#o19

Absolutely everything had gone to shit since the last time he had spoken to Bonnie; He had foolishly and undoubtedly fallen for Blair Waldorf – someone he had once described as pure girly evil, vampire's, werewolves and witches were a very real thing – not to mention his own sister was a vampire and Dan allowed himself to play blood bag to a 39871987 year old vampire on the deal that he not hurt anyone else... while also stipulating that he gets whatever answers he wanted, his friends continued to isolate him and he was worried Nate was getting into some dangerous shit. While Dan usually used writing as an outlet for himself, all he wanted was a friend, and not just any friend. He wanted to see Bonnie.

Leaning against the counter, Damon let his head fall back and his eyes fall shut, memories of the previous night flooding his mind.

+

"You're going to let me in, not have the slightest problem with me sticking around and taking care of your daughter, and you're going to go back to bed, is that clear?" Damon asked, eyes locked with both of the Berry men as he held a deeply sleeping Rachel in his arms. When the two men nodded, eyes glazed over as they repeated everything he told them, Damon offered them a charming smile and said, "I promise I'll take good care of your daughter, sirs. You should head on back to bed, I didn't mean to disturb you."

One, then the other, blinked, seeming temporarily confused before smiling at him and ushering him inside, "Oh, of course, of course. Come in, you can take Rachel on up to her room." One of them told him, while the other one patted him on the shoulder, "You're such a gentlemen, taking care of our star and bringing her home safely. We appreciate it."

"It's no problem," Damon answered, an amused expression flitting across his features, "You guys head to bed, I'll get her situated and taken care of well enough, I promise."

They nodded, throwing some more praise his way before making their way towards their own bedroom and Damon was left standing at the foot of the stairs. Sighing softly, he sped up the stairs, stopping at the first door and pushing it open thankful he'd been right on the first guess. Without another thought, he walked over to Rachel's bed and set her down gently. It was only then that he realized how pink and... frilly her room was. It looked like someone fucking threw up pink all over the place. He shuddered at the thought and focused on Rachel again, still clad in her 70's attire. 

Pursing his lips, Damon started with her shoes, slowly pulling them off and walking over to set them in her closet. After that, he worked with the jewelry, slipping it all off as carefully as possible and setting it on her bedside table. When he finished that up, Damon hesitated; he really had no problem undressing her to get her into something more comfortable, but he didn't know if she would be upset with him for changing her without her permission. After a few minutes of contemplating, Damon shook his head and started searching through her drawers for some pajamas or something; she'd probably be too hung over to put too much thought into it anyway.

Sighing, Damon finally came across what looked like an old-fashioned night gown and he couldn't help the small laugh that escaped his lips as he looked over at her sleeping form; somehow it fit her just perfectly.

Setting the nightgown on the bed next to him, Damon hesitated the slightest bit before he started working with the dress, not wanting to wake her. It was a pain in the ass, and it seemed like she was going to wake up more than once, but Damon finally managed to get her out of the dress she'd been wearing and let it fall to the floor as he reached for the nightgown. Carefully, he slipped it over her head, then slipped her arms through each sleeve and finally pulled it all the way down her body. Once he managed that, he lifted her enough to get her comforter out from under her and over her instead, tucking her in and grabbing the dress he'd dropped on the floor to toss it in her hamper.

After that, he walked down to her kitchen, grabbing her a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin that he set down on the bedside table; she'd definitely need both when she woke up in the morning. When that was done though, he really didn't know what to do. He'd put so much effort into doing all this for her it kind of left him feeling more than a little bit freaked out. And as much as he did want to stay with her, like she'd asked of him, he didn't think it was a good idea for him to be there when she woke up. Shaking his head, he started walking towards the door when he spotted some stationary paper on her desk and decided it would be okay to leave her a note. It would be alright, right?

Grumbling, he grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote:

Hope you're not feeling too bad when you wake up; I would have stayed, but as drunk as you were, I wasn't so sure you'd be so keen on having me here when you woke up. The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. Take the aspirin and drink a lot of water - hangovers are a pain, but the aspirin should help the headache and keeping hydrated helps get over the hangover a lot quicker.

Aside from that, I enjoyed our dance last night, and hope to see you again soon.

-Damon.

+

The microwave went off and Damon found himself scowling at nothing in particular; how could he be so fucking pathetic? He pulled the microwave open and pulled his mug out, taking a small drink to test the temperature before walking over to the table and grabbing the newspaper that rested on top of it. The headline took him by surprise; Zach's body was found. 

His surprise wasn't so much in the fact that his 'uncle' was dead, but in the fact that he had literally offed the man only a few hours ago and they'd already found his body and put him on the front page of the day's newspaper. Setting the paper and his mug down on the table, Damon sighed, reaching up to massage his temples as more images flooded his mind.

+

Damon was pacing in the living, a few buttons of his shirt undone, and the leather pants he'd been wearing earlier in the evening had been traded for some more comfortable jeans. He should have been sleeping. Doing anything but dwelling on the night's events but too much was running through his head.

Quinn. Jon. Faye. Lydia. Vervain. Rachel.

It was all crowding in his head, along with other things.

Stefan. Katherine. Werewolves.

His hands twitched and he reached up to run one through his hair, fingers tightening around the dark locks and pulling just a bit before he ran both hands over his face; how was everything getting to him? He'd hardly known Jon for more than a few weeks. They weren't friends. They couldn't be friends. Damon didn't have friends.

And Quinn. Quinn was no one. She was a stupid child, just as Jon had pointed out. She shouldn't matter. She had been a meal, a toy, and as frustrated as he was in not being able to have her, she was nothing more-- you always want what you can't have, right?

Faye. Faye and her stupid games. Faye and insisting on fucking annoying the living shit out of him. Lydia wasn't important. Not really, but she'd been a reliable blood source that he'd lost because of fucking Faye.

Rachel. Rachel and the way she intrigued him. And her strange habit of talking too much, about things he cared little to nothing about, but with a passion he envied. Rachel and the way she made him want to take care of her, the way he'd never taken care of anyone but Faye before then.

And then there was Stefan, and Katherine. The initial reasons he'd even showed his face in town. He was supposed to be making Stefan's life hell. Supposed to be finding a way to get Katherine out of that motherfucking tomb, and somehow, those were the only two things he wasn't doing. How as that fucking possible? How had he strayed so far from what he'd initially come for?

"Damon?"

Zach's groggy voice pulled him to an immediate halt; he turned to his human relative, azure eyes wide as he stared him down.

Zach. Zach and his fucking vervain. The vervain that he'd been giving to the council members. The council members that gave that same vervain to their families. To their children, like Quinn's mother had given to her. The vervain Faye had used to give to Lydia. The vervain that someone had used to spike the punch at the school dance. The vervain that Faye damn well nearly choked on.

He didn't know when he got over to him, but the next thing he knew, Damon was across the room, sinking his fangs into Zach's throat savagely and tearing viciously at the skin there. He ignored the cries that echoed through the large house; Stefan wasn't home, Faye wasn't home and he'd been looking for a reason to off Zach the minute he'd wormed his way into the council. 

Now he had it. 

Zach stilled completely and Damon let the body hit the ground, eyes dark and blood dripping from his lips. Slowly, his features started shifting back to normal and he reached up to wipe the blood of his lips, his gaze never once leaving Zach's body. He stood there a few minutes more, just staring coldly at the body in front of him before he bent down to pick it up and headed out to stuff it in the trunk of Zach's car - like hell he was going to stain his car with blood - so he could get rid of Zach and leave some kind of proof that Zach wasn't home when he got home from chaperoning the dance, something he'd be telling both his siblings, and the authorities if they came around asking questions.

+

Stefan was going to flip, Damon realized as he forced himself out of his memories. And as fun as it was for Damon to watch his brother lose his head, Damon was hardly in the mood to deal with Stefan and his lectures or attempts at picking fights with Damon.