predictions, so he won't think it's a dream anymore. Also, since this is a 'random walk,' these visits won't happen in his life's chronological order. And yet he'll know who she is every time. Eventually, it very may well mess with the fabric of spacetime. :D Because those are just guidelines, right?
TVD is really amazing at providing nightmare fuel without really intending to. While this isn't how I actually interpret Kai's sleeping spell, I thought it would make a curious story.
Much love, all! :D