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They’d been separated somewhere outside of Baltimore. Okay, no, what really happened was that Elena got bored or annoyed or hungry and decided to go somewhere without him. And because, humanity or no, Elena Gilbert was a lot smarter than him, it was pretty easy for her to distract him and bolt. Not his finest moment, but he wasn’t exactly accumulating fine moments lately. See: using the sire bond to get Elena to flip her switch. And pretty much everything leading up to that since he’d arrived in Mystic Falls.
So he panicked. Flailed about for about twenty minutes (which felt like twenty years) and just when he was about to call Stefan and explain what a massive fuck-up he was, there was Elena.
She looked… not great. Obviously she was still very hot, that was never in question. But her hair was a mess, she was wobbling on her feet… oh yeah and there was blood all over her face. Not hers. And she looked like she was about to cry.
Disaster. Absolute disaster.
“Damon… Damon, I made a mistake.”
He blinked, reaching for her before he could stop himself. “I think that’s my line, actually,” he said, stilling his hands before he could cup her cheeks. She sounded… “Are you… did you turn it back on?”
She shook her head, earrings sparkling in the neon light of the gas station where she’d ditched him (Damon had gone back there, hoping maybe a no-humanity vampire would follow the same logic as a lost dog. Which… should not have worked out in his favor).
“No. But I bit someone. I stopped. Because…” she gnawed on her lip. “Damon, I think he was a little bit high.”
And then she giggled.
Followed quickly by a very ungraceful flopping against his chest. Damon caught her, because he was always catching her, even (especially) when she didn’t want him to. She felt feather-light, wriggling like a bird that was too uncoordinated to get away, all awkward limbs and the smell of her apple-scented shampoo as a strand of her hair found its way up his nose. Elena scratched at his clavicle, not trying to hurt him so much as struggling to stay upright, so he wrapped his arms around her waist.
“Hey. I’ve got you.” Damon swallowed. He knew what this was. Sometimes you feed on a human on drugs and then you’re on drugs. It happened to him plenty when his humanity was off. Made him feel goofy and almost joyful. It wouldn’t last.
“Yeah…” Elena muttered. “You’ve got me.” She blinked up at him. “Where are we going?”
He could handle this. Having a little pretend piece of the real Elena back wouldn’t hurt any more than it did to be with the version of her that was scraped-out and hollow.
“Well. Right now we’re going to find a motel so you can enjoy being high without getting arrested. Jail’s even less fun than it sounds.”
Elena pouted, and it was so… charming. And so almost like her.
“But it’s so pretty out here.” She spun a little in his arms, leaning back and exposing her neck and chest in a way that made Damon’s heart race. “Why is it so nice out here?”
“Probably something that you ate.”
Elena straightened, flipping her hair. The ends swatted Damon in the face. In other circumstances he supposed this would be really funny. Or at least fun.
“What made me high, Damon? Can you tell?” She snorted. “Can you smell it?”
“No,” he rolled his eyes. “You know that’s not one of our superpowers. I can give you a taste and try to figure it out—”
“But then you’ll be high,” she said, wiggling her index finger in his face. “And one of us has to be the responsible adult. Not meeee,” she said, sing-songy.
“Well we’re really in dire straits if I’m the only responsible one,” Damon said, glancing around. So far nobody had noticed the teenager blissed out on mind-altering drugs hanging off a grown adult. But this was a recipe for disaster. Vampires on drug blood could be unpredictable, and no-humanity vampires even more so. Damon barely remembered the things he’d done when he was high and flipped off, and not remembering was probably a blessing.
“Damon is responsible,” Elena said with another fit of giggles, grasping his chin. “You should taste me. He was yummy.” Licked her lips—of course that did things to him that he had to ignore right now. “I bet I’m yummy too.”
Coughing, Damon began leading her toward the car.
“I’m sure you are. I’ll let you know when we’re settled somewhere with a door.”
Elena slouched in the seat, fidgeting with the knob for the window.
“Why do we need a door? You’re not going to do anything interesting.”
Damon scowled, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Sober Elena hadn’t cared for his justifications, his moral high ground. Even before she’d flipped her switch she’d been needling him for his newfound vow of chastity. Because there was no way in hell he was going to fool around with her while she was under the influence of the sire bond. Just having done it once was something he’d be doing penance for as long as he lived (forever, literally forever).
Of course Elena on drugs would be annoyed, too. Because he was being so goddamn annoying. How was Stefan like this all the time? Damon thought regular self-loathing was bad enough. Righteous self-loathing was somehow so much worse.
So he was quiet and broody while he drove to a motel. It looked shabby, but at least that meant it wasn’t very popular. He didn’t feel like he could deal with people right that second. He didn’t bother checking in, just compelled a maid to unlock the door to an unoccupied room and leave them alone. It was only after she left that Damon realized it hadn’t even occurred to him to feed on her. Seriously, what was wrong with him?
“Oh my god this bed,” Elena groaned as she spread herself out on it.
Right. Elena was what was wrong with him.
“Comfy?” He asked, perching lightly on the very edge. Far enough away that she couldn’t accidentally touch him no matter how much she was writhing. (And boy, that was a problem, too, because she looked gorgeous like that).
“You have to bite me!” She said, sitting blot upright. “You promised!”
“I did not promise,” he said. But then Elena was shoving her finger between his lips, wiggling it around in his mouth. She was laughing, leaning up on her knees, as if looming over him was going to make him lose control and let the fangs out. All she was doing was getting spit all over his cheek.
“Damon, come on. I want to know what made me feel this way.”
Sighing, he grasped her wrist, sliding her finger out of his mouth.
“Okay. Let me though, got it?”
Elena made a very silly face, lips curling. But she didn’t fight him as he wiped the spit off her fingers, as he drew one to his mouth, letting his teeth protrude. He drew blood, just enough to taste. And if he kept his eyes on her while he did it, as he sucked on her index finger and drew her blood around his mouth as if he was testing a sip of wine… well. Sue him.
Her breath caught. Damon let her go.
“It’s molly,” he said when he felt like he could speak again. “And some uppers too, I think. Cocaine maybe? Mostly it’s molly though.” He shrugged. “Judging by your newfound sense of whimsy you got a taste right as your guy was coming up. The effects are pretty short-term. You’ll come down in about an hour or so.”
And then you’ll be lost again, his mind oh-so-helpfully supplied.
“So we should have fun while it lasts!” Elena threw her hands up. “What’s fun to do on molly?”
Damon felt himself smiling, despite the desolate motel room (terrible white walls and olive-green bedding that felt cheap enough to be a fire hazard in a rainstorm). Despite the knowledge that this wasn’t Elena at her best, at her happiest, that nothing about this was real despite the sparkle in her eyes that he missed so much. Despite knowing that he’d screwed things up for her, possibly ruined her life, forever.
He needed to find that cure. That was the only thing that would fix this. That would even begin to unfuck everything.
But first he had to babysit Elena during what was probably her first trip. So… that would be nice at least.
“Most people listen to music. Or watch a movie. Something with lots of bright lights and fancy colors.”
Damon realized he was still sitting on the edge of the bed when it dipped—Elena was drawing closer. She tugged at his shirt. Not trying to move him or get closer. Just holding the fabric wadded up in her fist.
“What do you do?”
He tried to untangle her fingers.
“Elena—”
“Don’t lie,” she said, suddenly stubborn. She let him go so she could cross her arms. “I’m not going to be like this very long. We’re both happy, aren’t we? So tell me the truth.”
Damon wasn’t sure he could follow her logic. But she was right. This wasn’t going to last. Elena was being sweet and playful now, with a hefty dose of MDMA giving her an artificial boost of empathy. She wasn’t saying anything cutting or threatening to kill anyone to manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted. And that wasn’t going to last. So he could be honest with her.
“I like to cuddle.”
There. He’d said it. And if he was being honest with himself, he’d only said it because he was a terrible person, and he wanted to enjoy this, too.
Elena nodded.
“We should cuddle then.”
Before his better impulses could get the better of him Damon felt himself being tugged down. Onto the crappy, rough bedspread. It smelled like cigarettes, very faintly. And the world’s worst detergent. Overall better smells than he might have expected. But all of it was immaterial because Elena was laying next to him. She slid her legs around his thigh. Pressed her hand against the small of his back. Nuzzled her cheek against his bicep. Rocked her hips, just a little, making herself comfortable.
Hell, she probably felt amazing. Cuddling on molly was an incredible feeling. Even without your humanity.
Damon remembered the physical sensations. Feeling all connected and intimate and safe—all of the good parts of sex without the emotional baggage. He’d spent 145 years either abstaining or feeling like he was committing an act of infidelity. Sure, he’d done it anyway. After a while he’d decided he was an irredeemable monster, so what did it matter? It hadn’t been like Katherine had been exclusive. (She’d expected him to be, but her ‘no rules’ rule had only applied to her). He’d figured between all the people he’d killed and all the other ungodly things he’d done while he’d been waiting for her, it didn’t really matter what he did. As long as he got her free it would all have been worth it.
And then she hadn’t been trapped at all.
God, why was he such an idiot? Dwelling on Katherine when Elena was right there. He could hear her breathing. The gentle beat of her precious heart. The soft, clean smell of her skin. She was stroking his back, her fingers dragging away his shirt so she could grace his skin instead.
“This is nice,” she murmured. “You were right.”
“Benefit of a couple lifetimes of bad choices,” he said. “I know how to have fun.”
“You do,” she snuggled closer. The situation was becoming painful. Damon shifted, trying to get his crotch away from her. She didn’t need to be aware of what this was doing for him. But Elena seemed blissfully oblivious, lost in whatever spacy place the drugs had taken her.
“You like me better like this, don’t you?”
Damon paused. Not sure how to answer. He hadn’t been sure the first time she’d asked him, either.
Because, honestly, the answer was no.
No, he didn’t like Elena without her emotions, without all of the fire and passion that made her who she was. Even when she hated him, even when she was overwhelmed by pain, all of that was so much better than the void he was left with now. And this… well, this was a tease. A brief window into what he’d lost. The saccarine, playful, carefree Elena. The girl he’d fallen in love with. The girl who had rewritten his DNA. Who had a permanent place inside him. The one he could never let go of, even though he’d promised to. Even though it hurt to be near her (and he hurt her being near her). She was rolling right now, and that was so close to the version of her he knew was still trapped inside. So close and yet completely out of reach.
“It’s all right. I won’t be mad. I don’t think I can be mad right now.” Elena reached upward, fidgeting with the collar of Damon’s shirt. “You’re the only one that likes me this way.”
Oh. She meant as a vampire.
“I like you no matter what,” Damon said.
Elena’s lips lifted, then fell. Not quite a smile.
“I think that’s why I chose you. Because you chose me. Not just before. But now. You chose all of me.” When she looked up at him her eyes were glassy, pupils wide from the effects of the drugs. “You can’t cure me, Damon. I don’t want it. I can’t go back to the way I was. Even if I stop being a vampire. That’s what none of you understand. I won’t change. Not the way everyone wants.” She rolled her lips between her teeth. “I’ll just disappoint everyone. Even you. Because you want me to live forever.”
She cupped his cheek. He was too weak not to lean into her touch.
“I want you to have the life that you want, Elena. The life that you deserve.”
“Well, I want to feel this good for as long as I live. But that’s not how molly works, is it?”
Despite himself, Damon smirked.
“No, it’s not.”
Elena hummed, closing her eyes.
“I’m sorry I got high,” she whispered.
Damon wanted to kiss her forehead, barely restrained himself from doing it.
“Not your fault.”
“No, I did it on purpose.” She opened her eyes again, another shadow of her playfulness emerging in the sparkle of her eyes. “I thought it would annoy you. But now I’m here and I don’t want to be annoying. I want to feel nice.”
Damon nodded.
“You’re not annoying. This is nice.”
She smiled.
“Good.” Reached for his collar again. “What happens after?”
“Well,” he thought. “You’ll probably be really thirsty, so I’ll get you some water and then maybe—”
“No,” she shook her head. “I mean when I’m… not like this anymore.”
Damon shrugged.
“We’ll go to New York, like we planned. Have some fun there. I’ll even help you sample some more drug blood if you’re enjoying yourself.”
Elena frowned.
“You’re not going to keep trying to find the cure.”
Damon waved his hand.
“No point. You don’t want it. So I give up,” he said, lying through his teeth. “We can just be like this, Elena. I won’t judge you. I’ve done every awful thing in the book. There’s nothing you can do that will make me hate you.”
That last part, at least, was true.
Satisfied, Elena nuzzled closer once more. She dozed for a bit. Requested some music after a little while. Damon pulled up a playlist of songs he knew she enjoyed (because he was exactly that kind of sucker for her, he noticed these things). As soon as he hit play she began swaying, just a little, clearly enraptured. Damon felt his chest softening, just watching her, feeling her in his arms. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. He knew that she was grieving, the sadness at losing her last remaining family locked away somewhere deep inside her. He knew that the joy she was experiencing with him wasn’t real—that maybe none of it had ever been real.
And Damon knew that he loved her. Hopelessly and irrefutably.
When the effects of the drugs began to fade away Elena grew sleepy. Not surprising. Damon remembered the comedown being a little tiring.
“We can rest here for tonight,” he whispered into her hair. “Get back on the road in the morning.”
“Fine,” she said, sounding more like her humanity-off self. “But you promised me hedonism. This is barely a start.”
He chuckled, because if he did anything else he would probably start sobbing.
“I never break a promise to a lady,” he replied, wishing it was true.