![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
i like to keep some things to myself
CHARACTERS: Damon Salvatore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blooded), Elena Gilbert (otrazhenie)
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Tents
WHEN: DAY :014 & END OF DAY :016
SUMMARY: Damon teaches Elena to pay attention to vital signs. & Damon has a nightmare. Elena asks some questions.
WARNINGS: Feeding, torture, despair, melodrama. Will add more if anything comes up!
❰ in a tent full of ten other people is not where damon would choose to have a nightmare, if he could avoid it. of course, he'd choose not to have any nightmares at all if that was an option, but if he has to have them, having them in at least a semblance of privacy would be ideal.
no such luck now. he's had a run of good luck since they got to hyrypia, no nightmares or reminders of augustine at all, but the night of his hunt... something must have set his subconscious off, but what, he has no idea.
it's not the worst nightmare he's ever had, at least. no one's hands in his guts, he still has both eyes. his whole body aches, but that was normal in those years, just something he got used to until he finally fully healed once he was free. it's not the ache that scares him, though, not the pervasive and constant pain that makes his stomach drop and his fingers twitch against his cot in his sleep.
enzo is screaming. he's been screaming for hours, and damon is stuck in his cell, unable to escape, or fight, or do anything at all but listen. he's sure enzo will scream himself hoarse and lose his voice at some point, whitmore will have to leave, something will have to make it stop, but it just keeps going, guttural and animal. there's nothing to do in the face of pain like that but scream. you can't escape it, can't fight back, can't do anything but take it, and that kind of thing... it makes you forget everything but the pain.
damon's never felt half so inhuman as he did when he was under whitmore's knife, guts stapled open, screaming himself hoarse while stomach acid burned through tissue that healed only to burn again in a vicious, agonising cycle.
the screaming suddenly stops, and for a moment, for just a second, damon is relieved. selfishly, terribly relieved, shoulders slumping and breath leaving him in one long sigh. but the screams don't start again, and whitmore doesn't bring enzo back to the cells, an hour passes and a terrible weight settles in damon's stomach as he realizes that enzo must be dead. he's left alone with whitmore now, the sole focus of all his terrible experiments, and maybe it's better that enzo is free of this but damon hates him for it, wishes he was dead too, why can't he die —
he wakes with a start, shaking violently as awareness trickles in slowly. he's on hyrypia, with the nest, with elena. enzo died in a fire in 1958, and damon had to turn off his humanity to let it happen. the shields that lapsed when damon fell asleep he builds back up slowly, hiding his thoughts in fog and under rivers of blood as he sits up and reaches gently for sam's mind, the path to his breathing excercise well-worn.
in to seven, out to eleven. ❱
blooded), Elena Gilbert (otrazhenie)WHERE: Hyrypia - The Tents
WHEN: DAY :014 & END OF DAY :016
SUMMARY: Damon teaches Elena to pay attention to vital signs. & Damon has a nightmare. Elena asks some questions.
WARNINGS: Feeding, torture, despair, melodrama. Will add more if anything comes up!
❰ in a tent full of ten other people is not where damon would choose to have a nightmare, if he could avoid it. of course, he'd choose not to have any nightmares at all if that was an option, but if he has to have them, having them in at least a semblance of privacy would be ideal.
no such luck now. he's had a run of good luck since they got to hyrypia, no nightmares or reminders of augustine at all, but the night of his hunt... something must have set his subconscious off, but what, he has no idea.
it's not the worst nightmare he's ever had, at least. no one's hands in his guts, he still has both eyes. his whole body aches, but that was normal in those years, just something he got used to until he finally fully healed once he was free. it's not the ache that scares him, though, not the pervasive and constant pain that makes his stomach drop and his fingers twitch against his cot in his sleep.
enzo is screaming. he's been screaming for hours, and damon is stuck in his cell, unable to escape, or fight, or do anything at all but listen. he's sure enzo will scream himself hoarse and lose his voice at some point, whitmore will have to leave, something will have to make it stop, but it just keeps going, guttural and animal. there's nothing to do in the face of pain like that but scream. you can't escape it, can't fight back, can't do anything but take it, and that kind of thing... it makes you forget everything but the pain.
damon's never felt half so inhuman as he did when he was under whitmore's knife, guts stapled open, screaming himself hoarse while stomach acid burned through tissue that healed only to burn again in a vicious, agonising cycle.
the screaming suddenly stops, and for a moment, for just a second, damon is relieved. selfishly, terribly relieved, shoulders slumping and breath leaving him in one long sigh. but the screams don't start again, and whitmore doesn't bring enzo back to the cells, an hour passes and a terrible weight settles in damon's stomach as he realizes that enzo must be dead. he's left alone with whitmore now, the sole focus of all his terrible experiments, and maybe it's better that enzo is free of this but damon hates him for it, wishes he was dead too, why can't he die —
he wakes with a start, shaking violently as awareness trickles in slowly. he's on hyrypia, with the nest, with elena. enzo died in a fire in 1958, and damon had to turn off his humanity to let it happen. the shields that lapsed when damon fell asleep he builds back up slowly, hiding his thoughts in fog and under rivers of blood as he sits up and reaches gently for sam's mind, the path to his breathing excercise well-worn.
in to seven, out to eleven. ❱
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Tonight is no different. The water fills the inside of the vehicle as they quickly sink, the inches of air disappearing as they go deeper into the lake. The lake that was always meant to be the death of her. But as they slip beneath the surface and the rest of the world vanishes, she hears something. Screams. Muffled from the water, hazy as her mind begins to fade from lack of oxygen, but there's no mistaking those terrible sounds that are accompanied by an unsettled fear that scrapes at her mind like sharp rocks. Because whoever is feeling that way isn't supposed to--
Damon. The realization breaks through her dream and she wakes with a quiet gasp, turning instinctively to where she can feel he is, that connection between them already filling with her concern. ]
( Damon. What's wrong? )
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he takes a deep breath, forces his hands to stop shaking, and squares his shoulders.
Nothing, just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, Elena. ❱
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Like he's trying to do now. It doesn't matter than it's the middle of the night, her vampire sight lets her notice that flinch and she aches for him. Something is wrong, something's hurt him emotionally and she can't just let him face it alone. It's not physically possible for Elena Gilbert to leave someone in pain.
After a moment of intense focus and concentration, she does her best to pull her thoughts and emotions back to her side of the connection, though she's not skilled enough at it yet and remnants of her worry are left along the way like gossamer threads. She takes a deep breath of her own before carefully climbing off her cot and slowly inching toward him. ]
It wasn't just a nightmare, not for you. [ Her voice is a hushed whisper that no one else in the tent will be able to hear. If he's as lost in his own mind as she tends to be after the really bad nights, maybe speaking aloud will be easier for him. ]
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he can't... talk about this, he doesn't know how, not without tearing himself apart. even if he could find the words, they'd die on his tongue. misato and sam know but only because they experienced it with him, through a dream or being too far in his head. he's never had to try to articulate exactly what was done to him.
what was done to him. just that sentence makes damon grit his teeth, angry — it's so passive, so pathetic. he couldn't protect himself, couldn't protect enzo, couldn't fight, couldn't flee, couldn't do anything but let it happen. his skin crawls and his gut burns and damon wants to tear this out of himself, these memories and this fear, his most epic failure.
it takes a long moment for damon to respond to elena, and when he does he doesn't turn toward her, doesn't speak out loud at all.
Your nightmares aren't just nightmares either.
deflection is easier than talking about himself, always has been. ❱
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She moves to the side of the cot and kneels down beside it, her hands touching the edge of it but not him. She wants to touch him, desperately, to hold his hand, stroke his hair, rub his back, anything and everything to soothe that feeling he's buried inside him, but she holds back for now. This isn't about her. ]
( No, they're not. But you're helping me through them. )
[ It's what Damon does, what he's been doing for so long now. Helping her. Protecting her. Isn't it her turn to do the same for him now? ]
( So let me help you, Damon. Please? You don't have to tell me about it, just tell me what I can do. )
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damon cuts himself off, shuttering his mind from hers to give him a moment to compose himself. he doesn't want to hurt her, not over something like this, but her concern has always been difficult to hold himself together under. she wraps her arms around him, asks him how he's doing, and it's almost enough to break him apart. elena is the only person alive who's ever asked him those kinds of questions and really wanted an answer — at least she was, until sam entered the picture — and it's so tempting to let himself fall apart so she can put him back together.
but there is no putting him back together, not from this. the damage is already done and he healed all wrong, like a broken leg that wasn't set properly. to heal properly he'd have to re-break, and damon can't find a way to do that. his whole life, the only thing that's kept him alive has been a glib disrespect for his own pain, taking it seriously might well kill him.
This is stupid, he says eventually, opening the connection between them again. all this melodrama over something that happened fifty years ago, because he doesn't know how to let go. he's stared monsters in the face and laughed and the thing that makes him cower is acknowledging his own pain. ❱
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How long has he dealt with this alone? In the moments that Damon shuts himself away from her, Elena begins to crumble, little pieces of her chipping away at the pain she feels for him. Her throat tightens and she's glad they're not speaking aloud, because she wouldn't be able to anymore now. Tears burn at her eyes but she doesn't let them fall. This isn't about her, and that's what's killing her inside. Damon is hurting and he won't let her help him. ]
( Why is your pain stupid and mine justified? )
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I don't want to hurt you, he says, and he knows it's not enough but it's all he's got. he's not trying to break her heart, but talking about augustine would hurt him, and showing her would hurt her.
whatcan he say...
I've never told anyone. It's not... about you. ❱
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[ And she does, really. She believes that he doesn't want to tell her because it will hurt her, that he's never actually told anyone and it's not at all personal toward her. But that doesn't make it any easier for her to accept that she's just supposed to let him handle all of this on his own. It's not in her nature and everything in her is shouting against the idea. ]
( You haven't had anyone on your side in a long time. That's why I'm so glad you have Sam here, because you don't deserve to be alone, Damon. You shouldn't have to go through this alone. )
[ Her hands ache to take his, to hold him gently like a frightened animal, to soothe him like a scared child in the night. But she knows instinctively that he won't let her, and she's trying so very hard to respect that. She doesn't want to do anything that will make this even worse for him.
But she has to offer. ]
( I'm a big girl, Damon. If you can be strong enough to tell me, I can be strong enough to hear it. But if you can't bring yourself to do that, to either of us, it's okay. I'm still here for you. Forever. )
[ Because they have forever now. He's a part of her life in a way she couldn't shake even if she wanted to, and if he needs more time, she can give that to him. Because it's not about her. ]
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it's stupid how easily elena can see through him and tell him things he never knew he needed to hear, simple things that he never even knew to consider or hope for until she said them. damon's chest constricts painfully, his grip on the cot tightening to the point the material creaks with the strain. after a long moment, he leans forward, touching their foreheads together — it's about the most contact he can handle, right now.
instead of telling her, he shows her. a sanitized version, devoid of memories of pain where he can edit them out, but enough so that she sees. she sees joseph salvatore, a syringe of vervain in his hand and glass sticking out of his neck; she sees dr. whitmore looking down with an impassive curiosity; sees enzo holding out his hand through bars in a wall.
she sees years pass, and then fire, and she feels —
nothing. ❱
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Those tears that she's been fighting slip down her cheeks, and it takes all her strength not to throw her arms around him and never let him go. Instead, she forces herself to stay right where she is, to let him make any move he might be able to handle, like touching his forehead to hers. He's the one controlling this situation and she's not going to take that away from him. ]
( No one's ever going to hurt you like that again, I promise. I won't let them. )
[ It's the first thing she can think to say that might actually mean something to him, instead of just the usual platitudes that she's heard so many times before in the face of her own pain. She doesn't want to use those, not when there are more important things to say. And she means every word of it -- she will do anything to keep that from ever happening to him again. ]
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his head drops from leaning against hers to rest against her shoulder, and he doesn't move for a hug but he leans forward slightly, so that elena's curled around him.
Stefan always hated me for killing Joseph.
family was always so much more important to stefan than to damon. he cared about their illicit half-brother's descendants so much more than damon ever did, took it as a personal affront whenever damon treated them poorly, when all damon could see in them was the stain of giuseppe's blood, and then joseph's. the salvatore blood carries a legacy of pain with it, and the only good thing it was ever able to produce was stefan. of course he wouldn't be able to see their family for what it was. ❱
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But that's not important right now. She resists the urge to wrap her arms around him and hold him as tightly as she can, and instead just shifts ever so slightly so her body shelters him even further. ]
( You never told him why you did it, did you? )
[ She has to believe that Stefan would see things differently if he knew. For all the problems between the two brothers, they still protect each other. ]
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day 014: i'm here trying not to bite your neck, but it's beautiful
Come to our tent,, he says, brushing past her on the way there himself. inside, he pulls off the veil and outermost layers of his costume. he's rolling up his sleeves when elena enters, and his eyes flick up to her. ❱
You're not going to like this.
❰ it seems only polite to warn her. ❱
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She trusts him though, implicitly, so she follows him into the tent, removing her own layers and watching him work on his sleeves with sad resignation. ]
But I still have to do it.
[ It's not a question. If he's going to these lengths, then whatever this is is something he's deemed important for her. As much as she'd like to argue about finding another way, finding something more... palatable for her lifestyle, there aren't any other options out here. Everything Damon has done to help her learn control has been necessary and important and she doesn't have another choice, so why bother telling her she won't like it? She already knows that. ]
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❰ this isn't something he'd force on her, or lie about — it's important, he thinks, but there's more than one way to skin a cat, as they say. he could teach her how to pay attention to vital signs some other way, probably. this is the easiest, and the least likely to cause her more distress than she can handle, but he's not unaware of its... faults. ❱
You need to learn how to pay attention to the vital signs of whoever you're feeding on. It's easy to get carried away, and you won't know you've taken too much until it's too late unless you know what to watch out for. I figured you wouldn't want to test this out on Sam, even though he'd be totally fine ❰ this comment comes with a raised eyebrow and the sense that she's being entirely unreasonable, ❱ so I am option two.
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I can't do that to Sam.
[ Even if he would be fine, she just can't. Maybe one day when everything isn't so fresh and painful, but not today. Not this week, this mission. She looks down at his bare arm, then up to those blue eyes she could drown in. ]
Do vampires usually do this?
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Sometimes. It's... not usually about learning how to control ourselves, though. Our bodies run like we're human, but our heartbeats are so slow they might as well not exist, usually. If there are better options, why not take them?
❰ it's why damon didn't start this at the very beginning of the day — he needed stimulants in his system to pump up his heart rate, get him operating at something closer to human standard. it feels weird to have a heartbeat he can actually feel, but hey, needs must, and all. ❱
Bloodsharing is more... personal. It's the kind of thing you should be doing with Stefan, ❰ damon's voice is flat on his brother's name, but the implication should be clear nonetheless. it's sexy, elena. super sexy. ❱
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Bloodsharing is personal. He doesn't need to say more for her to understand, and her chest feels tight all of a sudden because of what that means. Not just for her, but for Damon himself. She knows how he feels about her, so for him to do this... ]
Are you going to be okay with this?
[ Yes, Damon, that is actual concern in her voice. Because if the answer is no, then there's no way in hell she's going through with this plan of yours. ]
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Are you?
❰ it's a deflection, sure, but one he's comfortable with — he wouldn't offer this to elena if... well, no, he would, no matter how he'd feel about it, but wanting her isn't anything new. he's wanted her since before he even loved her, and it's only gotten worse the longer he's known her. he's managed to keep himself in control for this long, bloodsharing won't test him beyond his ability to restrain himself.
elena, on the other hand... it was the other version, the one who'd been human and known nothing, but still her, and she had nearly gone to pieces from the mere idea of him feeding on her from her thigh. whether or not feeding was a sexual thing for her and stefan — damon would guess not, given his brother's Issues — there certainly seems to be an element of it for the two of them. ❱
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Will she be okay, though? That's the real question, and one she doesn't have an answer to. She knows almost nothing about the version of her who had been here before, other than she was from so long ago in comparison to herself, but she does wonder sometimes about what this other her might have shared with Damon while they were together. And it does make her sad sometimes than she's not human still, for the sole purpose of being able to provide Damon with another reliable source of blood. ]
I guess we'll find out.
[ There's a determination both in her voice and her mind -- she's not backing down from this now that she's settled on going through with it, so let's just get on with things. ]
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Stand behind me, ❰ he says, pulling the neck of his top to the side to open up his neck. ❱ Keep one hand on my wrist, you'll want to feel my pulse. Until you've got enough control to keep one ear on your food's heartbeat, that'll be the best way to tell if you've gone too far.
❰ there's an element of a challenge to everything damon's saying, an unspoken are you sure about this? elena always wants to show off how much she can take, how strong she is, but she doesn't have to be strong with him. if this is too much for her, he won't blame her. ❱
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Reaching down to wrap a hand around his wrist, she wonders why he didn't just have her feed from there instead, but in a way it makes sense: she's just as likely to feed from the neck, maybe even more so in some instances. Her free hand rests on his opposite shoulder as she steadies herself, licking her lips and feeling the hunger rising from where it eternally slumbers within her. She starts to question herself again, can she actually do this, is this the best idea-- And then she tosses all of that to the side and dives into the deep end headfirst, not waiting for further instruction or another question of whether she wants to go through with this. Her appearance changes, eyes darkening and sharpened teeth emerging, and it still feels strange but not quite as much as it did in the beginning. Her focus is on the scent of him though, the sound of his heartbeat, that stretch of skin, and she gives one last firm press to squash her hesitation before presses her mouth to the curve of his neck and sinks her teeth in, blood rushing up from the small wounds as soon as the skin is pierced.
He tastes so good. It's a thought that she can't suppress, one that he's bound to pick up on, but she doesn't care. All that matters is the warm blood in her mouth, the way it courses down her throat as smooth as silk, the way it makes her feel alive. There's a power in standing over him like this, a strength in holding on to him, and she wraps an arm around his chest to pull him closer, her fingers gripping at the fabric still covering him before she slides her hand upward again, to his shoulder, the other side of his neck, into his hair. She can't stop touching him, holding on to him, and it's a struggle to keep her other hand firmly on his wrist, even more so to actually pay attention to the feeling of his pulse there. ]
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it's easier to think about things like trust than... what she's doing, what he's feeling. it's not for nothing human fiction has always spun a vampire's bite as a metaphor for sex — they're similarly pleasurable, done the right way, with the right person. the last time damon had bloodshared with anyone had been enzo in 1958, and his mind shies away from the memory, unwilling to taint this moment with that one. he'd forgotten how intensely good it feels, like every nerve in his body is tuned into elena's touch, her teeth, the suction of her lips against his skin, the rush of his own blood inside her.
his free hand spasms on the cot, gripping the fabric tightly as he tries to focus. he's supposed to be teaching her.
Elena, focus. We're here for a reason.
stop thinking about how good he tastes, because then he'll think about how good you taste and that'll just — no. this isn't about sex, this is about learning.
even so, damon can't help leaning back against her, pressing his back to her chest and his head into her hand. his breath is laboured, but he's trying to hold it together. one of them has to. ❱
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His words reverberate through her mind and she tries to focus, she really does, but it's so hard to pull her thoughts back to where they need to be. Try as she might to keep them straight and on the feeling of his pulse, she spirals in how good it feels, how right, how sensual, and suddenly she's recalling that night at the hotel, the connection they'd shared, how she'd wanted to drink him in then and taste every part of him.
A quiet moan rises up from the back of her throat, a sound of need and passion, and in the second she realizes what she's hearing-- she freezes, her lips still on his skin, her lungs filled with the scent of him. It's the impetus she needs to send her focus careening back on track, like a bucket of cold water poured over her just before she might have taken things too far. After a few seconds of pause, she continues drinking, but the passion is gone and it's just blood, and a handful of moments pass before she feels his pulse change in a marked way and finally pulls back, his blood staining her mouth. ]
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