Entry tags:
[TVD - ANL] Chapter 22: confidants
Title: confidants
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Verse: A Normal Life
Relationships: Stefan Salvatore / Elena Gilbert, hinted Bonnie Bennett / Damon Salvatore, hinted Alaric Saltzman / Jenna Sommers
Summary: Damon seeks advice from Bonnie, but he ruins the moment before it even begins.
Notes:
withasperity and
whitemage are the most patient betas on the face of the planet, and I appreciate their thoughts! This chapter took ~3 months to write, and even then, I'm trying to get the narrative beats down for the rest of this story.
I do think I'll go back and edit this story as a whole, once I'm done; some bits seem extraneous even now, and this is far more a love letter to a dumb Arab warlock than it is to his kickass vampire-y girlfriend. ;;
He braced himself for the worst. Bonnie would slam the door in his face and insist that he didn't deserve her (precious, eternal) He would’ve deserved it too. Except her eyes softened as she gazed up at him, and she laced her fingers in his as if it were second-nature.
His hands were shaking with uncertainty, with the highlights and lowlights that had become routine. She didn't seem to notice, pulling him back towards her inner calm. They stood like this for a few seconds, before she let go and turned towards the kitchen.
“Hold on. I’ve got the perfect pick-me up.”
Damon followed her, crossing the threshold and stepping into the living room. This place hadn’t changed a day since his childhood. Sure, Bonnie’s leather jackets hung on the coat rack and her red studded heels were lying next to the bookshelves, right under old turkey paperweights and faded family photos. For better or worse, the Bennett home was a time capsule of decades long gone.
He peered at the framed photos on the wall. Bonnie and Anna were constants, no matter the decade; they had long mastered cheeky smiles and a sideways hug that made every photo seem like they were playing pretend. Photos from 1925 were identical to photos from 1985. Damon couldn't have been the only one who noticed. He just couldn't have.
The wafting scent of pomegranates betrayed Bonnie’s presence long before her footsteps. Damon gave her a shy (almost vulnerable) smile, accepting one mug and nudging her out towards the front steps.
As they sat down together, Bonnie listened to the whole story. She didn’t once interrupt him as he explained everything, from the aftermath of his thesis defense to Aunt Liz’s plans for Founder’s Day and Dad’s sudden conversion.
“Wow.” She let out a low whistle. “No wonder you’ve seemed so tense.”
He took another swig of tea, as if it were his precious bourbon, “That obvious?”
“Oh yeah.” She set her mug down, scooting back so she could better observe the stars. “Going back to Zack's conversion, though... Is that really bugging you?”
Damon shook his head. No, a new faith might do Dad some good. Problem was, faith - and blood - was all they shared. Talking to Mom was easy. He knew every little thing about her, but Dad had always been a big question mark, with or without faith.
They had magic, of course. Dad's magic was flashier, with an emphasis on combat; Damon, however, had always taken after Mom's alchemic skill. He hovered in the home and the kitchen, utilizing magic until it could've been confused for the mundane. Their connection there had fizzled faster than it had begun.
“We have nothing in common anymore,” he confessed, following her gaze and mentally tracing lines between the stars. “I didn’t want to hear his reasoning because then I – I thought we’d lose the one thing we had.”
“He’s your father, Damon. You share more with him than something like faith.”
“When’d you reach that sorry conclusion?”
“When I visited them in 1994." Bonnie smirked at him as she refilled his mug. "You were… what, eight? Nine? You were super upset about something - heck if I remember what - but Zach dropped everything and stayed with you the whole time.”
He flinched. “You remember that?”
That day – May 10, 1994 - had been forever etched in his memory. The final soccer game for Mystic Falls Elementary had been that afternoon, around the same time as the fated solar eclipse. Mystic Falls loved to commemorate every weird thing, so school cancelled the game. Damon had flung his backpack against the wall and scowled and nearly pitched a fit in front of the town’s finest.
Nearly, because Dad took one look at his face and pulled away from the (loud, boring) party at Salvatore Manor. With a tight hug, he had led Damon to a corner of the backyard. He’d tossed a soccer ball and with an impish smile, he told Damon to go easy on him.
They played hours of soccer, derailed only by Stefan’s grubby little hands. His waddling toddler of a brother had latched onto that ball and tried, over and over again, to stuff that thing into his mouth. (Only so much a little kid could chew on.)
If Damon focused long and hard on the moment, he could imagine Bonnie peering from the windows inside – but honestly, he didn't remember her. All eyes would’ve been on Dad, throwing his entire body in front of Damon and protecting an invisible goal with his life.
Bonnie’s voice was soft, “Zach isn’t a talker, but he loves you more than you’ll ever know.”
A stupid smile was tugging on his face as he looked at her with new eyes. “Maybe I should head back and hear him out.”
At this time of night, Mom and Dad were probably watching a movie or catching up on their reading or – doing whatever it was old people did. For once, he wouldn't return to an empty home.
“It would mean the world to him.” She leaned forward, with newfound hope in her posture. “One bright spot in this mess, right?”
“Maybe.” His emotions must’ve seeped into his tea, because when he took another sip, it tasted of regret. He’d been too quick to judge – and now, he could only hope that Dad would welcome him with open arms.
This mistake couldn’t be kissed away or dispelled. Emotions – real, volatile ones – were harder to erase, even if he had misjudged the situation.
She nudged his shoulder, with that smug expression he’d long since learned to associate with her. “In other news, you’re going to de-spell Jeremy’s watch, right? I think the kid plans on holding onto that as long as he can.”
“Is that possible?” Damon summoned Giuseppe’s grimoire into his lap, forcing his tea mug to float in a steady, gentle ring around him.
Enchantments were easy: they were the first spells in an witch’s arsenal. De-spelling said object was a lot more difficult. Every witch left their unique signature and occasionally their own failsafes. If Giuseppe had enchanted a watch to point to vampires, he would’ve also added a counter spell – and the formula for removing said enchantment. On the last page, he saw some rough, sepia-colored sketches with ticking minute and hour hands. Once again, the formula was in Latin.
“Right there,” Bonnie said, pointing to the equation on the left-hand page. “You get your hands on the watch and you can remove the enchantments.”
“Better question: do you think Aunt Liz’s expecting the enchantment?”
If she wanted the watch for Founder’s Day, it certainly wasn’t for a museum display.
Bonnie shrugged, leaning on him like he was a super comfortable pillow. He should’ve cared about this intimacy, but there were far more pressing matters than confirming or denying a crush.
She said with a twinge of regret, “Probably. Back then, everyone knew Jonathan Gilbert could identify a vampire as easily as the time.”
Of course. If he de-spelled the device, he would out himself as a vampire sympathizer. Mom and Dad weren’t exactly displaying their powers in broad daylight. Worse still, the town charter insisted that no supernatural being could sit on the Founders’ Council. That kind of power could threaten the “precarious balance” of Mystic Falls. As much as he wanted to screw the town over, he couldn’t take Mom and Dad down with him.
“Your choice, Damon.” She finished off her tea, rising to snatch his mug from thin air. “I know the world’s falling apart, but you don’t have to add to it.”
He raised an eyebrow at her as they rose to their feet. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Bonnie’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t think anyone here does.”
As she stood on the top step, she set the mugs aside and moved forward. Her hands were trembling - her whole body was, really - as she took the plunge and pressed her lips to his.
Y’Allah, did she have to? He could feel his heart was furiously beating against his ribcage. The heat was rising to his (flushed) cheeks and he - he wanted this. He wanted her. He wanted her so much more than he had any right to and yet--
He pulled back. “Bonnie…”
“What?” She craned her head towards his heart. “You’re like a hummingbird, Damon. You can’t hide your heart from me.”
“That’s not it.” He took a deep breath. “Bonnie, you - you’re technically a minor.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “So?”
He couldn't date her. Bonnie would never know adulthood. She inhabited eternal adolescence, always on the cusp of adulthood but never fully embracing it. She could play house, with health insurance and a mortgage and all that fun stuff, but she couldn't stay there. Not long enough for a life.
“So it doesn’t feel right. You could get out of high school right now and go to Whitmore, but it wouldn’t change the facts. I'm twenty five, Bonnie. I'm not growing any younger.”
Her face morphed into an unreadable mask as she stared down at his ever-fidgeting hands. If hearts could shatter, his would’ve. For the first time, he was holding back on something he actually wanted. What a sick, sick joke.
“You're kidding me.” She raised her eyebrows at him, careful to peer into his eyes for those tell-tale signs. (She wouldn't find any, not this time.) “You can't date me because... you're too old for me?”
He shook his head. “Nah. By that logic, you're both too young and too old.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Has anyone told you you have a problem with authority?”
“Sure, but they were authority figures.” Her eyes widened as the wheels finally clicked into place. “But my friends think of you as one. Is that it?”
Damon pressed his lips together. “Nnnot exactly. Skipping school would've fixed that one.”
School and (super young) friends were only symptoms of the underlying issue. If he was going for the truth, then he had to say it in its entirety. She could handle it.
“I'm growing up, Bonbon.” His smile must've been the saddest one he could muster because he sure wasn't feeling it. “I've finished school. I'm gonna get a job, once I'm done with my big road trip, and that means an apartment, proper health insurance.... Maybe even a couple of pets.”
Children. Marriage. Things he left unsaid, because if she were really old enough, she would get it.
“I could help,” she murmured, tracing the worry lines across his forehead. “I've told you, I've had experience.”
“You really haven't.” Damon was going to regret this, he was so going to - “Bon, I need someone who'll understand everything I'm going through. Wrinkle lines, PTA meetings, annoying aunties.... You don't inhabit that world. You're never going to.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and as her metal necklace brushed against his chest, he was suddenly aware of its chilling luster. He gasped for air - so this was how he died? In the arms of the girl he loved? What a way to go.
Except she loosened her grip on him long enough to kiss him again.
“You are so stupid, Salvatore.”
Her warm tears spilled onto his cheeks. They burned with rage and regret as she pulled away long enough to really look at him.
He'd never seen a vampire cry, he realized as their eyes met, and now he wished he never had.
####
On his way to the Camaro, Damon stumbled over empty steps. He would’ve crashed into that side door too, had he not taken a moment to breathe. So he leaned against it and pulled out his phone.
Everything was out to betray him, wasn't it? The thesis, the family, and now the love life (in precisely that order). What next? Jenna and Mason exiling him from board game night??
That sounded ridiculous even in his head, but tonight was gonna be hard to bounce back from.
He had one missed text from Alaric:
Good news: Isobel DID grow up here. She attended high school in the next town over, and would’ve been sixteen when she gave birth to Elena. Everything matches up.
Bad news: there’s no way Elena can reconnect with her.
Thank God. Damon let out a small laugh as he fired a text in return.
To which Alaric had sent back:
no need. Jenna already talked her down.
Jenna? Really? Damon refreshed his phone. Same message. His Jenna??? She really was growing up on him.
Pulling up her speed-dial, he called her. As soon as he heard that click, he said, “So Jenn, I heard that you talked Elena out of finding Isobel.”
“Oh my god! Day, I was just about to call you!”
He couldn’t help laughing. Even over the phone, he could picture her little huff of indignation. “Sorry, the grapevine was faster.”
“So I’m finding out.” She sighed of relief. “But yeah, I actually did it! I smacked down the law, and Elena listened.”
“Good.” He too let out a sigh of relief as he finally climbed into his car. “She doesn’t need to go on some wild goose chase.”
Dead women usually told no tales. Should Elena seek further answers, Uncle Grayson's old medical files and Alaric's memories should (could?) piece together a clear picture. No sense in her - and Stefan! - running off right before their midterms.
“Right? She’s with Alaric now.” Jenna let out a loud, relieved laugh. “I am so glad. For a moment there, I thought she and Stefan would run off and do something stupid.”
Damon almost rolled his eyes. “They’re smarter than that. Give them some credit.”
“I know, I just… I remember our high school days and how stressful they were, and I keep thinking, I can’t protect them from everything.”
No, she couldn’t. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Peace and quiet were a luxury, much like time. He really should’ve known, however - he wasn’t the only one trying to shield the kids from the unknown.
Heh, Tanner was wrong. Jenna was the most capable one of them all.
Jenna continued, before he could interrupt, “I don’t want to protect them from everything. The real world'll come crashing down soon enough. The least we can do is show them the way, you know?”
“You did good. I’ll bring you a gold star.”
She laughed. “Bring extra. Remember, Mason’s hosting wine night tomorrow – and we’re supposed to meet Kathy too.”
Like he could forget. Knowing his luck, Mason picked the most dim-witted girl in the room and they would have to listen to inane chatter about celebrities. Or worse, home decor. They were (way) too young to get starry-eyed about couch patterns.
“Don’t remind me,” Damon settled on saying as he turned the Camaro back into the road. “The less I think about it, the better.”
“I’m sure she’s not that bad. She can’t beat Jules.”
“Ah, yes, six hours of Fashion Disasters. My kind of party.” Damon let out a disgusted, almost inhuman noise.
“Damon! Give her a chance. She might not be so bad.”
He groaned. “I’ll think about it.”
Before she could sling some more guilt (Jenna had never approved of Andi, and she had let him know it), he hung up on her and focused on the drive home. It was shorter this time. No winding shortcuts or scenic routes, because honestly?
He had to face the consequences. Better sooner than later. So when he got home and stepped across the threshold, he waited for that inevitable berating. He waited for their disappointed stares and awkward silence. He waited for that slow, stern Gattino… echoed on their lips.
(Dad would say he could do better, no that he should’ve done better, and Mom would just let her shoulders sag. They didn’t need discipline to ruin him.)
His heart beat a little faster as he turned the corner and walked into the den. Stefan and Mom were curled up on the couch with old photo albums, while Dad was in his favorite armchair, flipping through channels on TV. The air hummed with old, Arabic jazz tunes. The second their eyes met, Dad’s entire face lit up with relief.
“You ready?” He said, levitating a plate of lemon bars in Damon’s direction.
Damon gave him a slow smile as he accepted the offering. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Verse: A Normal Life
Relationships: Stefan Salvatore / Elena Gilbert, hinted Bonnie Bennett / Damon Salvatore, hinted Alaric Saltzman / Jenna Sommers
Summary: Damon seeks advice from Bonnie, but he ruins the moment before it even begins.
Notes:
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I do think I'll go back and edit this story as a whole, once I'm done; some bits seem extraneous even now, and this is far more a love letter to a dumb Arab warlock than it is to his kickass vampire-y girlfriend. ;;
He braced himself for the worst. Bonnie would slam the door in his face and insist that he didn't deserve her (precious, eternal) He would’ve deserved it too. Except her eyes softened as she gazed up at him, and she laced her fingers in his as if it were second-nature.
His hands were shaking with uncertainty, with the highlights and lowlights that had become routine. She didn't seem to notice, pulling him back towards her inner calm. They stood like this for a few seconds, before she let go and turned towards the kitchen.
“Hold on. I’ve got the perfect pick-me up.”
Damon followed her, crossing the threshold and stepping into the living room. This place hadn’t changed a day since his childhood. Sure, Bonnie’s leather jackets hung on the coat rack and her red studded heels were lying next to the bookshelves, right under old turkey paperweights and faded family photos. For better or worse, the Bennett home was a time capsule of decades long gone.
He peered at the framed photos on the wall. Bonnie and Anna were constants, no matter the decade; they had long mastered cheeky smiles and a sideways hug that made every photo seem like they were playing pretend. Photos from 1925 were identical to photos from 1985. Damon couldn't have been the only one who noticed. He just couldn't have.
The wafting scent of pomegranates betrayed Bonnie’s presence long before her footsteps. Damon gave her a shy (almost vulnerable) smile, accepting one mug and nudging her out towards the front steps.
As they sat down together, Bonnie listened to the whole story. She didn’t once interrupt him as he explained everything, from the aftermath of his thesis defense to Aunt Liz’s plans for Founder’s Day and Dad’s sudden conversion.
“Wow.” She let out a low whistle. “No wonder you’ve seemed so tense.”
He took another swig of tea, as if it were his precious bourbon, “That obvious?”
“Oh yeah.” She set her mug down, scooting back so she could better observe the stars. “Going back to Zack's conversion, though... Is that really bugging you?”
Damon shook his head. No, a new faith might do Dad some good. Problem was, faith - and blood - was all they shared. Talking to Mom was easy. He knew every little thing about her, but Dad had always been a big question mark, with or without faith.
They had magic, of course. Dad's magic was flashier, with an emphasis on combat; Damon, however, had always taken after Mom's alchemic skill. He hovered in the home and the kitchen, utilizing magic until it could've been confused for the mundane. Their connection there had fizzled faster than it had begun.
“We have nothing in common anymore,” he confessed, following her gaze and mentally tracing lines between the stars. “I didn’t want to hear his reasoning because then I – I thought we’d lose the one thing we had.”
“He’s your father, Damon. You share more with him than something like faith.”
“When’d you reach that sorry conclusion?”
“When I visited them in 1994." Bonnie smirked at him as she refilled his mug. "You were… what, eight? Nine? You were super upset about something - heck if I remember what - but Zach dropped everything and stayed with you the whole time.”
He flinched. “You remember that?”
That day – May 10, 1994 - had been forever etched in his memory. The final soccer game for Mystic Falls Elementary had been that afternoon, around the same time as the fated solar eclipse. Mystic Falls loved to commemorate every weird thing, so school cancelled the game. Damon had flung his backpack against the wall and scowled and nearly pitched a fit in front of the town’s finest.
Nearly, because Dad took one look at his face and pulled away from the (loud, boring) party at Salvatore Manor. With a tight hug, he had led Damon to a corner of the backyard. He’d tossed a soccer ball and with an impish smile, he told Damon to go easy on him.
They played hours of soccer, derailed only by Stefan’s grubby little hands. His waddling toddler of a brother had latched onto that ball and tried, over and over again, to stuff that thing into his mouth. (Only so much a little kid could chew on.)
If Damon focused long and hard on the moment, he could imagine Bonnie peering from the windows inside – but honestly, he didn't remember her. All eyes would’ve been on Dad, throwing his entire body in front of Damon and protecting an invisible goal with his life.
Bonnie’s voice was soft, “Zach isn’t a talker, but he loves you more than you’ll ever know.”
A stupid smile was tugging on his face as he looked at her with new eyes. “Maybe I should head back and hear him out.”
At this time of night, Mom and Dad were probably watching a movie or catching up on their reading or – doing whatever it was old people did. For once, he wouldn't return to an empty home.
“It would mean the world to him.” She leaned forward, with newfound hope in her posture. “One bright spot in this mess, right?”
“Maybe.” His emotions must’ve seeped into his tea, because when he took another sip, it tasted of regret. He’d been too quick to judge – and now, he could only hope that Dad would welcome him with open arms.
This mistake couldn’t be kissed away or dispelled. Emotions – real, volatile ones – were harder to erase, even if he had misjudged the situation.
She nudged his shoulder, with that smug expression he’d long since learned to associate with her. “In other news, you’re going to de-spell Jeremy’s watch, right? I think the kid plans on holding onto that as long as he can.”
“Is that possible?” Damon summoned Giuseppe’s grimoire into his lap, forcing his tea mug to float in a steady, gentle ring around him.
Enchantments were easy: they were the first spells in an witch’s arsenal. De-spelling said object was a lot more difficult. Every witch left their unique signature and occasionally their own failsafes. If Giuseppe had enchanted a watch to point to vampires, he would’ve also added a counter spell – and the formula for removing said enchantment. On the last page, he saw some rough, sepia-colored sketches with ticking minute and hour hands. Once again, the formula was in Latin.
“Right there,” Bonnie said, pointing to the equation on the left-hand page. “You get your hands on the watch and you can remove the enchantments.”
“Better question: do you think Aunt Liz’s expecting the enchantment?”
If she wanted the watch for Founder’s Day, it certainly wasn’t for a museum display.
Bonnie shrugged, leaning on him like he was a super comfortable pillow. He should’ve cared about this intimacy, but there were far more pressing matters than confirming or denying a crush.
She said with a twinge of regret, “Probably. Back then, everyone knew Jonathan Gilbert could identify a vampire as easily as the time.”
Of course. If he de-spelled the device, he would out himself as a vampire sympathizer. Mom and Dad weren’t exactly displaying their powers in broad daylight. Worse still, the town charter insisted that no supernatural being could sit on the Founders’ Council. That kind of power could threaten the “precarious balance” of Mystic Falls. As much as he wanted to screw the town over, he couldn’t take Mom and Dad down with him.
“Your choice, Damon.” She finished off her tea, rising to snatch his mug from thin air. “I know the world’s falling apart, but you don’t have to add to it.”
He raised an eyebrow at her as they rose to their feet. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
Bonnie’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t think anyone here does.”
As she stood on the top step, she set the mugs aside and moved forward. Her hands were trembling - her whole body was, really - as she took the plunge and pressed her lips to his.
Y’Allah, did she have to? He could feel his heart was furiously beating against his ribcage. The heat was rising to his (flushed) cheeks and he - he wanted this. He wanted her. He wanted her so much more than he had any right to and yet--
He pulled back. “Bonnie…”
“What?” She craned her head towards his heart. “You’re like a hummingbird, Damon. You can’t hide your heart from me.”
“That’s not it.” He took a deep breath. “Bonnie, you - you’re technically a minor.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “So?”
He couldn't date her. Bonnie would never know adulthood. She inhabited eternal adolescence, always on the cusp of adulthood but never fully embracing it. She could play house, with health insurance and a mortgage and all that fun stuff, but she couldn't stay there. Not long enough for a life.
“So it doesn’t feel right. You could get out of high school right now and go to Whitmore, but it wouldn’t change the facts. I'm twenty five, Bonnie. I'm not growing any younger.”
Her face morphed into an unreadable mask as she stared down at his ever-fidgeting hands. If hearts could shatter, his would’ve. For the first time, he was holding back on something he actually wanted. What a sick, sick joke.
“You're kidding me.” She raised her eyebrows at him, careful to peer into his eyes for those tell-tale signs. (She wouldn't find any, not this time.) “You can't date me because... you're too old for me?”
He shook his head. “Nah. By that logic, you're both too young and too old.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Has anyone told you you have a problem with authority?”
“Sure, but they were authority figures.” Her eyes widened as the wheels finally clicked into place. “But my friends think of you as one. Is that it?”
Damon pressed his lips together. “Nnnot exactly. Skipping school would've fixed that one.”
School and (super young) friends were only symptoms of the underlying issue. If he was going for the truth, then he had to say it in its entirety. She could handle it.
“I'm growing up, Bonbon.” His smile must've been the saddest one he could muster because he sure wasn't feeling it. “I've finished school. I'm gonna get a job, once I'm done with my big road trip, and that means an apartment, proper health insurance.... Maybe even a couple of pets.”
Children. Marriage. Things he left unsaid, because if she were really old enough, she would get it.
“I could help,” she murmured, tracing the worry lines across his forehead. “I've told you, I've had experience.”
“You really haven't.” Damon was going to regret this, he was so going to - “Bon, I need someone who'll understand everything I'm going through. Wrinkle lines, PTA meetings, annoying aunties.... You don't inhabit that world. You're never going to.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and as her metal necklace brushed against his chest, he was suddenly aware of its chilling luster. He gasped for air - so this was how he died? In the arms of the girl he loved? What a way to go.
Except she loosened her grip on him long enough to kiss him again.
“You are so stupid, Salvatore.”
Her warm tears spilled onto his cheeks. They burned with rage and regret as she pulled away long enough to really look at him.
He'd never seen a vampire cry, he realized as their eyes met, and now he wished he never had.
####
On his way to the Camaro, Damon stumbled over empty steps. He would’ve crashed into that side door too, had he not taken a moment to breathe. So he leaned against it and pulled out his phone.
Everything was out to betray him, wasn't it? The thesis, the family, and now the love life (in precisely that order). What next? Jenna and Mason exiling him from board game night??
That sounded ridiculous even in his head, but tonight was gonna be hard to bounce back from.
He had one missed text from Alaric:
Good news: Isobel DID grow up here. She attended high school in the next town over, and would’ve been sixteen when she gave birth to Elena. Everything matches up.
Bad news: there’s no way Elena can reconnect with her.
Thank God. Damon let out a small laugh as he fired a text in return.
Thanks for checking in. I’ll convince them not to go on their whirlwind tour to find her.
To which Alaric had sent back:
no need. Jenna already talked her down.
Jenna? Really? Damon refreshed his phone. Same message. His Jenna??? She really was growing up on him.
Pulling up her speed-dial, he called her. As soon as he heard that click, he said, “So Jenn, I heard that you talked Elena out of finding Isobel.”
“Oh my god! Day, I was just about to call you!”
He couldn’t help laughing. Even over the phone, he could picture her little huff of indignation. “Sorry, the grapevine was faster.”
“So I’m finding out.” She sighed of relief. “But yeah, I actually did it! I smacked down the law, and Elena listened.”
“Good.” He too let out a sigh of relief as he finally climbed into his car. “She doesn’t need to go on some wild goose chase.”
Dead women usually told no tales. Should Elena seek further answers, Uncle Grayson's old medical files and Alaric's memories should (could?) piece together a clear picture. No sense in her - and Stefan! - running off right before their midterms.
“Right? She’s with Alaric now.” Jenna let out a loud, relieved laugh. “I am so glad. For a moment there, I thought she and Stefan would run off and do something stupid.”
Damon almost rolled his eyes. “They’re smarter than that. Give them some credit.”
“I know, I just… I remember our high school days and how stressful they were, and I keep thinking, I can’t protect them from everything.”
No, she couldn’t. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Peace and quiet were a luxury, much like time. He really should’ve known, however - he wasn’t the only one trying to shield the kids from the unknown.
Heh, Tanner was wrong. Jenna was the most capable one of them all.
Jenna continued, before he could interrupt, “I don’t want to protect them from everything. The real world'll come crashing down soon enough. The least we can do is show them the way, you know?”
“You did good. I’ll bring you a gold star.”
She laughed. “Bring extra. Remember, Mason’s hosting wine night tomorrow – and we’re supposed to meet Kathy too.”
Like he could forget. Knowing his luck, Mason picked the most dim-witted girl in the room and they would have to listen to inane chatter about celebrities. Or worse, home decor. They were (way) too young to get starry-eyed about couch patterns.
“Don’t remind me,” Damon settled on saying as he turned the Camaro back into the road. “The less I think about it, the better.”
“I’m sure she’s not that bad. She can’t beat Jules.”
“Ah, yes, six hours of Fashion Disasters. My kind of party.” Damon let out a disgusted, almost inhuman noise.
“Damon! Give her a chance. She might not be so bad.”
He groaned. “I’ll think about it.”
Before she could sling some more guilt (Jenna had never approved of Andi, and she had let him know it), he hung up on her and focused on the drive home. It was shorter this time. No winding shortcuts or scenic routes, because honestly?
He had to face the consequences. Better sooner than later. So when he got home and stepped across the threshold, he waited for that inevitable berating. He waited for their disappointed stares and awkward silence. He waited for that slow, stern Gattino… echoed on their lips.
(Dad would say he could do better, no that he should’ve done better, and Mom would just let her shoulders sag. They didn’t need discipline to ruin him.)
His heart beat a little faster as he turned the corner and walked into the den. Stefan and Mom were curled up on the couch with old photo albums, while Dad was in his favorite armchair, flipping through channels on TV. The air hummed with old, Arabic jazz tunes. The second their eyes met, Dad’s entire face lit up with relief.
“You ready?” He said, levitating a plate of lemon bars in Damon’s direction.
Damon gave him a slow smile as he accepted the offering. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”