♣ rock star / muscle car ♠

The Sound of Silence (5/20, TVD, Klaus/Stefan/Bonnie, Damon/Bonnie, Damon/Elena)

rebeldesigns — Mon, 15 Oct 2012 21:37:12 GMT

Rating: R
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, AU future!fic
Pairings: Klaus/Bonnie/Stefan, Stefan/Bonnie, Damon/Bonnie, Damon/Elena, Stefan/Elena, Matt/Caroline/Tyler, some vague Katherine/Elijah, Katherine/Damon and hints of Jeremy/Bonnie.
Disclaimers: Don’t own The Vampire Diaries, nor any recognizable characters.

It’s been 3 years since Bonnie Bennett has put the town of Mystic Falls in her rear-view mirror, vowing never to return. A history major at BC by day and a witch-for-hire by night, Bonnie pays the bills by selling the tricks of her trade, though she vows to never again involve herself in the affairs of vampires. But when she receives phone calls from two individuals she never wants to see again, she is thrust unwillingly back into the world she so desperately tried to leave behind. As she races against the clock to uncover the killer bent on raising nothing short of hell, Bonnie must put aside her wants and discover the strength she needs in order to prevent the world from destruction. Along the way, she must make a pact with her sworn enemies to take down the biggest threat to humankind the world has ever seen, or soon the world may ring with the sound of silence.
It’s her destiny. It may also be her doom.

.005 NARROW STREETS OF COBBLESTONE

Damon slammed his car door with such force that the car rocked on its wheels. With a hissing squeal that set his teeth on edge, the glass cracked, spiderwebbing into thousands of tiny planes before, with a sound like a sigh, shattering into a rain of finely powdered dust. He cursed as glass showered the driver's seat and covered his feet with glittering shards. The shining pieces winked up at him in the sunlight, refracting the beams of light so earnestly that for a moment Damon forgot to be angry and just stared at the prism of colors. Then he shook himself off, glass tinkling as it fell out of the folds of his jeans and the crevices of his boots. He barely resisted the urge to kick the side of the car for good measure. Knowing his luck, a slight tap from his foot would be enough to blow up the vehicle, sensitive as it seemed to be today.

Sometimes, having vampire strength was just really fucking inconvenient.

Attempting to rein in his simmering rage, Damon straightened, closing his eyes and waiting for composure to settle on him like some faithful, sobering shroud. He combed a hand through his thick, black hair, sweeping his fingers down his face to scratch at the days-old stubble on his cheeks.

He was chasing shadows. Mystic Falls… she was supposed to be here. She was supposed to be here. Why wasn't she here?

He had done everything short of turning the entire town upside down looking for her, for a trace of her, anything that could give him a clue that would lead him to where she would be, all without alerting the rest of the town to her presence. What he got instead was nothing but a headache, a dull throb in his chest, and a shattered driver's-side window. He should have known that she would have left as quickly as she had come; Bonnie was like a rock skipping across the pristine surface of a lake, barely touching but leaving ripples behind that spread, spread until it was as if the lake was never still at all.

He had meant it when he told her he wished he could forget.

Squinting up through his lashes, he gazed at the sloping gables and rustic wraparound porch of the Victorian bed and breakfast he was parked in front of. It was the last place on the endless list of places he had to check. His hope, what little of it he'd had when he first set eyes on her after so many years, had been running on fumes for the past several hours, and he was pretty sure it was about to be snuffed out.

From the street, the eccentric, historical house looked like something from the front of a postcard; from its beige-and-black color scheme, its slightly uneven, yet charming brick walkway, the manicured landscaping, and the cheery petunias swinging from pots affixed to the porch, the Mystic B&B had certainly cleaned up nicely compared to the dilapidated excuse of a shack it had been in previous hands. Damon would know, having seen the house in all its incarnations over the years.

A sudden, brisk wind from the east snaked its chilly fingers around his throat in a vice and he shivered, eyes flicking to the tops of the trees surrounding the house, which were beginning to turn the blushing reds and throaty golds of a reticent autumn. Damon grimaced, turning up the collar of his jacket with a deft flick of his wrist and starting his trek up the street towards the bed and breakfast.

As he made his up the sloping drive, his gaze lingered on a car parked out front in one of the guest spaces. Damon blinked, taking in the out-of-town plates in a cursory glance. Then he turned, trotting up the brick walkway and taking the porch stairs two at a time.

"We're being followed."

It was the first time she had spoken in over twenty-eight hours, and Bonnie flinched at the sharp flint-edged sound her own voice made, piercing the gossamer silence that had lain over the two of them for the past ten hours of the car ride. Her voice was a harsh, flat, impersonal version of what it used to be—from disuse, perhaps, over the past two days; or, more likely, from the nightmares that woke her up each night, screaming her throat bloody while Stefan's cool laughter settled about her ears like down. The nightmares were only made worse when she realized they weren't dreams at all, but in fact a very real and present reality, personified in the living, breathing nightmare sitting next to her at present in the driver's seat.

Stefan drummed his fingers along the steering wheel of their car, eyes flicking back and forth between the stretch of highway before them and the rearview mirror. His mouth was fixed into a grim line, but his only response to Bonnie's statement was the slight flare of his nostrils as he trained his eyes on the road ahead of them.

Bonnie's fingers dug into the underside of her elbows as she fought to keep her impatience from seeping into her body language. Every interaction with Stefan was a struggle to contain her anger, which, unlike her still-defunct powers, flared up at the slightest provocation. Or lack thereof, since Stefan refused to acknowledge the presence of his increasingly agitated captive.

"Did you hear me, asshole?" Woops. Bonnie winced internally. That one sort of slipped out before she could help it. "We've got a tail." She jabbed her thumb behind them.

Stefan finally decided to join the conversation, clearly deducing that it was his best chance of shutting her up. "I know," he replied simply in his best monotone. "They caught up with us in Xenia and have been tailing us ever since."

"What?" Bonnie's voice went up an octave. All the way back in Xenia? That meant they'd been following the two of them since early yesterday evening. "Couldn't you shake them, or something, y'know…" She waved her hand vaguely at the road. She resisted the urge to picture Stefan gunning the engine of their Impala, Dwayne Johnson-style, and Fast and Furious-ing their way down the interstate until their pursuers were two twin specks of headlight in their rearview.

Stefan fixed her with a look that, while mild, nonetheless pinned her to her seat with its intensity. His eyes, twin slate depths, seemed to churn like liquid crystal as she watched them apprehensively.

"I've tried to lose them. These guys are smarter than I originally thought," he explained, enunciating as if speaking to a senile old man. "I think… They must have switched cars last night while we stayed in Peoria. I wasn't sure it was them in the Sebring this morning, but now I'm certain."

"Who are 'they'?" Bonnie pressed him. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of her window, squinting at the car's reflection in the sideview. "What aren't you telling me, Stefan?"

Stefan looked Bonnie dead in the eyes. "You're a commodity that's in high demand right now," Stefan said plainly. His mouth turned up slightly in a facsimile of a smirk, as if he enjoyed referring to her as an object and not a person. "Now, be a good witch, will you? Shut up and let me do my job."

Stefan calmly turned on his right turn signal and merged into the slow lane. Bonnie's gaze slid to the side mirror, and she watched as the black Chrysler waited no longer than two minutes before smoothly merging into their lane two cars behind.

"What are you doing?" Bonnie asked after a moment, unable to help herself.

Stefan gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. Bonnie leaned back, expecting him to explode any second. Instead, he let out a long stream of air and pasted a quick smile to his face. The effect was predatory, and Bonnie was ill at ease at the sight of it.

"You hungry?" Stefan finally asked, throwing up the blinker and pulling off the nearby exit.

"No," Bonnie started to say, before her stomach gave one embarrassingly loud and defiant gurgle.

Stefan snorted. "Right. Let's eat." And that was that.

Bonnie slumped in her seat and watched the black Chrysler trail behind them. She prayed that Stefan knew what he was doing.

To the west, the sun began its slow descent in the sky, and the clouds began to darken.

The foyer smelled divinely of apples and cinnamon.

Damon's footsteps creaked on the old floorboards as he moved further into the inn, taking in the quaint furnishings, the threadbare Oriental rug, and the porcelain rooster of questionable taste resting on the authentic mantelpiece.

Damon strode towards the front desk and slapped his hand down on the bell. Silent as a ghost, Mrs. Jackson appeared out of one of the side rooms almost instantly, as if she had been waiting for his arrival.

"Hi there, Mrs. Jackson. How are you this fine afternoon?" Damon's toothy smile felt out of place and awkward, but he kept it plastered to his face regardless. He was out of practice with his basic pleasantries, but luckily Mrs. Jackson didn't seem to notice.

In fact, she hardly seemed to notice him, despite the fact that he was standing right in front of her. Her frail, twig-like body seemed like to snap with the force of Damon's gaze, which he managed to pin directly to her face, ready to read every emotion that would cross it. However, at this moment, her face was passive, and her smile seemed as fake as his own as she blinked curiously up at the wallpaper behind him through her thick spectacles.

"Why… Damien Salvatore? Is that you?" She smacked her lips and squinted, running her hands along the front of her rooster-print apron. Damon sensed a theme.

"Why, you haven't aged a day," she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Damon's eye twitched slightly at 'Damien,' but his grin did not falter. "And may I say the same about you, Miss Dharma? You look absolutely lovely today," Damon returned winningly, eyes glittering down at her.

Mrs. Jackson's bland smile grew slightly wider, and with a shaky hand she reached up and smoothed the white flyaway strands of hair back into her bun. Her eyes darted to the grandfather clock before returning to affix onto an area somewhere around his right earlobe. "What can I do for you today, Damien, dear?"

Damon clasped his hands demurely in front of him and fixed the innkeeper with a solemn look. "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he began, eyes searching her face for anything that would betray her. "She's young, about yea high—," he held his hand out to his shoulder, "—green eyes, dark, pretty. Has a bit of a temper on her. You would have noticed her if she walked in." She has that effect on people.

Mrs. Jackson frowned and retreated to the front desk, where she began flipping through the guest log. "What was her name, dear?"

Damon sighed. "Bennett. Bonnie Bennett."

"I'm sorry dear, doesn't ring a bell. She's not listed, you see." The innkeeper showed him the guestbook, eyes turned downward.

Damon glanced down his nose at the list of names, which was absent any Bonnies or Bennetts. He ran his fingers along the binding of the past few pages, checking to see if any of them had been ripped out recently. The seams were smooth and unaltered.

Damon's shoulders slumped. Pausing as a thought struck him, he allowed his eyes to flick back up to Mrs. Jackson, who was wringing her hands in her rooster apron and staring at the guest book in his hands. His gut told him that she was hiding something from him. His gut also told him that the only way to get it out of her was to compel her. And yet his conscience, still fragile in its infancy, tugged at his better judgment, which balked at the idea of using his powers on so old and frail a mind as Mrs. Jackson's.

Damon let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. No. This was a dead end. Time to go home and forget about everything that had happened in the past two days. And still… that niggling feeling in his gut grew to an itch. Something bothered him. Not once during their entire exchange did Mrs. Jackson look at his face, or further, meet his eyes. Why?

Turning so that he could face her more fully, Damon set his mouth into a hard line. "Why won't you look at me, Mrs. Jackson?" Damon inquired in a hard voice.

Mrs. Jackson smoothed her hands over her apron and glanced instead at the grandfather clock behind the both of them. Her lips pursed. "Oh, dear. I believe left an apple turnover in the oven. If you'll excuse me."

"Right," Damon glowered, and Mrs. Jackson's smile returned, clearly waiting for him to leave. Still, her eyes refused to meet his, instead fixed upon the lapel of his jacket as he stepped backwards towards the door.

Damon paused by the welcome mat.

His eyes darkened and the veins crept across his browbones like tributaries. "Just… one more thing, Mrs. Jackson."

Damon suddenly turned on his heel, speeding towards the frail innkeeper with a velocity that should have startled any human being not familiar with vampires.

Instead, Mrs. Jackson held her ground and blinked sweetly up at him, as if she had not just witnessed a display of superhuman ability. Her eyes were flat and soulless, shallow depths only present for show. He would recognize that gaze in anyone, having induced it in others more times than he could count. Mrs. Jackson was a mere puppet, awaiting the tugs and pulls of her master.

Damon's lip drew back in a soundless snarl, and he could barely speak around the deadness that settled low in his throat, slowing his pulse to a crawl with the realization he had just made. "Thank you, Mrs. Jackson. That's all I needed to know."

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked out of the bed and breakfast. The bell chimed cheerily behind him as the door swung closed.

Once outside, Damon broke into a run. He fished out his phone with one hand as he skidded to a halt in front of his Audi, reaching in through the broken window to unlock the door. Damon slid into the driver's seat, not even bothering to sweep the broken glass out of the way. He jabbed at the start button with his forefinger, fumbling for a moment in his haste, until finally the R8 roared to life. With a squeal of tires on asphalt, Damon peeled out of the parking space and sped towards Main Street like a bat out of hell. With his other hand, he dialed Elena.

The phone rang a few times before he got her voicemail. "Dammit!" Damon cursed, slamming the steering column with a fist in frustration.

"Elena, if you get this, stay at home. There's another vampire in town. I don't know who yet. They're dangerous, and they might be with Bonnie. Yes, Bonnie, Elena. She came for the funeral. They might have taken her, I—I don't know," Damon was speaking incoherently, even to his own ears, but he couldn't stop the stream of words coming out of him.

"Her car was parked outside of the B&B on the outskirts, but she's not—I mean, she's gone. They have Mrs. Jackson compelled. She knew about vampires. At least—well." Damon let out a shaky laugh, trying and failing to think straight. The speedometer pushed eighty-five, ninety.

He cleared his throat and lowered his voice, urgent now. "There are vampires back in Mystic Falls, Elena. Vamps that aren't us. I don't know who they are, so I am begging you—begging you, Elena; listen to me!—stay at home. I'll see you there soon.

"Love you," he added hastily, then he tossed his phone into the passenger's seat and floored the accelerator.

She didn't even get a chance to scream.

The motel room was so dark that it rendered having her eyes open useless, but Bonnie didn't need to see to feel the weight of the person bearing down on her chest, slowly forcing the air from her lungs. The man's hand, foul and clammy, like a submerged and rotting dead thing, wrapped so tightly over her mouth and nostrils that she could no longer breathe, let alone suck in enough air to let out a scream. She flailed in the dark, elbow connecting with the solid weight of her attacker. She felt bone crunch beneath the force of her blow, strategically aimed by what she hoped was the collarbone, but she only succeeded in making him angry. Their knee violently cracked into her ribs, winding her completely.

Her powers were scattered, and in her panic what little of it had recuperated from the events of the last two days was now like running water through her fingers, loosely confederated and so difficult to grasp that the effort made her see stars. Or, perhaps, that was the blow to the back of her skull, which sent her sprawling over the side of her bed before she crashed in a heap of limbs, cheek grafted to the scratchy motel carpet.

"Ste—!" Gasping, shuddering, Bonnie tried to cry out Stefan's name, but she couldn't get enough oxygen into her lungs. She knew from the stinging numbness and her swimming vision that she had sustained a concussion. She let out a soundless wheeze and began dragging herself towards the door, fumbling in the dark for something, anything that would give her purchase.

Her forearm struck the edge of the nightstand by the bed and she kicked out, hard. The crack of wood as one of the legs split was the sweetest music to her ears, and as the nightstand wobbled and fell with a crash, she prayed someone would hear it. Fumbling forward in the dark, Bonnie grabbed one of the splintered pieces of wood and somersaulted away from her bed, coming to rest in a crouched position that gave her a clearer line of sight.

Sometime in the night, it had begun to rain. Like a flash bomb, lightning streaked across the sky and lit up the motel room for a split second, giving Bonnie one clear, terrifying image of the scene before her. Standing upright and looming over her was something foul, right out of the darkest of nightmares.

There wasn't any one thing that she could put her finger on, exactly, because everything about it was too awful for her to take in at once. Maybe it was the creature's skin—milky, old, of a deathly pallor and giving off the stomach-churning odor of rotten meat. It could have been the creature's limbs, slender and long and entirely too thin to be human. It used darkness like a cloak, and the shadows seemed to lean towards it with such gravity that its surroundings seemed… distorted, somehow. It had no mouth to speak of, only smooth, white skin that expanded and deflated with its every breath. And its eyes—oh, God. Bonnie couldn't look away. Where a normal human would have eye sockets, the creature's skin stretched tightly over the holes like a drum skin, leaving two faint divots that nonetheless seemed to stare back at her with an ageless hunger.

Bonnie's mouth went dry and whatever scream she had dredged up by sheer willpower faltered and expired on her lips. What stood before her instilled her with such fear that it was all she could do to keep her heart from curling up and dying in her chest right then and there. Frantically, she began dragging herself towards the wall one painstaking inch at a time, stake long forgotten on the ground, right ankle throbbing and ribs heaving like bellows as she struggled to breathe. Whatever this thing was, she knew that she didn't have the means to kill it. This was an ancient magic. She could sense it in the way her hackles raised at the sight of it, the way its powers washed over her like a thick, putrid skin of oil over water.

The creature advanced towards her now. The rotting flesh of one cheek sagged downwards like sopping newspaper, and it flapped back and forth like a flag as the creature let out one rattling, dry sigh. Bending its long, spidery legs, it reached down towards her with one pale, long-fingered hand. The stench of the rotting flesh nearing her face made Bonnie gag, and she pressed herself up against the wall and closed her eyes.

Suddenly, the door of the motel room was ripped off its hinges and thrown outside into the raging storm. Lightning flashed and thunder pealed, and Bonnie's eyes were met with the sight of someone she never thought she'd be grateful to see: in the doorway, the silhouette of Stefan Salvatore stood, feet set wide apart, shoulders heaving slightly with the force of his anger. His face was contorted into a mask of pure, primal rage, his lips drawn back past his sharp fangs in a snarl, his eyes dark and veined. He was soaked; rain sluiced down his leather jacket in rivulets, puddling at his feet, and his hair was sodden. In his hands, he held a lighter and an aerosol can.

Lightning flashed, illuminating his eyes, narrowed and focused. "Hey, fuckface!" Stefan snarled, and the thunder echoed him.

The creature, hands mere inches from Bonnie's face, hesitated.

That hesitation was all that Stefan needed. Moving with lightning speed, he rushed the monster, sending it flying against the far end of the room. It landed in a heap, head bent at an awkward angle. Bonnie couldn't tear her eyes away and she watched in horror as the creature soundlessly, bonelessly, drew itself up. It seemed taller than before, and the shadows over which it had command seemed like tentacles, spreading silently and thickly like a blanket of dark fog rolling towards them.

It raised one slim, knarled finger and pointed at Stefan.

Then it rushed towards him.

Stefan smirked. Raising the aerosol can, he flicked the lighter open and Bonnie's vision exploded in a ball of light and heat.

The creature shrieked, raising its arms up to its bald face to protect itself while it shrank inwards, folding like a box until finally, the flames engulfed the monster's body completely. The fire shrank and then vanished.

Bonnie let out a shaky breath and gazed at the steaming, ash-filled crater in the center of the motel room.

Stefan's voice finally broke the silence. "You hurt?"

Bonnie ignored the question. Drawing herself to her knees, she peered over at the spot where the creature had gone up in flames. "Did you kill it?" She whispered, staring unblinking at the crater of ash in the middle of the room.

Stefan shook his head. "No. Its weakness is light. The power was out, so I made do with fire." He scrubbed a hand over his face, still wet with rain, and looked down at her with a heavy expression. "It'll be back."

"God," Bonnie let out a hysterical peal of laughter. "Never a dull fucking day in my life. A couple days with you and already I've almost been killed twice. God!" She laughed loudly.

"Are you hurt?" Stefan repeated, dropping the lighter and spray can to the ground with a clatter and crouching down to inspect her more closely. He gingerly brushed his knuckles against the bruise on her cheek, face impassive. He paused, sniffing for a moment, and then his nostrils flared at the smell of the blood oozing out of the wound at the back of her head. He pursed his lips and turned his face away with a shudder that rippled through him.

Bonnie watched him numbly as he shrugged out of his jacket and laid it across her shoulders. Methodically rolling up a sleeve, his fangs dropped and he bit deeply into his wrist, twin crimson lines running down his chin. He held the lifeblood to her lips. "Drink," he ordered. "Now."

Something in his tone sparked a fire in her. Anger, one of her instinctive responses to the intense fear she had felt, churned acidic inside her now, bubbling forth as she smacked his wrist away and gave him a hard shove away from her.

"Where were you?" Bonnie yelled. Her voice was so shrill that Stefan leaned away from her despite himself. "Where were you?! You go on and on about protecting me because I'm some asset for you and your twisted friends, but then you just leave me here to die?" Her vision blurred as angry tears filled her eyes.

Stefan watched her outburst with such a stony expression on his face that he could have been watching a weather report, which succeeded in catapulting Bonnie from angry to livid. She opened her mouth to yell some more, but Stefan cut her off.

"I was taking care of the demon," Stefan explained. The thunder outside nearly drowned out his words. "That's where I was. The guy that was tailing us… it was a demon. He was skulking around after you went to sleep, so I went after him. I thought, maybe I could get some answers..." Stefan sighed, and his face looked so drawn and weary that Bonnie got the feeling that perhaps the answers he sought had nothing to do with her at all.

Stefan shook his head angrily. "I should have known that it was a decoy. I had a bad feeling the moment I walked out the door."

He hesitated for a moment, then met her eyes. "I'm sorry," he admitted grudgingly, looking more frustrated than apologetic. "I never should have left you alone."

Their gazes locked and Bonnie sucked in a breath, startled to find that she somehow believed his apology. Regardless, she did not—could not—forgive him. Not after everything he had done to her. Her eyes shuttered and her fury simmered on low, ever-present and unbridled in her jade eyes as she glared at him.

Abruptly, Stefan rose to his feet and disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, re-emerging with one of the motel's threadbare white towels.

"Here," he said, tossing the towel at her unceremoniously. "Clean yourself up. We're leaving in ten minutes, before the creature come to its sense and returns to the plane it was banished from. I suggest you change out of those clothes," his gaze flicked up and down her tee shirt, lined with specks of matted blood, "and give them to me. I'm going to patrol the perimeter. When you get back, I expect you to be packed."

Having said all he needed to say, Stefan gazed down at her for a second longer, gaze lingering on her bloody, bruised cheek before speeding out of the room in a blur, leaving Bonnie to sit on the floor with a concussion, a twisted ankle, bruised ribs, and covered in her own blood.

It was only until he was gone that she allowed the tears to fall.

Damon slowed his car to a relative crawl as he neared the town square. As always, life seemed to move a good degree slower in the heart of Mystic Falls. It didn't help that today was a Saturday, which naturally meant that Main Street was bloated with people milling about, doing their weekly shopping errands. Damon groaned and slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding running over a pedestrian juggling four clothing bags and an affronted expression as she scowled at the tinted windshield where she assumed Damon might be. Damon flipped her off and laid on the horn, causing the other pedestrians on the walkway to scatter in confusion.

Damon tried ringing Elena again, to no avail. He was stopped at a red light, fuming, when he caught sight of the back of a familiar brunette head. It was Elena, walking in tandem with Matt as they window-shopped. Elena must have said something funny, because Damon could see Matt's eyes crinkle with mirth as he let out a bark of laughter. The two of them paused in front of a consignment shop, Elena sifting through an outdoor rack of sundresses and vintage jackets while Matt leaned against the doorframe and watched, chatting with her companionably.

Slamming on the brakes for the second time that day, Damon threw on a hasty turn signal and moved to park in the rear parking lot of the Mystic Grill. He needed to warn Elena as soon as possible, and since she wasn't answering her phone, he was going to make her listen one way or the other.

He was about to lock his car door (needlessly, given that the window was already smashed wide open) when he heard a buzzing noise coming from the passenger seat of his car. Damon thought about simply ignoring the call, but instead his common sense got the better of him and he reached through the window, patting around until his fingers brushed up against the vibrating phone.

Snatching it up, Damon squinted down at the caller I.D.

"Elena," he breathed, accepting the call immediately. "Hey," he said, jogging out of the parking lot towards the consignment shop where he had seen her earlier. "I'm headed your way now. Don't move, and tell Matt that he needs to get lost for a few minutes while we talk."

Elena's voice was bemused. "Matt? What are you talking about?"

"Ditch the blonde, Elena," Damon repeated through his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation as he rounded the corner.

He came upon the consignment shop, and slowly his footsteps faltered to a halt. Elena stood before Matt, holding up a particularly atrocious-looking sundress to the football player's frame. Matt playfully shoved it away and Elena's laughter floated towards him, light and tinkling like a wind chime. Matt then turned and walked inside of the clothing store, beckoning Elena with a shrug of his shoulder and a slow smile. She lingered by the outdoor display rack, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Damon's breathing became shallow.

"Damon?" Elena's voice prompted in his ear. "Are you alright?"

The Elena by the consignment shop turned slowly towards him, graceful and precise as a ballerina. Her hair, straight and long, caught the sunlight, almost as bright as the flash of her teeth as she fixed Damon with a direct stare that pierced through to his core made his blood run absolutely cold.

The phone slipped from his grip and shattered across the sidewalk.

The second Elena's cheeks dimpled gently and she slowly, deliberately winked.

Suddenly, the blaring horn from a car on the street made Damon start. Looking around him, he dazedly realized that he had stopped stock-still in the middle of a crosswalk. He moved out of the way hastily.

When he looked back up, she was gone.

Postscript: I had this extra scene in the chapter with a small moment between Bonnie and Stefan, but I didn't end up including it in the chapter since it didn't move the plot along. Would you all be interested in reading "deleted scenes" and things like that as inter-chapter tidbits to bide the time while I write the next chapter? Let me know in the comments.

The Sound of Silence (4/??, TVD, Klaus/Stefan/Bonnie, Damon/Bonnie, Damon/Elena)

rebeldesigns — Wed, 07 Mar 2012 19:17:20 GMT

It’s been 3 years since Bonnie Bennett has put the town of Mystic Falls in her rear-view mirror, vowing never to return. A history major at BC by day and a witch-for-hire by night, Bonnie pays the bills by selling the tricks of her trade, though she vows to never again involve herself in the affairs of vampires. But when she receives phone calls from two individuals she never wants to see again, she is thrust unwillingly back into the world she so desperately tried to leave behind. As she races against the clock to uncover the killer bent on raising nothing short of hell, Bonnie must put aside her wants and discover the strength she needs in order to prevent the world from destruction. Along the way, she must make a pact with her sworn enemies to take down the biggest threat to humankind the world has ever seen, or soon the world may ring with the sound of silence.
It’s her destiny. It may also be her doom.

.004 RESTLESS DREAMS

He had been in town for less than twenty-four hours and already he was bored out of his fucking mind. What had he ever seen in this place, that he would have called it home? Sometimes, he didn't have a clue.

No. That was wrong. He did know why, exactly why.

He just didn't give a shit anymore.

Stefan paced. Outside, the sky bled faint oranges and bruise-like purples as the sun made its faithful trek above the horizon, one degree at a time. Dawn had come quickly after the rather unanticipated events of earlier that morning, and with it came the dewy scents of grass and leaves, which he could smell even from his vantage inside her room. The faint beginnings of sunshine filtered into the small bedroom almost furtively, dodging the shadows and flecking the hardwood floor with amber stripes trained through the slats of the half-drawn blinds. Dust motes glittered as they fell lazily through the air, and outside the mockingbirds began calling to each other in throaty chirps. From beyond closed doors, life continued.

And still Stefan paced. The floorboards beneath his boots creaked as he passed over them, and yet she did not stir. It could be awhile, he figured. Each person was different.

She had been half-dead by the time he was through with her. It had been so long… he had forgotten that she was just as fragile as the rest of them, despite the awesome power her body housed within. As it were, he wasn't sorry for what he did, even though he had probably overreacted a bit. She did stake him, though, and ruined one of his favorite shirts in the process. That smarted a bit, naturally, and the urge to hurt her back, hurt her more was something that overrode any initial orders he had been given.

His temper was not something he bothered to hold in check anymore.

And he enjoyed it. Oh, he enjoyed making her hurt.

Stefan forced out a sharp stream of air through his nose and pursed his lips, stopping mid-stride to allow a glance at the witch who had been forcibly re-integrated back into his life—against either of their wills, it would seem. She was sprawled across the quilted counterpane of the bed where he had unceremoniously dumped her limp body only hours earlier, having forced the lifeblood that animated his own body past her unresponsive lips. Now she lay there, almost serenely, as if she had simply been sleeping all this time. Her hair, dark and longer than he remembered, fanned out in a wavy halo about her face and shoulders. Her forehead was still matted with blood, but the gash had sealed long ago. Her eyes were closed and no longer sunken, long lashes dusting her high cheekbones like feathers. Some of her pallor had lessened, and her pulse was stronger. Stefan could hear it acutely, like a drumbeat just under the warm, soft expanse of her skin.

Her internal injuries were taking longer to heal. Spine, ribs, damaged brain, organ failure… the works. And, unfortunately, vampire blood only worked so fast. Luckily, Stefan had over a century to learn to be patient.

He flinched when his phone rang, shattering the silence with a tinny jingle that set his teeth on edge. Across from him, Bonnie's breathing steepened into a more rapid pace, but she still did not wake. Breaking his gaze from Bonnie's prone form, Stefan cast an annoyed glance around the room, isolating the source of the sound and moving towards it. The phone was in the left pocket of his leather jacket, which he had cast aside onto the old-fashioned armchair in the corner of the room upon entering it. Feeling around inside the coat, Stefan retrieved the phone and read the caller I.D.: BLOCKED.

Stefan rolled his eyes and hit accept. "What?" He snapped, gripping the phone tightly between his fingers as he held it to his ear.

"Oh, you know bloody well what, Salvatore," Kol retorted sharply, accent elongating his vowels as he spoke. "It's been thirty-six hours. You do realize my brother doesn't like to be kept waiting, or are you just as thick as you make out to be?"

Stefan cast one last dark look at Bonnie's sleeping form and walked over to the bathroom, shutting the door with a smart snap and locking it behind him. He didn't need the light to see, but he turned the switch on regardless. Force of habit. The harsh fluorescent lighting set a gaunt cast across his visage, which he stared at for a few moments in the mirror before leaning against the sink and running an aggravated hand down his face.

"What's taking you so long?" Kol pressed. There was an edge to his voice beyond the regular animosity that he held for Stefan, something that indicated an urgency which wasn't there before. "Do you have the witch or not?" The way he said it made him sound like a petulant child. Stefan bit back a snort.

"Yes. I have her," Stefan acknowledged with decided disinterest. "I tried talking with her. She wasn't amenable."

There was an impatient sigh on the other end of the line. "Well, be more persuasive, then," the Original replied, sounding like he was gritting his teeth. "Oh, don't tell me Stefan Salvatore has lost all of his charm?"

"Don't be snide, Kol, it'll give you wrinkles on that baby face of yours," Stefan rejoined icily. "Tell him I'll be there with the witch in due time, and to prepare for our arrival. Oh, and Kol?"

"Hm?"

"Tell your brother that next time, he should get another lackey, or do his own dirty work himself. I'm not a courier service," Stefan smiled darkly into the phone and then disconnected the call, not bothering to wait for Kol's reply.

"Bonnie."

She stirred, head swiveling instinctively away from the noise. She knew she did not like that voice, or its owner, whoever it was. God, she just wanted to sleep forever, there in the dark.

"Bonnie," the voice insisted.

It was murmured low and hushed, almost amused, the voice familiar enough that the emotions she felt upon hearing it made her pulse jump start, adrenaline flooding her system. Something soft and cool traced along the contours of her face, a fleeting sensation so quick that she was sure she had imagined it, if not for the way her skin reacted to the touch: an instant flare of heat that spread to her neck and chest like molten lead.

Her eyes flicked open, pupils contracting painfully as they were met with the now bright sunlight filtering in through the filmy sheers of the window curtains.

"There she is," Stefan smirked in satisfaction, patting her forehead twice as one would a dog. He then sat back, crossing his arms and watching her, unblinking, with his glittering grey eyes.

It took her a few moments for her to realize who, exactly, was sitting at the foot of her bed. Then Stefan's face swam into focus and with it, all the memories from last night. With a horrified gasp, she shot up out of bed, scrambling up against the wooden headboard while simultaneously swiping her right hand across her body with a snap of motion. In response, the lamp sitting on the nightstand flew off and whipped towards Stefan with force, cord sparking as it was yanked viciously from the wall socket. Stefan calmly raised his arm to block his face, and the lamp collided with him, the glass base shattering and showering them both with shards of colored glass.

Bonnie was moving. She hurled herself off the bed and stumbled to a stand, but as she staggered forward a wave of nausea and dizziness made her double over, tripping over her own feet and falling to her knees, wheezing and trying not to retch. She crouched there, panting and blinking desperately, trying to clear her vision. She crawled slowly towards the door; with a wave of her hand, the latch unlocked and the door swung open with such momentum that the doorknob embedded with a crunch into the wall behind it. Her magic was haywire, all over the place; she couldn't get a good grasp on it, and the pounding in her head only got worse the more she tried. Her vision swam in and out of focus even as she blinked furiously to correct it. She tried to call out, but she barely had energy enough to draw breath, let alone speak.

Stefan watched with indifference as Bonnie struggled to pull herself to her feet. He lazily began plucking pieces of glass off of his shirt and pants, flicking them to the floor with distaste as he waited for her to tire herself out. By the time she made it to the doorframe, he had finished brushing the leftover bits of lamp out of his hair. He cracked his knuckles and stood languidly. And then, with barely a whisper of wind to betray his presence, he appeared at Bonnie's back. She froze, chest heaving, facing the open doorway—her freedom—as Stefan slowly smoothed one hand over the nape of her neck and squeezed once, gently. A warning.

Stefan frowned as a niggling itch grew at the back of his brain. It took him a few seconds to realize that Bonnie was trying to give him one of her aneurysms. He blinked in surprise at the sensation, so different from before, and a broad smile graced his lips in response. He let out a low chuckle and was pleased to feel Bonnie quiver beneath him, some intoxicating combination of exhaustion and fear that he could practically taste like an aphrodisiacal elixir on his tongue. Leaning over Bonnie's slight frame, Stefan tugged on the door, which came free in a shower of drywall. Dragging Bonnie back by her neck, he kicked the door shut and pulled her backwards further into the room, pushing her into the armchair with a little more force than was necessary. Bonnie toppled, headfirst, into the cushioning.

Stefan towered over her, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles rippling beneath the black cotton of his shirt. Bonnie righted herself in the armchair and fixed him with a simmering glare that made her green eyes crackle with unbridled fury. Stefan fixed her with a dark, hungry smile that carved into his handsome features like a wound. Bonnie met his gaze. There was nothing, absolutely nothing behind those eyes of his. The realization, like so many she had recently witnessed in this new Stefan, made her blood run cold.

"Sorry about the bends," Stefan began, tone making it clear he was anything but. "I know you're probably feeling sick right now… With your body in the state that it's in, your powers are not going to work properly. You were banged up pretty badly; it took a lot of my blood to heal you." Stefan cocked an eyebrow and inclined his head towards hers slightly. "You're welcome, by the way. If it weren't for me, you'd be a paraplegic vegetable right about now."

Bonnie's face contorted into rage, cursing her body for feeling so weak, and her powers for seemingly having no effect on him. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have needed any blood in the first place!"

Without warning, Stefan's hand whipped out and smacked her across the face with a crack that echoed throughout the room. Bonnie couldn't help it; she let out a cry as her face exploded in a blaze of pain. The entire left side of her head felt numb, and her ears were ringing as her eyes welled with tears. The salty taste of blood coated her tongue and she knew her lip was split.

"Bonnie, Bonnie, Bonnie," Stefan sang, leaning down on his haunches to face her and reaching out to cup the cheek he had just slapped. Bonnie knocked his hand away. The empty grin slid off his face with alarming speed, replaced again by the emotionless mask that was somehow even more unsettling. "From now on, be a good little witch and don't speak out of turn." He said the word witch as if it were something filthy. "That was a warning. We clear?"

Bonnie growled, feeling along her lip and cheek tenderly with her fingers, but otherwise stayed silent. Stefan tapped her nose with his finger and stood to full height once more. "Good girl."

Suddenly, there came a quiet knock from the door, and both Stefan and Bonnie turned to face it. Stefan gave Bonnie a look that clearly said stay. Bonnie bristled. She did not like being treated like some sort of unruly pet under control of Stefan's leash. She was tempted to set him on fire, just for the hell of it, but unfortunately her powers were still not rejuvenated, and forcibly calling upon them took energy that she did not yet possess. She couldn't risk using them right now. It seemed, for the time being, she was trapped.

Fantastic.

Stefan turned and strode over to the doorway in efficient, decisive movements. He opened the door and smiled when he saw the frail old Mrs. Jackson, owner of the Mystic Falls Bed and Breakfast, clutching a tray filled to overflowing with continental-style breakfast food. Her wispy white hair framed her lined face, giving her a frumpy, yet grandmotherly, appearance. She was so tiny that she couldn't have weighed more than 90 pounds soaking wet.

"Oh, there you are, dear," Mrs. Jackson blinked up absentmindedly at him, thick glasses slipping down her nose. "I see you found your runaway fiancée. Oh, I do hope you two made up. I brought you both some breakfast since you missed the buffet brunch."

"Thank you so much, Miss Jackson. That was very thoughtful of you. And may I say that you look positively glowing this morning," Stefan smiled charmingly down at her. Mrs. Jackson tittered and shook her head as if to say, oh, stop.

At the sound of Mrs. Jackson's voice, Bonnie craned her neck around Stefan to try and get a better look at her.

"Mrs. Jackson? Help me! Please!" Bonnie cried out. She stood up from the chair, ignoring Stefan's threats, and waved to get her attention. "Run! Get the police!"

Mrs. Jackson just smiled blandly at her and held the tray of food out to Stefan, who took it with a gleaming white smile. She then stood there, eyes wide and blank for a few moments, before closing her mouth and pressing a wrinkled hand to her forehead. "Oh, goodness," she said apologetically, frowning at Stefan. "I almost forgot." She reached slowly into the folds of her apron and pulled out a large, sharp-looking butcher's knife, the blade easily as long as her forearm. The knife gleamed wickedly in the light of the sun streaming in through the bedroom window. When she spoke, her words were directed towards Stefan, but her eyes were fixed on Bonnie's. "Would you like me to do it now, dear?"

Bonnie's heart leapt to her throat and her eyes darted in between the elderly woman and Stefan frantically.

Stefan calmly stepped more fully into the room and placed the food tray down on the wrinkled bedspread before replying. "Not now, Miss Jackson. But, would you be so kind as to hold on for a moment? My fiancée and I have some matters to discuss." He managed to tell the lie beautifully; his tone was airy and light when he spoke and he even tossed an affectionate look at Bonnie for good measure.

Mrs. Jackson simply nodded, smiling blandly, and stood there at the doorway with the knife held by her side in her slightly tremulous grip.

Bonnie turned her horrified expression to Stefan. "What's going, on, Stefan? Tell me now, or I swear—"

"You swear what, exactly?" Stefan cut in, eyebrows rising in earnest. "Please, do tell. Were you going to run? Or are you going to try and give me an aneurysm? Because that worked out so well." He was satisfied to see frustration creep into Bonnie's expression at the mention of her latest failed magic attempt. "Or perhaps you were hoping to stake me again?" Stefan reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out Harker's stake, which he twirled between his long fingers tauntingly. Shaking with anger, Bonnie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent her from doing anything stupid, like punching Stefan in the face just out of sheer spite.

Instead, Bonnie thrust her chin in Mrs. Jackson's direction. "How long has she been under your influence? Last night? This week?"

"Two years," Stefan smirked around his words, watching with satisfaction as the color drained from Bonnie' face.

"Wh—what?" Bonnie sputtered, shock and confusion roiling around inside of her. She clutched her stomach, feeling queasy again. "Why would—? That makes no sense!"

"It makes perfect sense," Stefan replied, shaking his head like she was being purposefully obtuse. "Dharma here—and may I call you Dharma, Miss Jackson?" He cast a glance over at the frail B&B owner, who turned and nodded blankly at him, all expression gone from her face now that she was no longer being engaged in conversation. "Anyway, Dharma here is one of our several eyes and ears in this town. She and a few others help us keep an eye on the situation here in Mystic Falls, and give us updates from time to time, that kind of thing. When she got wind of a certain prodigal daughter making an appearance in town once more, well…" Stefan trailed off and winked at Mrs. Jackson. "She called me up right away. Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," Bonnie repeated hollowly, reaching behind her, feeling for the armchair. She sank slowly into it, staring out into space and processing. She clenched and flexed her fists repeatedly. "You said you had 'several eyes and ears' here. Who else? And who's working with you?"

Stefan tsked and waved a finger at her. "Not relevant, Bonnie. I need you to focus, because this is important. I need you to come with me. Now. We're going to take a little road trip." He bent over the food tray and plucked a few strawberries from the fruit dish, pressing one to his lips and sinking his teeth into it slowly. Bonnie tore her gaze from his mouth and shook her head, slowly at first, but then more firmly.

"Absolutely not. No. A thousand times, no," Bonnie crossed her arms. "What the hell, Stefan? What part about 'over my dead body' don't you understand?"

Stefan swallowed and licked his lower lip, catching the sweet juice from the strawberry with a flick of his tongue. He tossed the stem carelessly onto the tray and leveled a hard gaze on her.

"Firstly, I don't think you understand how applicable that poor choice of words could be right now. And secondly, my employer has upped the timetable. I was willing to let you think you had come up with the idea of accompanying me all by yourself, but I don't really have the patience to play mind games. So," he finished the last strawberry and clapped his hands together, "You have a choice. Pack your witchy effects and hit the road with me now, or watch as the lovely Dharma here goes through each and every room in this house and kills every single guest at the Mystic Falls Bed and Breakfast while I make you watch."

Bonnie's mouth dropped open. Her eyes fell on Mrs. Jackson, who brandished the knife at Bonnie with a sweet little smile still plastered to her aged face.

"No," she breathed.

"Yes," Stefan reminded her, now eyeing the pineapple slices in the fruit dish with interest.

"Well," Bonnie's voice trembled and she cleared her throat, "What makes you think I care?"

Stefan snorted and gave her a look that clearly indicated what he thought of that remark. Running a hand through his unruly hair, he stretched and sighed, cracking the vertebrae in his back as he did so. Pointing a finger at Bonnie's half-opened luggage, he said, "You have half an hour to eat, dress, and pack. I'm going to take a shower."

Bonnie opened her mouth to argue. Stefan's eyes blackened and veins traced along his cheekbones and brow. In barely the blink of an eye, he was upon her. For the second time, his hand closed tightly around her neck, her pulse skittering along his palm. He ran his thumb along it instinctively, tracing the pathway that housed her blood. Her skin was hot, almost feverish to the touch, warming his hand upon contact. He leaned in towards her, snarl hovering somewhere around his lips.

"Don't try anything characteristically valiant and stupid, Bonnie," he reminded her, speaking around his fangs. His breath fanned out across her face, sweet-smelling and utterly unlike the foul words he uttered. "Or Miss Jackson will start with the family of four in the suite right next door to your own. Nice family. A little boy and girl. Couldn't be older than ten years, each. You will never be able to erase their screams from your mind."

The hysterical laugh that escaped Bonnie's lips sounded more like a sob. "You're a monster," she choked out.

Stefan blinked, and for a moment something flashed through his eyes. Bonnie glared stonily up at him, but there was no amount of fury she could put in her expression that could match that which she felt in her heart for the man—no, the animal—standing before her. The air grew thick and hot between them, palpably so, and she struggled to breathe with his viselike grip around her throat. But then the moment passed, and Stefan's face slowly relaxed. Stefan gave her a small shake and then released her.

"That's the idea," he murmured, turning away from her and heading towards the bathroom, which shut with a slam.

Bonnie sank back into the armchair, shaking, not trusting herself to do anything but breathe.

She had lost track of time.

That, of course, was long before she had lost track of reality. Sense and sight had no meaning to her, not when they could be manipulated so cruelly. She had screamed her throat raw hours, maybe years, ago, screamed until all that escaped her lips was a low, uneven whine that broke forth from her cracked and bleeding lips like a death rattle each time she drew breath.

She had known pain throughout her life, and she had endured it. But nothing in her entire existence on this earth had prepared her for this. This was more than just corporeal punishment for her sins, she knew—it was a spiritual comeuppance, a flaying of the soul that could bleed and feel just like the rest of her spent body.

She had long ago given up hope of finding mercy in death. She had called upon every deity and devil she knew, called out to her mother and her father, her enemies and her friends, had broken down and cried out in broken Bulgarian and incoherent babbling until her voice went and her lungs failed her. Every sensation was a new torture to be met: the weight of the shackles around her wrists and ankles, cutting raw into her skin and binding her to the damp stone floor; the putrid smell of charred flesh—her flesh—that hung heavy and gagging in the noxious air she breathed; the sound of dripping, dripping, dripping, the source of which lay maddeningly just beyond her sight.

Faintly, she could make out the sound of footsteps clicking back and forth outside her cell. Her ears perked and she listened, straining, but the woman's aura was very powerful. The words that she did make out came to her scrambled, impossible to understand somehow, even though she knew that she was hearing them exactly as they were spoken.

"So you're absolutely sure you found her? Good. Mhm. Excellent work," the woman's voice rang smooth and clear as glass, and the prisoner shuddered to hear it. Groaning, she shifted her position on the floor so that one ear was turned towards the cell door. A tangled, matted curl fell across her face but she ignored it, listening, trying to make sense of the words that were being spoken. It was extremely difficult; the magic warped and reversed them in her sluggish brain, leaving it up to her to decipher what was truly being said.

The woman spoke quickly. "Well done. I want you to tail them." The heels went click click click across the stone floor, echoing loudly as she paced outside. The woman's tone took on a sharp edge that made the prisoner flinch away from it instinctively. "Do not lose them. Have I made myself clear? I—"

The pacing stopped.

The moments ticked by achingly slowly in the ringing silence and the prisoner's breathing began to quicken. Dread pooled slow and acidic in her belly.

The woman on the other side of the door chuckled. It was a low, insidious thing, and it echoed in the prisoner's mind long after the woman stopped giving voice to it. "It seems my guest is lucid once more," she said, her elation clearly apparent even through her magically-garbled words. "Call me as soon as they arrive. I expect a full report. You know the consequences should you fail me."

There was a curious snap of plastic on plastic, and the prisoner knew that the woman had ended the call. The footsteps neared the door and the hinges protested loudly as the great oaken thing was pushed open.

The woman strode into the chamber, looking slightly flushed, a small smile making her thin red lips stretch taut across her cheeks like a bow. The woman fixed the prisoner with a delighted expression, rubbing her hands together.

"So, Miss Katerina, where were we?" Her voice was music to behold. "I do apologize for that rude interruption. I had some business to conduct, as you probably overheard."

The woman snapped her fingers, and the sconces within the chamber sprang to life once, flames licking the thin air tentatively. Katherine winced at the sudden brightness. The light illuminated the woman's features, allowing Katherine to see her full beauty in the warm glow of torchlight. For she was, truly, beautiful—the kind of beauty that did not truly exist in nature. It was impossible to tell her age; sometimes she seemed a youth, other times as old as time, but for all the wisdom in her eyes she might have passed for scarce a year over thirty. Her hair was some profane shade of crimson, so red that fire itself paled in comparison to its lusty hue. It spilled in heavy silken ropes over her ivory shoulders, falling just short of her waist and emphasizing, in turn, the pale column of her regal throat. She was tall and waiflike, easily a head or so above Katherine herself, but her slim form contradicted the strength in her limbs, which Kat was foolish enough to underestimate in the beginning. The woman's face was angular, and something in it was too striking to be mere human in its design; no, her looks were otherworldly, as harrowing and awe-inducing as the power she wielded with so grave a sense of duty.

Somehow, the sight of the beautiful woman was enough to trigger memories of the past several hours, the painful torture she had undergone under this woman's administrations. Katherine bit back a shuddery gasp and writhed in her chains from her position on the dirty stone floor of the cell.

"Please," Katherine whispered to her tormentor, fresh tears spilling down her dirty cheeks as she begged. "Please, don't kill me! I've answered everything you asked! Please!" Her last words were choked out in a sob.

The woman turned her appraising stare upon the quivering vampire once more, lost in thought.

"Anything, I promise. I'll do anything," Katherine swore, looking up at the woman with plaintive brown orbs. She closed her eyes as the woman neared, fat tears squeezing out from under her eyelids and dripping down her face to mingle with the dust and the grime of the chamber floor.

"You will deliver a message for me," the woman decided, tapping a perfectly manicured nail on her cherry lips. "Do this, and I will free you completely."

Katherine wept gratefully, body sagging in relief at these words.

"As it were, I have business that will keep me here for a few more days. You will go in my stead. Do not stray from your path, or I shall sense it," the woman promised, black eyes glittering beneath her stern brow.

"I won't, I promise. Thank you," Katherine whispered to the beautiful woman. She wasn't sure she remembered how to smile, but she tried anyway, looking up in adoration at her merciful Mother. Her tears still fell, but they were tears of joy. They tasted the same as they coated her lips.

The woman closed her eyes and raised her arms to the heavens. She whispered a few words that Katherine did not catch, but they were clearly words of power, for the air sparked with it, raising the hair on Katherine's arms. The flames flickered madly in their sconces and the air pressure in the chamber dropped sharply as smoke began rising from the flickering torches on the wall. Great trails of it, dark and sooty, wafted towards the woman's outstretched palms, coalescing into a tight black ball above her head. The woman reached into the smoke and spoke a few more words, then pulled out something glinting and sharp. The smoke evaporated and the torch flames stilled, spell complete.

The woman turned towards Katherine, who sat there on the floor, mouth agape at the display. In the woman's hand, a long knife shone. It glowed in the dark, giving off a faint orange hue, as if it were a hot poker recently removed from the fire. Katherine shrank instinctively away from it as the woman approached.

"This will hurt you," the woman promised, beautiful mouth turned down in sorrow at the thought. She rolled the hilt around in her grip as she spoke. "But it will ensure that you are victorious in your efforts."

"Please, no more." Katherine could barely get the words past her swollen lips. More tears leaked out unbidden at the thought of more pain at this woman's hand, and it took her a few moments to realize that those pathetic, mewling whimpers she heard were coming from her own throat.

"I'm so sorry, my child, but it is a necessary thing to be done," the woman apologized sympathetically, red hair shining like blood in the harsh torchlight. She reached out a pale arm and pressed a cool hand to Katherine's cheek, a gentle, soothing sensation that the vampire could not help but lean into. The woman's touch even seemed to draw some of her pain out of her body, like poison being drawn from a wound. Katherine sighed and gazed up through wet lashes in appreciation at her Mother, whose kind smile radiated down to her like the warmth of the sun.

And then knife descended, and Katherine found that she could, in fact, still scream.

The Sound of Silence - A TVD Fanmix

rebeldesigns — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 07:15:49 GMT

A fanmix for The Sound of Silence :: The Sound of Silence - A Stefan/Bonnie/Klaus Fanmix

♫

o1. the sound of silence - simon & garfunkel

hello darkness, my old friend
i've come to talk with you again
because a vision softly creeping
left its seeds while I was sleeping
and the vision that was planted in my brain
still remains
within the sound of silence

o2. you and whose army? - radiohead

come on, come on
you think you drive me crazy
come on, come on
you and whose army?
you and your cronies

o3. bad company - bad company

i can hear them say
bad company
and i won't deny
bad bad company
till the day i die
till the day i die

o4. eleanor rigby - the beatles

all the lonely people
where do they all come from?
all the lonely people
where do they all belong?

o5. creep - scala & kolacny brothers

but i'm a creep, i'm a weirdo,
what the hell am i doing here?
i don't belong here
i don't belong here

o6. teardrop - massive attack

love, love is a verb
love is a doing word
fearless on my breath
gentle impulsion
shakes me, makes me lighter
fearless on my breath

o7. hunter - 30 seconds to mars

if travel is searching
and home what's been found
i'm not stopping
i'm going hunting

o8. seven nation army (remix) - the white stripes

i'm gonna fight 'em all
a seven nation army couldn't hold me back
they're gonna rip it off
taking their time right behind my back

o9. burning down the house - the used

that’s right, don’t want to hurt nobody
something sure can knock me off my feet
burning down the house

[ download .zip file ]

The Sound of Silence (3/??, TVD, Klaus/Stefan/Bonnie, Damon/Bonnie, Damon/Elena)

rebeldesigns — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 01:55:21 GMT

Rating: R
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, AU future!fic
Pairings: Klaus/Bonnie/Stefan, Stefan/Bonnie, Damon/Bonnie, Damon/Elena, Stefan/Elena, Matt/Caroline/Tyler, Alaric/Meredith, some vague Katherine/Elijah, Katherine/Damon and hints of Jeremy/Bonnie.
Disclaimers: Don’t own The Vampire Diaries, nor any recognizable characters.

It’s been 3 years since Bonnie Bennett has put the town of Mystic Falls in her rear-view mirror, vowing never to return. A history major at BC by day and a witch-for-hire by night, Bonnie pays the bills by selling the tricks of her trade, though she vows to never again involve herself in the affairs of vampires. But when she receives phone calls from two individuals she never wants to see again, she is thrust unwillingly back into the world she so desperately tried to leave behind. As she races against the clock to uncover the killer bent on raising nothing short of hell, Bonnie must put aside her wants and discover the strength she needs in order to prevent the world from destruction. Along the way, she must make a pact with her sworn enemies to take down the biggest threat to humankind the world has ever seen, or soon the world may ring with the sound of silence.
It’s her destiny. It may also be her doom.

.003 THE VISION THAT WAS PLANTED

She walked through a beautiful field, filled with swaying poppies of white and gold. She was barefoot and cloaked in smoke and light, and it took her a moment to realize that it was she who was illuminating the field before her, she who was the source of light towards which the flowers bowed. The sky was a fiery crimson and it churned rapidly, clouds roiling and swelling, then diminishing, and repeating again like a film in time-lapse. The sight discomfited her, but somehow she was not afraid. Something brushed against her feet, and she looked down. The flowers grew; the flowers wilted; the flowers died and their seeds fell, tumbling like glittering jewels from the shivering husks in rapid descent. Before her eyes, they turned into bright green little slashes of leaf even before their roots took hold of the rich black earth beneath her feet.

She heard the dripping of water by her right ear, loud and cavernous, and she flinched away from the noise. She whirled around to face the sound, a perfect pirouette of singular motion. A hallway loomed dark and silent before her now. She gasped, could hear it echoing in the black like some harsh, sentient thing, and she swiveled her head around desperately. But it was too late, and now the field was gone like a wisp of memory. Bare wall met her gaze in its stead and then it was like she was always there, in that hallway, but she just couldn’t remember how. When had everything changed? Her glittering dress of smoke and light dimmed at the thought, tendrils of grey caressing her body as they slid down her back, dropping to her ankles and rolling off them in silent waves. She swallowed and turned back to face the corridor, dread filling her blood with leaden unease. She began to walk, bare feet whispering across the uneven roughness of the floor beneath her.

The hallway seemed… off, somehow. Was it slanted, or was that just her imagination? Doors lined the hallway on either side, dusty and drab and uniformly the same indeterminate shade. Light filtered under the cracks of some of the doors, and under others fog rolled out, beckoning with smoky filaments. Water trickled from under some, cold and slick and foul; black slime oozed out from under the doorway of another, bubbling and frothy and unfathomably dank. Other doors still remained dark and unyielding, neither light nor smoke nor any other element issuing from within. For some reason, those were the doors that Bonnie feared the most. And from all of them, all, came the sound of whispers. They came to her faintly at first, hushed and furtive, so much so that she had to strain herself to hear them. She could not make out what they were saying.

She didn’t want to.

But what was behind them? Bonnie paused in front of one door, hesitant. She cocked her head to the side and looked down at the doorknob, a sense of giddiness running through her even though she heard a voice whispering to her over and over “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.” The word punctuated the dead space of the air around her like the jarring strokes of a typewriter, swift and definitive.

Don’t.

It took her a moment to realize that the words were her own, that she was the one whispering them to the darkness and the void. She did not know why she did so, and yet at the same time she did know, or suspected.

Don’t. She watched as her hand moved of its own accord, fingers shimmering like a mirage before her gaze as they reached out to touch, just to touch.

Don’t. The voice was insistent. Her breath faltered in her throat. Or was the other way around—that it was her throat grasping her breath in a viselike grip, preventing it from escape?

Don’t. Her hand brushed the cool finish of the metal doorknob, the sweet contact of hot flesh and cool element.

“AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!”

Like the fabric of the cosmos rent apart, something behind the door issued a blood-curdling scream.

It was unlike any other sound that Bonnie ever heard. The door heaved beneath the force of it, bowing and rippling like a sheet caught to wind, the roars shaking the wood paneling against its frame. Splinters showered over her as the door rattled at such speed that it vibrated in place; it as if whatever was on the other side of the door was trying to break free, and deep down, with the dawning horror of a child, she realized that was exactly what was taking place. The screams undulated, echoing throughout the hall like a crescendo, louder and louder and louder still, distorting and bending and multiplying like a living creature, sharp enough to pierce and piercing enough to draw blood. And it did! The door wept with it, dark, thick crimson rivers of it gushing across the paneling and rushing to meet her, to consume her—

She turned and ran, and darkness overtook her.

For a moment Bonnie lay awake, not daring to move.

The darkness pressed up claustrophobic against her eyes like a black shroud and for one dreadful, heart-stuttering moment she feared that she was still asleep, trapped in a dream-world where space-time and light-dark had no meaning. It took her a few moments to remember where she was, and how she had gotten there.

It seemed like the funeral and her encounter with Damon had been the segue to her bad dream, and this side of the other it felt wrong somehow, like days and months had passed in between that time and now. She sometimes dreamt of that too; dreamt that she was Sleeping Beauty, having awoken from her hundred-year-long slumber only to find the world soft and silent, a vast emptiness forgotten under a layer of dust, and very much alone.

But that was not her dream tonight, no. Tonight was different.

Bonnie’s pulse was pounding in her ears and her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth. She was drenched with sweat, her covers tossed askew over her shaking form, indicating yet another night of restless sleep. She had a lot of those lately. Came with the job, or so she told herself.

She lay still for a moment, eyes squeezing tightly shut, willing herself to remember what she had dreamt. She remembered bits and pieces—a door, a field, light and smoke and the fear, oh, the fear that tasted metallic on her tongue, even then—but the rest was just a fading memory, curling away to sooty nothingness like bits of burning paper scattered to the wind. Bonnie tried harder to recall the dread she had felt, interspersed with those moments of sheer and utter calm, as only dreams could induce. With a heavy sigh, her eyes flicked open once more. No use trying to remember something that didn’t want to be recalled.

But it had felt so real. That much, at least, she could say.

Running a still-trembling hand over her face, Bonnie reached out in the darkness to fumble for the alarm clock by her bedside. Her fingers brushed against the cool plastic as Bonnie swiveled the device until she could read it. The red illuminated face shone brightly into her maladjusted eyes, searing the numbers 3:11 into her vision even as she clapped a hand over the alarm clock to dim the glow. Realizing how early it was, Bonnie groaned, sinking back into her pillows and resisting the urge to cry.

Of course she wouldn’t be able to sleep. By rights, she shouldn’t be sleeping, not after everything that had passed.

Instead, Bonnie threw the blankets off her body and sat straight up in bed. She turned her body until her feet were hovering over the cold wood of the bedroom floor. Before she alighted on the oak, she hesitated, a habit that she couldn’t quite rid herself of even after twenty-one years. Ever since she was a child, she always hated this part: the three-second icy shock of one’s bare foot making contact with the frigid floor below. Bonnie had long ago invested in a pair of slippers to counteract this phobia (and it was just that—an irrational fear of cold floors… laughable, of course, considering what she faced on a daily basis), but, unfortunately, she had left them back at her dorm, five states and a six-hour car ride away. In that moment, it felt like another life, college; like she was just playing pretend. The sad reality was that no matter how hard she tried to pry herself away from Mystic Falls, its shadow seemed to be cast over her regardless of where she fled.

Scrunching up her face, Bonnie gingerly leaned forward and pressed the ball of her foot onto the floor below. It was unpleasant and freezing, as always. Snagging the throw blanket strewn across her bedspread, Bonnie wrapped the fabric about her body and padded her way towards her bathroom, en suite as per her request. She cast a wary eye out the window as she passed it, taking in the darkness and the stars, then looking idly down to the street below.

What she saw made her do a double take, heart leaping to her throat. Every sense flared to life and Bonnie’s grip loosed in shock, the throw slipping from her shoulders to pool at her feet. Without thinking, she threw herself to the wall beside the window and pressed herself up against it, praying he hadn’t seen her.

But she knew better.

The balmy autumn air disturbed the sheer white drapery covering the open window, and the gauzy fabric fluttered slowly towards her like a dancer. Light from the streetlamp below cast a yellowish hue into the room, and she edged away from it instinctively, biting her lip. Bonnie took a deep breath, heart thudding, and slowly lowered herself until she was resting lightly on her knees. Leaning forward, she allowed her eyes to crest the bottom of the window sill in order to peer down at the street below.

The street was deserted, save for the lone, tall figure that had occupied a corner of her darkest thoughts of late.

She should have known he would find her.

Stefan Salvatore, as still and silent as the shadow he embodied, stood bathed in the harsh glow of the streetlamp, gazing up at Bonnie’s window.

He was standing with the light at his back, which cast his face into darkness and made it difficult to see his features. She did not know how long he had been standing there, but as soon as she looked at him, she regretted it. A sudden jolt ran through her and she knew without a doubt that he was now looking directly at her with those dark, impenetrable eyes of his.

She frowned. Casting a net out mentally, she probed for his conscious, for any sign of familiarity that she could coax out of him, and in turn any information she could glean from that simple telepathic touch. Instead, as she reached out, her mind slipped and lost tread, as if coming into contact with something smooth and refractive, like a mirror. This repelling force bounced her back, but not before her mind slid up against something cold and silent and completely alien. Instinctively, Bonnie recoiled, breaking the connection with a gasp.

As if determining that he had sufficiently gotten her attention, Stefan cocked his head to the side. She could see his half-smirk, half hidden in shadow but for the gleam of his teeth, all the way from her vantage at the window. He blinked once, and then turned, walking away in a fluid, predatory gait that she did not recognize in him. Her eyes followed his retreating form as he walked all the way to the top of the street, turning around the corner and disappearing completely from her sight.

Bonnie recognized a summons when she saw one.

She dressed in the dark, slipping into her running shoes and throwing on track shorts and a hoodie, which she salvaged from the spartan pile of clothes she had brought with her for this trip.

Bonnie faltered by the door, biting her lip. Even with her magic, following the likes of Stefan into the dark was especially stupid without some kind of protection. Letting out a weary sigh, she doubled back and crouched down by her suitcase. Unzipping it once more and reaching inside, she felt all the way down to the bottom, parting her neatly folded shirts and jeans. Her fingers encircled the newly acquired artifact she had packed with her and she lifted it apprehensively from the depths of her suitcase. The scarce light that filtered in through the windows illuminated the carved ridges along its sides, the runes and various inscriptions flowering from end to sharpened end. Bonnie held the dark wooden object reverently with both hands, bowing her head in a silent prayer to whatever ancient entities had possessed this relic before her.

For it wasn’t just anything she held aloft in her grasp.

This was one of nine stakes carved by one of the first hunters of vampires, Jonathan Harker, passed through dozens of hands throughout the ages until it finally found its way to Bonnie.

The blood of hundreds of vampires, according to legend, was what stained the wood the unnaturally black color it now held. Bonnie’s grip tightened around the stake and she stood. She was hoping to break it in on a vampire somewhat more… worthy, to be quite honest. But, Bonnie decided as she slipped the thing in the waistband of her sweats, if it came to it, she would have no hesitation in stabbing Stefan’s cocksure little smirk off his face with the thing.

Lord knew he deserved it.

Bonnie’s rapid footsteps echoed loudly into the night and she winced, slowing to a brisk walk. She knew that stealth was pointless when it came to a vampire, but still, the idea of the element of surprise was an appealing one. Once outside she realized just how chilly it was; she hugged herself tightly and ran her hands up and down her arms, fighting a shiver despite her sweatshirt.

She turned the same corner she had seen him disappear around and skidded to a halt. This couldn’t be right. The street was a complete dead end. No houses, no buildings of any sort, just overgrown weeds beyond a concrete barrier that, from the looks of it, had long been forgotten. And a lone streetlamp, sickly orange light flickering like a firefly as she drew closer. Of Stefan, there was no sight.

Bonnie hated games. What was this? Where the hell was he?

Luckily, her guesses were cut short.

She didn’t have to turn around to know that he was behind her. The way her body reacted was indication enough—the natural defenses that she had learned to refine as a witch, the simple honing of Sense and Sight which gave her an upper hand in close proximity to other supernatural beings. Her whole body tingled, somewhere between a shudder and a shock, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up like hackles on a dog in his presence. And she could smell him, oddly enough. Not his aftershave, although he hadn’t been sparing with that either, but something older, and distinctly… Stefan. She couldn’t describe it.

“Stefan,” she uttered, back still turned to him. The word escaped from her almost involuntarily, as if vocalizing his name was some sort of incantation to make his presence an immutable reality.

“Bonnie.” He acknowledged. His tone was conversational, but Bonnie knew better. Every word exchanged with a vampire, especially a vampire like Stefan, was as double-edged as a knife, and they were wielded in much the same way.

She shifted her stance carefully, feeling the weight of her concealed weapon heavy and reassuring against her back. Something about the sight of Stefan filled her with an irrevocable rage. The stake calmed her somewhat.

“Long time,” Bonnie returned, bobbing her head in acknowledgement.

That earned her a low chuckle. “Too long.” Stefan replied, although his tone suggested otherwise. His boots made barely a whisper across the macadam as he circumvented her at a leisurely pace, circling her like a buzzard would its next meal. She hated having him at her back, and she fought the urge to whirl around and face him, instead allowing herself to be inspected.

Stefan finally stopped before her and for the first time in years, Bonnie got a good look at the younger Salvatore.

He was different. Of course he was different, but it wasn’t an obvious thing that she could quite pin down, not at first. His hair was the same, light brown locks still coiffed in that gravity-defying architectural dome of mousse and male secrets. He wore the same kinds of clothing, which she supposed always suited him, really: worn leather jacket, simple white tee shirt, dark jeans that probably cost more than her college tuition, heavy shitkickers—the perfect balance of metrosexual and distinctly rugged that only someone like Stefan could pull off.

Bonnie saved his face for last, not sure if she could handle what she saw there. She was right about that.

His face was the same as before, of course—beautiful, chiseled, and angular like some Grecian god statue freed of his marble entombment—but where his eyes once held life and kindness, now instead simmered a rage and cold calculation in his stare that almost made Bonnie take a step back upon meeting it. It cemented everything she had known but not felt, not truly believed about him until now.

Old Stefan—he was as dead as Jeremy. This new Stefan, this Ripper Stefan… he was in control now. And, from the looks of it, he had been pulling the strings for a very long time.

Bonnie’s lips tightened into a thin line. This was starting to look like a very bad idea in hindsight.

“How did you know I was here?” Bonnie asked at last. It was an idle enough question, but she made sure to watch his face very carefully. Old Stefan was a terrible liar. She was curious to see how New Stefan compared.

“Jeremy’s funeral, obviously,” Stefan’s voice was curt, clipped, and efficient, as if he were listing off items on a grocery list rather than discussing the death of one of their—well, just her now, she supposed—loved ones. “I knew you would find some way to slip into Mystic Falls just to pay your respects,” he recounted, fixing her with a flat stare.

Bonnie shrugged as if to say, go on.

Stefan sighed and rolled his eyes impatiently. “You’re still on the outs with Elena, so staying at the Gilbert house was out of the question. You weren’t sure where Caroline’s allegiances lie, and you weren’t going to impose on Matt. And Damon…” Bonnie’s eye twitched at the mention of his brother’s name, and Stefan’s lips quirked with a smile. It shadowed rather than lit up his face, and Bonnie swallowed, officially unnerved. “Well, we all know how that would turn out. Plus, you hated the idea of having to see everyone again. So you went to the oldest, closest-to-the-outskirts bed and breakfast you could find, registered under a different name, and hoped that you could skulk away the morning after the funeral. Sound about right?”

Bonnie just stood there, mouth open, unable to process. She wasn’t sure what she felt at this moment: anger and fear, sadness and caution all formed a cacophony of emotion inside. She settled instead for folding her arms tightly across her chest and shifting her stance once more, cocking one hip to the side as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“So,” Stefan continued, satisfied he had shut her up for the time being. “I assume you remember my little… proposition on the phone? Care to discuss?”

“Why the actual hell would I do anything to help you?” Bonnie burst out hotly, a dark scowl contorting her features.

He blinked languidly down at her, that infuriating smirk still plastered to his equally infuriating face. He learned from the best of course, and Bonnie could see traces of Damon in that smirk of his. It only made her angrier.

“Because I have something you want,” Stefan said simply.

Bonnie laughed in his face. “You have no idea what I want, Stefan. None.”

Stefan stepped closer, his tall frame dominating hers, and she shrank away from his proximity. She could feel the warmth of him radiating in waves off his body and she clenched her fingers into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to grab the stake at her back and use it to remind him of a little thing called personal boundaries. He was never really good at that. Good to know some things don’t change.

Stefan regarded her carefully, those slate eyes of his searching every inch of her face like it was a map. His smile was gone now, and Bonnie dared not breathe.

“I might not know what you want, Bonnie,” Stefan spoke at last, leaning so close to her now his face filled the entirety of her vision, “But I know what you need.”

The last word took on a low, rumbling timbre and something in Stefan’s eyes stirred to life. Bonnie frowned up at him, recognizing a look that she had seen on his face only in the presence of Elena, or fresh blood.

It made her numb at the sight of him. She backed away slowly.

She didn’t like Stefan like this, unpredictable, clearly unhinged. But then again, after everything that had happened that summer, the summer that changed everything… Who could say if she was in the right and he in the wrong? What gave her the right to judge? At any rate, she had given him his fifteen minutes. She wasn’t impressed with what she had seen and heard so far.

“Goodbye, Stefan,” Bonnie turned and started walking away. “Pray for your sake that we don’t meet again.”

“Bonnie,” Stefan intoned. His voice was back to the plaintive, dulcet murmurs that reminded her of Old Stefan, Kind Stefan, Stefan from Before.

Bonnie cursed herself as she felt her feet slow to a stop. That wheedling tone of his had always succeeded in making her do what he wanted and he knew it. The bastard knew it so well. Bonnie whirled around to face him, livid, mostly at herself for lapsing into who she used to be around him: pliant, willing, easily swayed.

“Would you believe me if I told you that you were a powerful medium?” Stefan asked Bonnie suddenly, tenting his fingers and puckering his lips against their tips.

“I’d tell you that you were stating the obvious,” Bonnie replied smoothly, trying and failing to keep the condescension out of her tone.

“But am I?” Stefan responded indulgently. “Something tells me you don’t know your own potential.”

“I know enough to get by, Stefan,” Bonnie reminded him. “I gave all that up, remember? And now you’re asking me to dive right back in, I assume? For you of all people? Give me a fucking break, Stefan. You’re just wasting our time.”

“Then why did you follow me tonight?” Stefan asked simply. He ran a hand through his spiky hair and fixed her with a slow smile that seemed wrong somehow on his face. “You could have just… gone right back to sleep.”

Yeah, like I could go to sleep knowing a confirmed sociopath and blood addict is roaming around outside my window at night. Sure.

Bonnie let out a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut. “Beginning to wonder why myself, actually,” she muttered under her breath. She leveled him with a sharp stare, emerald eyes glittering. “I just don’t like being stalked, funnily enough. Figured I’d tell you that in person. And look at that! Mission accomplished. Time for me to go back to bed and pretend that all you are is a very bad dream.”

Stefan reached out and grabbed her arm with crushing force. Warning bells went off like klaxons in her head.

It was second nature to her by now, mere muscle memory, so it was no surprise to her when one minute she was being yanked forward by Stefan and the next she had one hand gripping Stefan’s hair and bending him back painfully at the neck, the other pointing Harker’s stake directly at Stefan’s jugular.

“You don’t what to know whose stake this is, Stefan,” Bonnie breathed, tone dripping with venom as she traced the wooden weapon against his Adam’s apple. “Let’s just say he was friends with a guy named Van Helsing, and that he pretty much wrote the vampire slaying manual.”

She expected fear. Or, at the very least, respect. She wasn’t at all prepared for Stefan’s reaction to this information.

Stefan laughed. Laughed. With a stake pressing dangerously into his throat. Like it was something he did every day. Like it was a joy to do so. Like he was more worried about grass growing than he was about the ancient power aimed at his neck.

Bonnie bit back the temptation to take him right then and there, just barely. Instead she dug the stake further into the pale skin of his neck, smiling in sick satisfaction when she drew a pinprick of blood.

Stefan only laughed harder, hands raised in a submissive manner. “You haven’t changed a bit, Bonnie,” he chuckled, genuinely filled with amusement at her little show. He eyed her and continued to laugh, as if she was the best damn joke he had heard in decades.

Bonnie allowed her lips to curve into some facsimile of a smile, and whatever Stefan saw in her face made his laughter falter.

Suddenly, in one fluid arc of motion, Bonnie removed the stake from his neck and rammed it up, hard, into Stefan’s gut. Giving it a savage twist, she let go and pushed him back with a flick of her wrist.

Stefan let out a broken cry of pain, keeling over like a felled tree. Blood seeped out between his fingers as he gasped, unable to draw breath, hands scrabbling at the stake sunk almost clean through his abdomen.

“You’re right, Stefan,” Bonnie mused cheerily, tapping her chin with her finger. She knelt down and, with a vicious yank that made Stefan grunt hoarsely, she pulled the stake free from his body with a sickening squelching sound. “I haven’t changed a bit.”

Bonnie reached out and wiped down the sides of the stake on the front of Stefan’s white v-neck shirt, and then leaned back on her haunches, admiring her work. Stefan sank to his side, wheezing, hand still pressed to the gaping wound glistening garishly in the harsh light of the streetlamp. Doubling over, he coughed violently and then spat out a thick mouthful of black blood.

“Why…” Stefan ground out, eyes darting from the bloody mess of his stomach to meet her gaze. “Why is it taking so long to heal?” Gone was the tone of calm, replaced instead with something closely resembling panic. Bonnie wondered how long it was since he felt that particular emotion.

“What, this?” Bonnie tapped the wound with the butt of the stake, Stefan’s gasps of pain music to her ears. “I told you whose stake this was. Do you really think it didn’t come with some extra—what was it your brother calls it? Witchy woo-woo?” She stood upright, smirking down at him as he bled out onto the cracked pavement before her.

“It’ll heal… eventually,” Bonnie continued, unable to keep the regret out of her voice. “But in the meantime I suggest you invest in some ACE bandages or something. Wouldn’t want to bleed all over Klaus’ nice upholstery when you go running back to him.”

Stefan grimaced up at her wordlessly, unable to keep the surprise out of his face, visible even through the pain.

“What? You didn’t think I could see right through you? Isn’t it Klaus who you’re working for these days?” Bonnie sneered, contempt lacing like poison through her words. “What was the deal he gave you so that you would work together? Revenge on the world that wronged you? Your brother’s head, or maybe Elena’s magical doppelganger vagina for your own once more? Both?” She laughed harshly. “What did you give him in return, Stefan? Did you have to fuck the promise out of him? Everyone knows Klaus always had a complete hard-on for you, that’s probably why he welcomed you back with open arms in the first—”

He was in motion before she had even finished her sentence. All she saw were his eyes, dark, veined, and terrifying, and then…

Don’t. Her world turned into a blur and dimly, she registered that she was flying through the air before—ah, bless—the trunk of a tree was kind enough to break her fall. She could only half hear the resounding crack her head made when it collided with the immovable object, but it must have been impressive because immediately, her world began growing smoky around the edges. A ringing sound filled her ears.

Don’t. She couldn’t move. Not one limb responded to her efforts. Oh god. Blinking blood out of her eyes, she saw Stefan appear before her, one hand still clutching his ravaged stomach, the other hand wrapped around the stake she had held in her grip not seconds before. He seemed twice—no, fifty times his size as he loomed over her, twirling the stake through his fingers and smirking down at her feeble form, as she had done to him only moments ago. Her mind sluggishly tried to process—how was he even standing? That stake should have immobilized a vampire like him.

What are you, Stefan?

Don’t. Vaguely, and at long last, Bonnie realized that she should be afraid, very, very afraid of the man standing before her now. His blood dripped in streams from his tattered shirt front, mingling with her own. His eyes were black slits as he stared down at her with bared, pointed teeth. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She could do neither. He leaned in closer. Closer.

Don’t. But then her eyes rolled back into her skull, the world fell blissfully silent, and Bonnie Bennett worried no more.

Open Damon/Bonnie Drabbles

rebeldesigns — Sat, 31 Oct 2009 01:44:49 GMT

Sooo... I kind of want to dust off the cobwebs that have been littering my brain of late by breaking out some drabbles of my favorite Vampire Diaries ~~almost~~ not-really ~~but they WILL BE DAMMIT!~~ couple, Damon Salvatore and Bonnie Bennett.

I had this idea that I got from someone else posting on the TVD_fic comm about an A-Z prompt request list, and I thought I'd ask you guys if you're interested in anything like that.

A few notes:

I'm not comfortable writing smut. I honestly think that I wouldn't do it justice and try as I might I just sound like I ripped off a cheap paperback romance novel instead of sounding sexy and all that. So none of those. That being said, I can write sex scenes (if you must) but not graphically so, if you understand what I mean. Got it? Good.
Damon/Bonnie and only Damon/Bonnie unless there is some sort of Damon/Bonnie/OC or unrequited Damon/OC and Bonnie/OC going on.
I'm writing for the television versions of Damon and Bonnie. So, Damon is darker and more sadistic and Bonnie is not a redhead, yeah?

As for extra incentive to request for this couple, well...

Exactly. Smoking hot Damon gif!sex. (credit to re_vitalized )

Well, then. Follow the cut to request a drabble!

Sample request:

D: Dangerous; "Bonnie never realized just how dangerous Damon really was"

You know... something along those lines. You don't need to accompany it with a quote, but it would be nice if you gave me some indication of what you were looking for in the drabble. Or, you know, you could trust me to work something out, I guess :)

Current request limit is 3/person, as I'm not quite sure how much interest this experiment will garner. I'll try to post them as soon as I can (within a week, perhaps?) of request.

A:
B:

BURN for lone_child

CANDY for lone_child
CURIOSITY for lone_child

DON'T BLINK for tokenblkgirl

E:
F:

FIRE for karahalliwell

G:
H:

HUMAN for giannina1987

I:
J:
K:

KNOTS & CROSSES for tokenblkgirl

LOLLIPOP for re_vitalized

M:
N:
O:
P:

PIANO for re_vitalized
PICTURE for giannina1987

Q:
R:

REVENGE for re_vitalized

SONG or SLEEP for giannina1987
SURPRISES for nmpsr_14

TEARS for nmpsr_14

U:
V:
W:

WHYS & WHEREFORES for tokenblkgirl

X:
Y:
Z:

Dichotomy (1/1, TVD Damon/Bonnie)

rebeldesigns — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 03:22:14 GMT

Title: Dichotomy
Author: Sasha (rebeldesigns)
Rating: T for naughty language
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries (TV Series)
Pairings: Damon/Bonnie
Word Count: 580
Disclaimers: Do not own any TVD characters. *sob*
Summary: "It’s not the first time he’s been slapped. It’s not the first time he’s been kissed. But it is the first time he’s been slapped, then kissed." Damon meets Bonnie for the first time.
Notes: Also x-posted @ my FF.net account.

A/N: My first foray into the world of The Vampire Diaries. I’m a diehard Damon/Bonnie shipper, and each day spent waiting for a new episode in the hopes of seeing them in one (just one!) scene together is just as pathetic as it sounds. Ergo, my coping methods, i.e. writing this. Written in the course of maybe 40 minutes, and also unbetaed, so any spelling/grammar/misc errors are no one’s fault but my own. Basically my take on spoilers for the Halloween episode.

He came to the party to get his amulet.

He left empty-handed, bewildered, and, frankly, pissed right the fuck off.

It’s not the first time he’s been slapped. It’s not the first time he’s been kissed.

But it is the first time he’s been slapped, then kissed.

He cradles his jaw. She’s not human. No human can pack a punch like that and leave a vampire sore a good ten minutes afterwards.

What is she?

He touches his lips. She’s not human. No human can kiss like that, with the searing lips and the tongue and the breathiness, and the… Jesus!

Imagine what her blood tastes like.

The more he thinks about it, the more pissed off he becomes. He went there to get the amulet. It was right there in front of him.

He wants to storm back in there and take it by force.

Take her by force?

But he kind of… doesn’t want to. Not yet, anyway.

It was mindblowingly simple. Foolproof.

But apparently not witch-proof.

He was going to go in there, find Caroline, get his amulet back, and celebrate his undeniable awesome by sucking a stranger dry on his way home. And then maybe check on Vicki. Show her the ropes.

Or terrorize Stefan. Just because he saved his life doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to rearrange his brother’s pretty-boy face. He doesn’t want to be responsible for bringing about the apocalypse by retconning his carefully constructed character traits into something resembling—perish the thought—nice? The very word makes him want to kill something.

But Caroline didn’t have the amulet. She gave it to the other friend. The Not-Elena. The cheerleader one with the Bambi eyes and the furrowed brow and the worried stare. She was never on his radar before now.

Annoying.

Plan B: Glamour the shit out of her and then take the amulet back.

When he stared deep into her eyes and proposed a series of increasingly vulgar things he could do to her that they’d both enjoy, if only she’d slide that pretty amber gem off her pretty little neck and hand it over, pretty please, it didn’t once cross his mind that it wouldn’t work.

Lighting won’t strike twice, or some other asinine saying, right? The whole Elena mindfuck debacle was an admitted disaster.

This was exponentially worse.

She hit like a girl, all wrist and no hip.

Still hurt like a mother, which shocked the hell out of him, thank you very much.

And then she kissed him, like it was the most natural thing in the world, smacking a vampire in the jaw and then wrapping your hands around his neck. He mentally checks himself for whiplash.

He could have broken her.

He chose not to. She amused him.

He tasted the liquor on her tongue (the tongue that did sinful things) and let it slide. She was far too interesting to force into submission. Especially when she could, very possibly, beat the crap out of him if he tried.

He didn’t want to stick around and find out.

So it’s almost two in the morning and he’s amulet-less and kind of cranky. He’s also frustrated. Confused.

Intrigued.

Once she sleeps off that hangover he’s certain she’ll have tomorrow, she probably won’t remember him. But he’ll definitely remember her.

It’s the first time he’s been bested at his own game. It’s the unsettling feeling in his stomach that tells him that it might not be the last.