the low road // 08 hero (part two)
Title: the low road // 08 hero (continued)
Author: that_treason
Rating: M overall (M-ish this chapter, language)
Length: around 7700 words (this chapter)
Characters: Damon/Elena
Spoilers
through 4x18
very AU after that
Warnings
references to sex while switched off
vampires eat people & vampires kill people
Disclaimers
Everything belongs to the people who own them.
I am just borrowing.
continuation of this prompt from upupa_epops:
“Damon/Elena, AU from 4x17. When Elena reaches to steal Katherine's addresses, Damon impulsively decides to screw the high road and team up with Elena instead.”
The carnival is bright around Elena. She wanders along the side trails away from the midway for a little while, exploring the carnival's alleyways and dead ends. There's skill that went into the setup of this faire - with lots of attention given to making it seem bigger than it really is. Plenty of places to get lost for a little while.
She drifts separate from the rest of the crowd. All around her humans go about their business, laughing and talking and shouting and running. Elena doesn't bother to pretend that she's the same species anymore, and the people around her seem to know that on some instinctive level. Something in the way she walks or stops or looks at things puts a chill in the air around her, and no one gets too close.
She briefly considers luring someone away - to quell the obnoxious growling in her chest - but then discards the idea. Too little time between now and the big show. And besides, Damon hasn't eaten yet either. She can wait.
The hands on the clock creep closer to nine. Elena looks around for a vantage point, some inconspicuous place where she can watch undisturbed. She spots a blue metal ladder welded to the side of an abandoned looking fright house ride. The lights leading up to it are all dim or out completely and there's no attendant or guests, so there's no one around to notice when she climbs up a story, wraps her arm around a rung, and hangs in her own little circle of dimmer light.
The midway looks deceptively normal at three minutes to the hour. Damon is still in the same spot, oblivious to his surroundings. He isn't talking on the phone anymore, but she can tell that he's still engrossed. He's hunched slightly over with both hands clasped awkwardly in front. Must have switched to having the all text version of the war room argument with his brother.
Elena can tell there's something going on now, a weird wave rippling through the sea of faire-goers. Groups are clumping up on the edges of the midway. There's pushing and pulling and awkward little skirmishes in the dust along the path, but there might as well be a solid wall ten feet around Damon that almost no one will cross.
Then one girl (not even one of the compelled ones, Elena notes with satisfaction), breaks away from the grasping arms of her friends to make her way over to Damon. He glances up and takes her in, probably sizing her up as a potential meal. Even from this distance Elena can see the subtle changes in his body language as he chats her up. The girl cups one hand around his ear and leans in to whisper to him. He pops back when he hears whatever it was, startled and confused.
That's when the dam breaks.
First one, then three, then ten teenagers are rushing Damon. They don't even bother to be polite, they're too excited, too nervous to control themselves. Kids who have no idea what's going on come running too, when they see the crowd gathering. Elena's sure that more than half of them have no idea what's going on, or who they're all gawking at. She makes a mental note to ask around for rumors when she finally climbs down there to pull them all off of him. She can be his hero tonight - maybe he'll finally let it go.
As Elena watches the the carnival goes lopsided, with more and more people, adults included, wandering onto the swarmed midway. A group of teenaged boys on one side start up a completely unintelligible chant - maybe the high school fight song, maybe a popular song, Elena has no idea. The jabber of voices from the throng grows to a roar.
Damon is doing his best to keep them off him, eventually getting himself cornered up against the wall of a tent. From her perch she can see him hollering at them, the usually unflappable Damon replaced by one nervous and overwhelmed. Normally he loves to be the center of attention, but only on his own terms; to be this sudden eye in a teenage love storm has him completely thrown.
Elena glances at the clock again, already edging towards ten past. She hasn't seen Sarah at all, not in the crowd or anywhere along the midway. The thought of the missing woman nags at the back of Elena's mind, souring her amusement at Damon's predicament. She steps a few rungs higher on the ladder, trying to find some glimpse of Sarah in the farther flung parts of the faire. When no clue to her whereabouts can be seen on the grounds, Elena gives up and turns her attention back to the hero of the hour.
An adult pushes through the crowd in front of Damon, but it isn't Sarah. It's a carnival barker in top hat and tails, trying his hand at some crowd control. He's yelling at the kids, just like Damon, but he's doing it conversationally, with jokes and snark and charm. Soon the kids are following his lead, opening up a space for him to pass through right up to the tent wall where Damon is pressed.
Elena sees the top hatted barker saunter up to Damon, taking the time to elaborately shake his hand. He puts an arm along Damon's shoulders, and poses them both for a flash photo. She watches the man lean himself in through the whole thing, never even attempting to pull Damon in any direction. Almost as if he suspects that Damon might be as immovable as a brick wall. Elena quirks her head, suddenly curious about the man's real purpose there next to Damon.
And then she sees the vampire crumble, sees the man in the top hat catch him as he falls. Burley carnival folks in various shades of steampunk attire muscle through the crowd from all directions until Damon is surrounded, held up as he hangs limp.
Elena has no idea what's going on. Her fingers clamp tight to the cold metal bars of the ladder on the ride.
The costumed workers ease the crowd back from the circle they've formed around Damon. Out steps Sarah, who goes to stand at the front of the pack, carrying a bucket in her right hand and a rifle in the other.
"Show's over, kiddies. Time to go home!" Sarah roars at the crowd. All over the carnival, heavy switches are thrown accompanied by creaks and slams, and with each one another pool of light disappears. Sarah raises the rifle above her head and fires off one booming shot. "Carnival's closed now! Time to go home! Our hero needs to get some beauty sleep before the sun comes up."
There's a chill that runs through Elena that has nothing to do with the desert night air. They know, she thinks, they know and they have Damon and who-
"Fuck." The uncharacteristic curse leaks from her mouth, carried under a slow-released, unnecessary breath.
A shot from Sarah's rifle cracks open the night - all it takes to get the crowd moving. Hysteria reigns as adults drag children towards the darkened parking lot. Teenagers take off in all directions into the desert night. Some of them are dragged physically away by their friends, unwilling to leave behind their only chance at an autograph.
Elena sees Damon's head snap up, sees his arms move feebly against the ring of carnival workers and performers that is growing around him. She watches as they hoist him up in the air like a crowd surfer and carry him away, against the movement of the crowd.
Elena doesn't stop to think. Her grip on the metal of the ladder relaxes and she falls to the ground. She lands gracefully, with no noise or disturbance. Given what's happening down the midway, fleeing faire goers don't give her a second glance when she appears largely from thin air. She pushes through the crowd without much care, occasionally trampling those who won't get out of her way fast enough.
But then she does think. Thinks about what the hell she's going to do when she catches them. There are too many of them for her to fight on her own. Maybe with Damon's help she'd have a chance against them all, but on her own she'll just get them both killed. And there's no question on that front: these people, whatever they are, mean to kill at least Damon.
Before the sun comes up, she thinks. They definitely know what we we are and how to kill us. No way to know what they are. No fast way to find out. No secret weapon, no plan.
She sifts through what she knows and what she sees bit-by-bit, as fast as she can. Discards every plan as quick as they come. With emotions she'd be in full on panic now - panicked and raging. Instead she is a sea of calm in an ocean of terror. There are no twinges creeping loose from her heart now. She is brutal with her focus.
Sarah must be the reason it all fell apart. She must have never been compelled in the first place - so Elena's compulsion did nothing but provide them all with an open invitation. Elena replays in her head all the clues she missed. The stiffness. The delicate sniff when she started the compulsion. The wicked flash of teeth at the end. All signs that there was no link between her and Sarah, and therefore no compulsion.
Something tickles at her brain about the memory. Something she saw Sarah do.
Of course.
Elena has no chance against them all. But she has everything she needs to destroy their livelihood and homes.
She sweeps to the side of the rapidly emptying midway, towards the walls of the nearest tent - doesn't bother to walk at anything resembling a human pace, just zips along the edges. She stops a second here and a second there, lingering only long enough to pull down the fake gas lamps, pour the oil onto canvas and wood and paper, and then lighting the whole mess up with the flame. She zips around the midway and soon wide swathes of the carnival have joined the growing inferno.
Elena takes off into the darkness through the fire, fighting instinct all the while. There is a deep-seated fear of fire in her now, a gift that came along for the ride when she changed species. But like all things she finds unnecessary, she tamps it down and ignores it and soon enough she's out in the darkness of the empty desert around the faire. She doesn't stop moving, but she does slow, running awkwardly pitched to the side so she can watch events unfold through the spaces between booths and tents.
So she's very aware of the moment when the fire becomes a reality to the people of the carnival.
It might be the sound of it that gets their attention, or it might be the heat or light or smell. Tents start to fall, taking with them long strung pennants and banners, adding more fuel to the fire. The stragglers in the mob notice first and take off screaming. Running to get water and hoses and help. Smoke is billowing off the conflagration, lacing everything it touches with the choking scent of burning plastic on top of burning wood.
Then greater havoc breaks loose. The majority scatter in all directions, moving with purpose. There's a plan for this eventuality and it's obvious that everyone has a role. Sarah is there, still by Damon's side, shouting out the details that flesh out their long understood emergency plan. Only the man in the top hat is still holding him up, kept there by Sarah's direction. Elena can see that he's nervous and tense, can almost feel it across the desert floor how much he wants to be out helping with the rest of the crew.
Elena waits, even as the flames rise and creep. Time slows as she concentrates.
Sarah takes a step, almost involuntarily following along with her booming voice. Then another. Now her back is to Damon and the man in the top hat as she concentrates on directing the fire efforts.
Elena takes what she can get: she runs, pressing herself hard, directly at Damon and the man. He doesn't see her before the impact because there's nothing to see but a blur. She crashes into them both. The man cries out as he falls and Damon slips from his arms.
Elena's on the ground too, for a moment, dazed from using her body as a battering ram. She crawls the inch it takes to get to Damon, wraps her arms around him, and springs up with as much force as she can. Her brain still calculates according to human limitations - she expects Damon to weigh a ton compared to her strength. But the supernatural force that animates her limbs doesn't care about differences in body weights, it just lifts and runs and crushes. Damon is like a rag doll in her arms, limp and flopping and strangely weightless.
So the jump is severely unbalanced, but it gets the job done. They flop several feet away before Sarah and the man in the top hat can do a thing. Elena takes a moment to reorient herself, balancing Damon in her arms so she can run. The rifle in Sarah's hands booms and a shot cracks out - but Elena's already gone.
She takes them in a wide arch through the darkness, with one eye always on the carnival and the fire. Luckily (perhaps the only luck tonight) the lot where they left the car is at the edge closest to the fire, so there's no chance that anyone will dive out to stop them. No pursuit from behind, and no sign of Sarah either.
There's a moment of confusion when she gets to the car door - she doesn't know quite how to juggle Damon and pull at the latch - but it doesn't slow her down for long. She throws Damon the length of the seat; he slams his back into the passenger side door and rests there, still limp and unconscious, legs splayed out almost all the way to the driver's side of the seat. Elena's in the car and positioned to drive before he falls to a stop, but then has to abandon all expediency when she realizes she doesn't have the keys. Floundering around in Damon's pockets yields them up after an increasingly tense couple of minutes. The fire behind starts to settle as the carnival workers finally gain control. She can hear increasing shouts over the lessening din of the blaze. There are likely only precious minutes left before a group splits off to come after them.
Elena leaves the lights off as she cruises slowly through the parking lot, hoping to remain unnoticed. They make it to the edge of the gravel lot seemingly without being noticed, but she's tense throughout, holding her foot so lightly on the pedal and scanning from front to back. She pulls the car out onto the asphalt of the road and turns to fit into the normal lane. Takes a deep, unnecessary breath and guns the engine.
###
"what...the...fuck."
The voice that emerges from Damon is little more than a rasp. Elena glances over at him for the first time in an hour and watches as he raises his head from where it's fallen, chin to chest. His eyes stay closed, but she can tell he's still awake. She hasn't wanted to look at him since they left the carnival grounds. She didn't want to see him lying there across the seat, a crumpled reminder of how badly she's screwed this one up. So instead of dwelling on the past, she's making up for it in the present, dashing full tilt down empty, endless desert roads, with little heed for direction. She just wants to get away without further damage.
"You're awake," she says simply.
"Unfortunately. Unless this is a really vivid nightmare."
"No," she says, frowning, "we're both awake."
"Ok..." he says and slides himself into an upright position on the seat, no longer flat out along it's length. His feet thump heavily as they hit the floor. "Then I'm gonna need some details."
She takes the next few minutes to describe the behavior of the carnival workers to him, in bland and disinterested detail, what she saw and what she suspects. She largely skips anything to do with the beginning of her prank, after the first cursory facts. When she finishes, she waits for him to say anything - but instead he sits silent, eyes still closed, for several minutes. The only sound in the car is low rumble of the road, the occasional gravel under the tires. The moon set a while back and now the night is dark as pitch outside the beam of the headlights.
"My bets on werewolves," he says finally.
"Werewolves. Really."
"Look at the facts," he says, with some strength returning to his voice. "They knew all about what we are, including how to inject me with vervain - so obviously some sort of supernatural-"
"Obviously," she agrees, nodding her head.
"If they were witches we'd have been fucked every which way - way too many of them with too many unknown, witchy powers. Plus they didn't have that sanctimonious bullshit attitude."
She glances at him with a quirked eyebrow. "If there's one thing that Damon Salvatore knows about it's sanctimonious bullshi-"
"No witchy powers in evidence, no witches," he continues without skipping a beat. "That fire thing you pulled would have never worked."
She bites her lip and considers how lucky the whole thing had been, based around such a ramshackle plan. "That's pretty true."
"Now they could be some weird new thing we've never seen before," he says, now in full-on detective mode.
Elena finds it weird how much he loves this sleuthing thing - although she supposes it is a natural addition to his heroic tendencies. Probably a leftover from when Alaric was still alive and keeping him occupied. She shakes her head to clear it when she notices that her thoughts keep drifting away from the conversation. Her brain is fuzzy and it's growing difficult to concentrate on the flow of words from Damon, much less suppress the scratching emptiness in her chest. There's a buzzing noise that underlines everything she hears - when she presses herself to listen she knows that it's just one tiny word over and over: bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblo-
Her teeth clamp down and grind, but Damon is too distracted to notice - still healing from the vervain and engrossed in the puzzle of the carnival folk.
"...took us forever to figure out werewolves in the first place, so it's reasonable to assume there's more out there we don't know. But if they aren't something new and weird, they fit the werewolf profile pretty well. They acted like a pack and followed the orders of a leader, who had some pretty alpha tendencies. They were definitely stronger than normal humans. Makes sense this close to the full moon, they'd have that little bit of extra oomph. Perfect cover for them too - they can live together as a pack and make money on the road. Once a month they can close the whole thing down without having to explain to some boss. They aren't around long enough for a human to notice something weird. And I bet that's how they stayed away from Klaus - when he went hybrid crazy he cleaned out packs all over the place."
He closes his eyes again. Elena waits a moment in silence, calculating the odds that she can steer this conversation to escape the topic somehow unscathed. She opens her mouth to begin a smooth transition from one topic to the next, trying not to sound too desperate as the chorus in her ears continues to drone.
"That sounds...entirely plausible, so-"
"So to sum up," he cuts her off with a voice still gravelly from vervain, "you rescued me from what was likely a full pack of werewolves by setting fire to all their stuff and then bum rushing them. But before that you set those same werewolves up to murder me, plus compelled the attentions of a mob of teenagers with the misguided impression that I was a "TV star or hero or something" - which, frankly, was far worse than the vervain and the werewolves."
"Something like that, yeah." She has the courtesy to pretend to be chagrined, even as hunger threatens to overwhelm her.
"Damon, I-"
"No need to fake an apology. I'm a big boy. I'll survive."
"I'm still hungry."
He rolls his head limply across the headrest of the seat so that he can look her dead in the face. "Ah. Shoulda known it was that. Even a fake apology would be asking too much probably."
She shrugs, but won't turn her head to meet his gaze. "I didn't have the chance to grab a bite."
"And how is that my fault?" he asks.
"Hey, I probably saved us some trouble," she says, in the vague hope that she can still turn this conversation around. "Maybe we would have ended up eating dog for dinner - maybe even vervain-filled wolf, who knows?"
"That," he says, pointing vigorously over his shoulder back the way they came, "couldn't even remotely be considered saving us some trouble. That was the definition oftrouble. And I'm pretty sure I still got my share of vervain in the bargain."
"Fine, fine, fine. I got you vervained and I almost got you killed at the hands of an angry mob. Wasn't the first time, probably won't be the last. Doesn't change the fact that I'm starving."
"Then let this be a lesson onto you, baby vampire," he sing-songs in mocking high-church tones, "feed before you fuck with someone. Lucky for you," he says, closing his eyes and sinking back into the seat, "I could use a couple pints myself."
