The sun was nearing its zenith, its light slipping through the poorly adjusted curtains of Bree's apartment, cutting the room into pale bands. It revealed open books scattered across the floor, hastily scribbled symbols, forgotten coffee cups left cold for far too long.
Bree paced barefoot, phone pressed to her ear, jaw clenched.
Damon watched.
He had been watching for hours now.
At first, it had been about Emily's confinement spell.
Every one of Bree's contacts had given the same answer. Emily Bennett had sealed the spell using a celestial event, an eclipse. So for almost all of them, it could only be broken during an eclipse. Bree agreed: it was one way. But she also knew there was another.
On that front, they hadn't made any progress.
Then Bree had started asking about what Damon had shown her, even though he still hadn't explained how or why any of it worked.
Damon, for his part, hadn't reacted.
He spent the time weighing the pros and cons.
Should he tell her?
And if he did… should he tell her everything?
His mind had been arguing with itself ever since.
That was why he wasn't sitting. Not really standing either. More like leaning against the wall, one shoulder resting against the bookshelf, arms crossed. He occupied the space like a perfectly accepted anomaly. Silent. Present. Dangerously calm, though that calm was an act.
"No." Bree's voice snapped, sharp. "No, this isn't a curse. If it were, I would've felt it by now."
She stopped by the window, staring out at the street without really seeing it.
"No, he didn't ingest anything." A nervous laugh slipped out. "Seriously, do you think I'd confuse this with magical poisoning?"
Damon pulled himself out of his thoughts and slowly raised an eyebrow.
Magical poisoning?
An interesting new term, he thought dryly.
Always fascinating, people's creativity when they lacked information.
"Listen, Bree. I honestly don't know. And I'm dealing with something else right now. Sorry I can't help you more."
Damon caught the woman's voice on the other end of the line.
"…Yeah. Okay. Thanks for nothing, Jane Anne." Bree replied, exasperated.
She hung up too quickly, not giving her interlocutor time to respond, took a deep breath, then dialed another number. Voicemail. She hung up again and tossed her phone onto the bed.
"I need a break."
Bree ran a hand through her curls and went to grab a bottle of alcohol, which she downed almost in one go.
Damon tilted his head, almost imperceptibly. The air around him seemed to tighten for a brief moment, as if his presence became… less defined. Not invisible. Just less noticeable. A habit now. A reflex he hadn't named yet.
Bree didn't notice. Her eyes were closed as she massaged her temples, frustrated.
"They won't be any help." Her voice rose slightly. "Not with the tomb, and not with your weird situation."
Damon smiled.
Bree didn't.
"I think they must've sensed that something's wrong."
Damon finally pushed himself off the wall and took two steps forward.
"So…" he said lightly, almost mockingly, "final verdict: the eclipse and the Bennetts are still Plan A. And I'm either a hopeless case… or living proof that your circle of friends seriously needs an update."
Bree slowly turned her head toward him.
Her gaze was hard. Tired. Slightly unsteady.
"You're not funny."
"Wrong. I'm hilarious." He tilted his head. "You're the one having an existential crisis."
"None of them can help." A pause. "Or none of them dare. Do you realize what that means?"
She cut him off before he could answer.
"That was a rhetorical question. Either they can't help because they don't know anything at all, or they won't help because they know too much. Either way, we're screwed."
"Language."
Damon stepped closer. No rush. No open threat. Just that natural glide that made you realize too late that he was already too close.
"You're letting yourself spiral." Then, quieter: "And you? You know something."
Bree ran a hand over her face, as if gathering her thoughts.
"Only about the tomb. The grimoire… there is one. But where it is, I have no idea. You'll have to find it yourself. Unless you want me to come with you?"
Damon didn't answer right away.
"If I come with you, I could help you find that damn grimoire," Bree continued. "And if the Bennetts refuse, I could help break the spell. Taking me with you is your best option."
Damon shook his head.
"No," he said. "You won't be able to do it because you're not a Bennett. Emily assured me only her bloodline is capable of opening the tomb. And besides, I don't want you in Mystic Falls."
He looked her straight in the eyes.
What would happen to his little witch once he freed Katherine?
The name brought another image with it. A beautiful young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. Possessive. Spoiled.
Damon swallowed, thinking about that version of the woman he loved.
Bree hesitated, clearly unaware of the part about only a Bennett being able to open the tomb.
"I don't give a damn. I still want to come with you."
The answer was the same, only sharper.
"No."
Final.
Bree frowned.
"Damon—"
"You want me to say it in Latin? I can, if you want. But the answer will be the same." He held her gaze. "I need to stay discreet once I'm there. Bringing you would be like painting a target on my back. My little brother would immediately know I'm up to something."
She crossed her arms.
"You? Discreet?" She gave him a look that clearly said don't bullshit me.
Damon smiled darkly.
"I'm a discreet problem."
Honestly, he had considered, just for a second, what Bree could bring. Her magic. Her clarity. Her skills.
Then he thought about the cost if she got involved any further.
Damon Salvatore really didn't like losing what he considered his.
If he stopped to think about it, it would've seemed strange. He hadn't cared whether she lived or died for the past twenty years, and now, suddenly, he felt this fierce attachment to her.
It was odd, to say the least.
But Damon didn't question it.
He felt.
That was all.
"Then promise me one thing," Bree said more softly. "If it goes sideways… you call me."
He narrowed his eyes.
"You want a promise."
"Yes."
He sighed theatrically and pulled out his phone.
"Fine. Give me your number."
They exchanged contacts.
Bree watched him as he saved hers.
"You'll call me."
"I'll call."
"Damon."
He raised two fingers.
"On the honor of my magnificent self. Vampire scout's honor, slightly dysfunctional."
She shook her head, but the tension finally eased from her shoulders.
She then made a quick call to her employees.
"Yes, today… Obviously all day… No, I don't want explanations… Just do what I told you."
She hung up and turned back to Damon.
"Why are people so frustrating today?"
The vampire shrugged, then his expression turned serious.
He hated this part.
But he needed her to know, if she was going to research properly.
Talking about himself without deflection. Without humor to soften it. Without a kiss to distract.
It wasn't something he did often.
He inhaled slowly.
"First things first…"
Damon brought his wrist to his mouth.His fangs slid out as he bit down.
"Drink."
The witch met his black eyes, swallowed once, then took a sip before drinking his blood.
The metallic, strangely fragrant taste hit her immediately.
The wounds Damon had inflicted began to close as he murmured something she couldn't hear.
"Bree Larson… swear to me now, on your magic and on your life, that you will never repeat without my permission what I'm about to tell you. Or anything you discover connected to it."
Damon's voice was solemn, almost ceremonial. His gaze was deep, heavy with something Bree didn't recognize.
For a brief moment, she hesitated. Too startled by the sudden gravity of it all.
Then she clenched her jaw.
"I swear."
Warmth spread through her body, then faded as if it had never existed.
Not wanting to linger on it, Damon continued.
"What happened to me and what's still happening isn't possession. It's not a curse either."
He paused.
"It's more like… I got my memories back."
He explained further.
The memories.
The thoughts.
The powers.
The reflexes.
The world he remembered.
That feeling of not just remembering, but sometimes being two distinct beings…
He didn't tell her about the Entity.
Never.
That secret would stay his alone.
Bree went pale.
The more Damon spoke, the worse her expression became.
Soon even her magic reacted, responding directly to her emotions.
"Damon…" Her voice trembled. "That's fucking… that's fucking huge."
She stood, paced, stopped, turned, paced again.
Her magic vibrated harder and harder beneath her skin. Like a badly tuned alarm. Like a landline ringing that no one wanted to answer.
Damon waited.
He let her think.
He understood.
He had shaken her entire world.
When it became too much, he intercepted her and placed a firm hand at the back of her neck.
Not gentle.
Not soft.
Anchored.
"Breathe."
Without even meaning to, his empathy spread. He absorbed part of the chaos. Smoothed the edges. Contained the storm.
Bree blinked.
"You're doing that…" she murmured.
A crooked smile.
"One of my best talents."
Bree nodded faintly.
"I get it now…" She took a deep breath. "Your younger, better appearance. The way you sometimes talk like you're not… you. How my magic reacts when I touch you. It all makes sense now. My—"
"Ding ding ding. Congratulations. Can we get back to the important part now?" Damon cut in without apology.
"Now that you know, I want us to dig through these lovely books and look for clues about what's happening to me."
"There's nothing," Bree said, exhausted. "I'm sure of it. But yes, let's try."
Couldn't he have just come to Atlanta to see her?
⸻
For most of the afternoon, they searched through Bree's grimoires, then through occult books with little real magical significance.
With Damon's speed, they should have finished much faster. But some of the grimoires were written in dead languages Damon had never learned, not in either of his lives.
So Bree handled those.
Page after page.
Symbol after symbol.
Story after story.
Nothing.
When Bree closed the last book, her hands were shaking.
"I'll keep going later. " she said.
She looked distant.
Damon studied her for a moment.
Then he put down the book he was holding and did what he did best.
He took control of the atmosphere.
He talked.
He joked.
He made her dance in the living room, no music, just to force her to laugh despite herself.
He fed from her, carefully.
He pressed kisses against her skin. Again. And again.
He took her to bed and played her body like never before.
When he got dressed again, Bree watched him in silence.
"You're still going with Plan A?" she finally asked.
"Yes."
He kissed her one last time.
Short.
Memorable.
"I'll call if it goes wrong."
Then he disappeared.
From her window, Bree watched the Camaro fade away, lost in thought.