Fic Post! "Not in Kansas Anymore... or The One With Zombies"
Title: Not in Kansas Anymore... or The One With Zombies
Author: kachera
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, slight Supernatural cross-over
Pairing or Characters: Damon, Alaric, guest appearance by Bobby
Length: ~7400 words
Disclaimer: Written for fun, not profit. I do not own these characters - they belong to The Vampire Diaries and Supernatural.
Rating: M for Mature. There is graphic violence ahead. Guns and shooting and gore.
Warnings: Mostly crack!fic. The epic awesomeness of Team Badass lives on.
Summary: Alaric gets a call from a friend that sends him to Tennessee to investigate some suspicious activity. Damon comes along.
EDIT: Bonus material has been written! After reading this, if you want to find out what happened in the missing motel scene, go here: With A Little Help From Your Friends .
Cross posted to tvd_fic and damon_alaric
Notes: This story idea was planted back in July of 2010, when I commented on luredin's journal that adding either zombies of unicorns would make pretty much any story better. That’s when I started plotting this fic.
Thanks: To alittleblue, hammerhead22, and coffeebuddha who agreed to beta for me and helped toss around ideas. Thank you. Special extra thanks however goes to luredin for in the final stages, she went above and beyond. She more than beta’d. She poked and prodded and collaborated until my story was as shiny as I could make it. She *is* made of unicorns and rainbows and sparkles and cotton-candy.
Not in Kansas Anymore... or The One With Zombies
It’s just past 1pm on a Saturday when Alaric’s phone rings. He’s considering just letting the call go because he hasn’t had a day off with nothing going on in far too long, but a look at the caller ID tells him it’s Bobby. Alaric freezes for a moment. Up to now Alaric had always been the one to call Bobby, not the other way around. He’s not sure what this change might mean, but every reason he can come up with suggests the conversation could get very uncomfortable.
He grimaces before blowing out a breath and picking up. “Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”
Much to his relief the conversation is pretty straight forward. Bobby had picked up some reports of a whole town going suspiciously quiet, and, while he didn’t have a lot of information to go on, he was hoping Alaric could look into it. Alaric can’t deny the bubble of pride he feels that Bobby thought enough of his skills to call on him for help. After all, the guy has a whole network of people who’ve been at this ‘monster thing’ longer than he has.
Alaric quickly agrees to check into it, glad it’s a task he doesn’t have any qualms about fulfilling. He wraps up the call but hesitates before putting down the phone. Bobby taught him a lot in those months after Isobel 'died'. When Ric's only focus had been to hunt down and kill the thing that had killed her, Bobby hadn’t just taught him how to take down vampires; he’d taught him how to fight. Alaric owes the man his life. The problem is that in the last six months Alaric's view of vampires, werewolves--all of it--has changed, and he knows Bobby wouldn’t approve of the people Alaric has chosen to align himself with lately. Still. Alaric owes Bobby, and today is apparently pay-back day.
He just doesn't want to do it alone.
Before he can change his mind he’s already dialed another number, and hears the phone ring several times before it’s picked up.
“You better be calling with something entertaining.” Damon sounds like he’s in a good mood, possibly on the verge of boredom, which for Alaric’s purposes is perfect.
“Hello to you, too. How do you feel about a road trip to eastern Tennessee?”
-----------
Less than an hour later they’re in Alaric’s car travelling down the interstate with the sun still high in the sky. Damon’s boots are on the dash, a habit Alaric knows better than to try and break, and Alaric is filling Damon in on why they’re headed to nowheresville again. His first explanation was apparently not adequate.
“Let me get this straight - you get a call from some guy named Bobby, and you drop everything to look into things for him? Who is this guy?“ Alaric doesn’t need to look over to know what Damon thinks of that idea. Damon’s tone says it all.
“I owe him.” Alaric pauses, weighing how much detail it will take to simultaneously appease Damon’s curiosity but also get him to drop the topic. Keeping Bobby and Damon from ever knowing too much about each other is something Alaric considers pretty damn important in terms of avoiding a potentially disastrous fallout. He decides to tell the short version of the history. “Bobby was the guy who set me up when I first needed to learn about vampires.”
Damon scoffs at that, but Alaric is well practiced in ignoring his opinion, especially on this topic. “Turns out he also gets leads on other things that go bump in the night. He’s wrapped up in something else right now, so he called me to look into whatever is going on in Tennessee.”
Damon narrows his eyes, clearly not believing Alaric is giving him the whole truth, and since Alaric isn’t telling the whole story, he can’t really blame him.
“And the best he could tell you was that things got ‘too quiet’?” Damon still looks suspicious, but at least he’s moving on with the conversation.
“Yeah. Look, it could be nothing, but I said I’d check into it. I’m sure at the very least there'll be a bar we can hit. At this point being anywhere that isn’t my place, your place, or the Grill sounds like a nice change of pace.” He looks over and catches Damon’s smirk. Alright, then. Topic settled for now.
---------
They head southwest along the highway, chasing the sun. The scenery flies by alternating between rolling hills of open grassland spotted with fence posts and sprawling forests whose leaves are just starting to change color. It reminds Alaric of just how beautiful this part of the country is. He should really get out of town more often.
It doesn’t take long until Damon breaks the silence. “OK. The letters will be F and M. No names, and no repeating words that have already been used.”
Alaric shoots him a confused look. “Am I supposed to understand what you just said?”
“Didn't you ever play this on your road trips? What could F. M. stand for? Like… Family Matters. There. I’m winning.”
Alaric huffs out a short laugh, and figures he might as well play along. He looks around trying to find inspiration, until he finally comes up with one. “Field Mouse” he announces, but Damon just groans in reply.
“Boorring.” He draws out the word, singing it like some sort of condescending doorbell chime. “I expected you to be better at this.” The derision is familiar and good natured, and completely effective in challenging Alaric to raise his game.
Damon is faster than he is with a second answer. “Functional Mediocrity.” He says it with a fake smile and tips his head towards Alaric.
“Very funny.” Alaric replies drily.
The miles roll by easily as they keep playing. Damon is still in the lead when Alaric breaks into a grin, and thumps the steering wheel in pre-emptive victory before calming pronouncing, “Phonetic Mistake.”
He looks over just in time to see Damon’s stunned expression, mouth gaping. “That… was well played.“ He pauses another few seconds, clearly trying to counter with something better, but eventually he starts laughing and raises his hands in surrender. “You win. I can’t beat that.”
Not long after that they exit the highway and travel the last few miles with Damon acting as navigator. They crest the final hill just as the sky is darkening, and they get their first look at the town. At a glance, it looks just like any other small town. There appears to be a central downtown area, where bigger buildings sit clustered closely together. Radiating out from there the concrete structures give way to modest brick and wood constructed homes with yards of varying sizes. To one side there looks to be school playground and, on the other, some industrial buildings. As they drive by the tree lined properties on the outer edges it’s obvious the residents have taken pride in their community. Fences are in good repair, and the lawns are mowed; and while there are a few rusted cars along the sides of some of the yards, overall, it looks like a blueprint for a perfect middle-class town.
The road they are on appears to take them right into town, so Alaric keeps driving, but a feeling of unease starts growing. The large porches that wrap the front of most houses are empty, the rocking chairs that sit on them are still and vacant. The tree swings hang abandoned in the yards, and a brightly colored ball rests deserted against a gate. As they get further into town it becomes startlingly obvious that theirs is the only car moving on the empty streets. Where are all the families that should be driving home after a dinner out, or heading into town to catch the late showing of a movie? The whole town is simply silent.
Too quiet was right.
Alaric slows down as they reach the heart of the downtown area. They still haven’t seen a single person going about their daily life. The street lights come on as the daylight fades, but Alaric can’t see any reason for the apparent exodus. Everyone is just gone.
He brings the car to a stop in the middle of the street. “Well this isn’t creepy at all.”
Without another word they both get out of the car. Alaric heads to the trunk, pulling out a shotgun, while Damon scans the street frowning.
“This doesn’t feel right. There’s something…” Damon’s voice trails off and he turns toward an alley a second before a man stumbles out into the street. He’s dirty, his hair hanging limp in front of his face, and he's unsteady on his feet.
Alaric walks forward to meet the man, figuring he might know what happened, but Damon is suddenly at his side with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. Damon’s body is tense and he’s in a half crouch, fight-ready, as if he expects the homeless guy to be some sort of threat. The man keeps coming, slow and half-dragging one foot, when Alaric realizes he’s also making a kind of groaning sound. A few more steps and the light from the street lamp fills in the shadows that had been hiding the man's face. What he sees causes Alaric to nearly trip over his own feet as he stumbles backwards, Damon keeping step with him. The man’s face has started rotting off, skin pocked with holes and his eyes are so clouded they can’t possibly be functional anymore.
“Jesus Christ!” Alaric shouts.
The man is still lurching forward, his body carrying him towards them even though he moves as if bones and tendons have broken and slipped out of place. None of that stops him. Horrified, Alaric looks into his eyes, his face, but there is no one there to reason with. There is no spark of humanity, just a driving, urgent hunger. Alaric is too shocked to look away, completely unable to process what is coming at him. He’s instinctively putting distance between himself and the thing coming towards him, when Damon’s hand on his shoulder stops him again.
“Don’t think that’s going to work.” Damon is looking the other way, and Alaric tears his eyes away from the man in front of him to see what Damon has already discovered - there are dozens of rotting people closing in from the other side of the street, cutting off access to the car.
“Zombies?!” Alaric shouts in frustrated disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” The sun has dipped below the horizon making it harder to see just how much trouble they’re in, but with every passing second more shambling bodies emerge into the street, all heading towards them.
“Apparently not.” Damon’s using the tone he gets when the shit is truly hitting the fan - clipped words and sarcastic nonchalance. Perfect. “We need to get out of the street. Now.”
They break into a run heading further down the street and the crowd of corpses turns to follow. Alaric spots a sporting goods store. “In here!”
Damon gets to the door first and throws it open, quickly pulling the bolt once Alaric is inside. There are bars across the front windows, but as the bodies outside start pushing and pulling, trying to force their way inside, both men take another few steps back. Eventually they will break through. We need a plan, Alaric thinks. A plan would be good.
“Zombies.” Alaric takes a deep breath, uselessly trying to wrap his head around the situation. “I can’t even… Tell me you know what to do about these things?”
Damon looks at him, eyes wide and hands jerking up in irritation. “Why would I know what to do with zombies? I’ve never run into them before! You’re the research guy. Didn’t you and your pal Bobby bone up on all sorts of undead creatures?”
“I wasn’t researching zombies! I was hunting you! Fuck. Can’t you just...” Alaric moves his hands in a vaguely running motion, “super speed your way through them? Get to the car and pick me up here?”
Damon glares at him, before turning back to watch the front entry to confirm it’s still holding. “If there were just a few, sure. But you may have noticed we’re a little outnumbered. I have no interest in being ripped to pieces.”
Alaric has to concede the point. Technically his ring would probably bring him back if they got a hold of him, unless one of them got his hand first. He’s not willing to risk it.
He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. “So how do we kill them?”
“Usually I’d say take out the heart - you’d be surprised how often that works - but in this case… shoot them in the head?” Damon says with a shrug.
Alaric frowns at him. “Are you suggesting that because you saw it in a movie?”
Damon shrugs again, still taking stock of the hoard of bodies relentlessly trying to break through the bars and glass. “Do you have a better idea?”
Alaric opens his mouth to answer, but closes it when he realizes he really doesn’t have a better idea. Ok, they’ll try shooting them in the head.
Satisfied that the front entry will hold for an hour or so, maybe long enough for them to figure a way to even the odds, they hurry to the gun department. Alaric gets busy finding ammunition and loading the guns they pull out. Thank God for small towns and their love of hunting and home defense, he thinks. Damon disappears while he’s doing that and comes back a couple minutes later with a propane tank, a hose with some sort of improvised regulator, and a butane lighter.
“To cover our bases, I’m going to try fire too.” He’s grinning as he says this, and the previously random items suddenly make sense. Alaric thinks Damon’s fascination with homemade flamethrowers would be more disturbing if, in this situation, it might not also save their lives. Alaric nods, and finishes loading the last of the rifles before handing one to Damon and pocketing a couple boxes of ammunition, leaving most of the guns and ammo on the counter.
“Right. Is there roof access? We should probably see if shooting them in the head works before we go any further.”
They find the storage room, and sure enough there’s a ladder leading up to the air conditioning unit on the roof. A look over the ledge confirms the zombies haven’t given up on breaking in, and that there are now over a hundred of them, at least, gathered in the street. Jesus, Alaric thinks. How many people were in this town before whatever happened happened? He’s still adjusting to the fact that they are surrounded by an entire town of zombies when the crack of Damon’s rifle firing beside him makes him jump. Refocusing on the task at hand, he takes a quick look down and watches a now headless body crumple to the ground. They both wait another few seconds, but when it doesn’t get back up Damon starts aiming for another shot.
“Taking out the head seems to work.”
“Good to know.”
Alaric sights down his own gun and pulls the trigger, watching as another head explodes into the crowd and the body collapses. He aims for a leg next just to test the theory, but while the injured body spins sideways -can you injure a corpse?- he wonders, it keeps on scrabbling forward trying to enter the store.
“You missed? I’m disappointed in you Ric.”
Alaric glares at Damon, trying to express his irritation before replying. “Some of us like to actually gather facts about the things that are trying to kill them. Not just go for the first solution that works.”
Damon sniffs in derision. “My strategy has served me very well up to now. Very efficient.”
Alaric nearly chokes on his disbelief. “Your strategy? You think that’s a…” He’s so astonished he can’t even finish the sentence so he picks his next target instead, talking slowly and deliberately as he takes aim. “When we get out of this you and I are going to have a long talk about how many times in the last year your ‘strategy’ has nearly gotten everyone around you, including me, killed.”
When he pulls the trigger the resulting splatter isn't nearly satisfying enough.
---------
An hour later, they’ve created quite a pile of bodies, but can’t get an angle on the ones closest to the windows. The zombies had broken the glass long ago, but the bars had been holding so they’d kept at their shooting practice. When Damon’s head suddenly jerks back to look towards the ladder, Alaric’s pretty sure their time has run out.
“Did they just rip off the bars?”
Damon’s still listening, but he answers. “No, but they ripped out one set of bolts and the rest could give any second now.”
“Time for stage two then.” They hurry down the ladder and Alaric gathers up the spare pre-loaded guns and ammo shoving it all into an oversized canvas bag while Damon picks up his makeshift flamethrower. They head to the front of the store and Damon aims an initial fiery blast through the bars. The zombies don’t fall back, but they do start to burn, and the smell is enough to make Alaric gag. It’s a cloying, decaying, rancid carbon smell, and Alaric is sure there is nothing worse in the world. One look at Damon’s face, though, and Alaric has a new disturbing concern. There’s a crazy glint in Damon’s eye, and the light and shadow of the fire playing over his face isn’t helping dispel the notion that perhaps Damon isn’t entirely sane all the time. Alaric quickly revises his mental note. When they get out of here they’ll talk about the definition of strategy and reinforce the concept that burning people shouldn’t become a favorite hobby.
Eventually, the burned bodies drop to the ground, but by then new ones are moving in. It’s disappointing that fire won’t clear the way like they’d hoped, but they do have other options if Alaric can get Damon to give up on his bar-b-que fantasy.
“Damon. “ When he doesn’t respond, Alaric grits his teeth - there’s no time for this. He steps closer and slaps Damon upside the head. “Can we focus here?”
Damon stops pelting more fire into the crowd and turns to frown at him, but at least he listening.
“Lighting them up just turns them into flaming corpses trying to eat us. Stop. The bars are going to give any second. Go find something else.”
After what feels like a nerve wracking eternity, Damon concedes and puts down the flamethrower before disappearing back into the store. Alaric uses the time to fire off several more shots, simply dropping the spare guns once they’re empty instead taking time to reload. He hears a loud crack as the metal finally gives, and he’s back-peddling down the aisle still taking shots when Damon is at his side again.
A quick glance over and Alaric can’t help himself. “An electric chainsaw? Are you serious? Those things have almost no power, and your battery will die in no time.”
“If they stocked gassed up versions I’d have chosen differently. As it is, at least I’ll have some staying power and will be able to go longer than, what, five shots before needing a break to reload.”
Alaric makes no effort to hide the condescension in his voice. “Fine, you can have your ‘staying power’. Meanwhile I’ll be a safe distance away laughing at you going hand to hand against those things with your stupid electric chainsaw… if it can even do any damage.”
Damon scowls at him, and sounds almost defensive as he replies. “I’ll do plenty of damage, thank you very much. And I also picked up a machete, so quit complaining.”
Alaric would have argued some more but the zombies had figured out how to get over the toppled bars and were advancing. Damon leads the way to the store’s back door as Alaric continues to pick off zombies one by one. He still has his back turned when he hears the chainsaw start up, and a look over his shoulder shows him Damon opening the back door. They hurry through, and Alaric pushes the door closed, bracing it with a broken pallet under the handle as a temporary stop.
He whirls around as he hears the chainsaw sink into something. Damon’s working his way through a zombie’s neck, and when he finishes the decapitation the body falls messily to the pavement and stays down. Ok, taking the head off works, too. Damon is standing frozen in place and Alaric realizes the chainsaw has coated him in splattered fluids and rotting chunks of flesh. Slowly Damon brings up a hand and wipes the worst of it off his neck and cheek, flinging it to the ground, unable to suppress a grunt of disgust. He spits before speaking.
“See? It works just fine.” He pauses to look at himself, “Though I will need to burn everything I’m wearing.”
It takes all of Alaric’s self control not to laugh.
They set up a pattern from there, working their way along the back of the buildings, picking off targets guerilla-style and being careful to always keep an exit path clear. They are still outnumbered, but the zombies aren’t any good at planning, and Damon and Alaric are able to stay ahead of them. Eventually they run out of pre-loaded guns, and the chainsaw battery dies. Damon switches over to the machete and covers each time Alaric needs to reload. It’s time consuming and tense, and after they put a small group down and have pulled back out of sight, Alaric puts a hand on Damon’s arm.
“Time out. Seriously. I can only be on high alert for so many hours in a row.” He still has an eye on the street as he rolls his shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to loosen some of the knots. He’s relieved to see Damon look him over before nodding in agreement.
“I spotted a bar not too far away with lovely bars on the windows, and you did promise me a drink on this little adventure,” Damon reminds him.
“Then by all means, lead on.“
Damon has to force open the back door, but once inside he secures it with several stacked kegs and a small freezer while Alaric does a quick sweep to make sure they’re alone. Task done, Alaric snags a couple glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels before settling on a bar stool. He pours off a couple shots, and downs the first one quickly, then refills his glass and sips the second more slowly. If anyone deserves a free drink, it’s them. Zombies. When did his life turn into this?
Damon disappeared a few minutes earlier to clean up, but when he returns he’s not only wearing a new shirt with the bar’s logo, he’s also carrying plates. Alaric’s stomach growls in appreciation.
“Food. I might love you right now.”
Damon smiles indulgently. “Microwaved chicken fingers and nachos. If this is all it takes to impress you, you need to raise your expectations.”
Alaric simply drags the plate closer and digs in as Damon downs his drink and refills their glasses. When they’ve polished off the food, Alaric leaves Damon at the bar and walks over to the front window to evaluate the situation. He can see more zombies in the street, maybe another 30 or so, plus however many are out of sight. It’s an improvement from when they first arrived, but still too many to make getting to the car feasible. Decision made, he takes out his phone and dials Bobby, not caring that it’s the middle of the night. Bobby got him into this, he can help get him out.
He hears a groan on the other end of the line before a mumbled “What?”
“Just thought you should know what was going on in that little town you sent me to.” There’s a muffled cough on the other end of the line, probably Bobby trying to wake himself up.
“Alaric. What’d you find?”
“Zombies.” Alaric waits, but doesn’t get an immediate reply, so he tries again. “Hoards of mindless, shambling zombies trying to kill me.”
“You said mindless and shambling. They aren’t smart or quick about trying to kill you?” Like a switch has been flipped Bobby sounds wide awake, like what Alaric is telling him is perfectly possible. Alaric isn’t sure if he should interpret that second part as reassuring or alarming.
“No higher thinking going on, very much rotting, and they’re pretty focused on trying to eat me. They also keep right on coming after being shot or flambéed unless you take out the brain.”
“Yeah, that’s zombies alright. Shit.” He pauses, but then gets right down to business. ”What do you need?“
“Information to start. Will they stay down once their heads are gone or do I need to do something else?”
“No, you’re good. If they drop when you take out the head, then they’re finished. Be glad it isn’t the other kind.” That there is more than one kind gives Alaric pause, but Bobby’s still talking. “Don’t get bitten. Depending on what you’re dealing with this thing might be able to spread if it gets into your bloodstream.”
“Yeah, I already had ‘don’t get eaten’ on my list, thanks.” He looks over his shoulder to see Damon smirking at him, confirming he’s at least paying attention to Alaric’s half of the conversation. “They seemed to show up after the sun went down. Does that mean anything?”
“Could just be coincidence. The ones I’ve run across don’t care if the sun's up or not, but what you’re describing sounds a little different." Bobby pauses, and Alaric can practically hear him thinking through the options. "Don’t take any chances, and when you’ve done all you can, get out. I’ll send people in to clean up the bodies, quarantine the area, and figure out what started it.”
“Got it.” Alaric hesitates, before asking his next question. “You’ve got a lot of resources. Do I even want to know your story?”
Bobby chuckles roughly before answering. “No, probably not. It ain’t short or pretty.” There is reluctance in his tone, and he’s quick to change the topic. “Thanks for looking into this one for me. Better you than some tourist. Be careful, and send me a message when you’re clear.”
Alaric can respect Bobby’s unwillingness to share his history. He has his own secrets after all. “Will do. Talk to you later.” He ends the call and heads back to the bar, where Damon is sipping his drink, ostensibly minding his own business. Right. “You heard both sides of that conversation didn’t you?”
Damon shrugs one shoulder and nods. Just as well - means Alaric doesn’t have to repeat anything. Damon downs the last of his drink in one gulp then turns to face him. “I noticed you were pretty careful about your pronouns. A lot of ‘I’ and a significant lack of ‘we’.”
This time it’s Alaric’s turn to shrug. He leans both elbows on the counter, buying himself some time, staring at the bottles lining the back shelves of the bar. He takes another sip of his drink and thinks, no lying. That's what he'd said to Damon the night they'd killed Elijah.
He turns his head to eye Damon, hoping a partial answer will be enough. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t go over well for anyone if Bobby knew you were helping me on this one. Or that I sometimes help you. He has… strong opinions about vampires and a lot of friends who think the same. ”
Damon holds his gaze, then simply nods. He can be very good about reading between the lines when he wants to. It’s just one of the reasons Alaric puts up with him.
Damon claps his hands together clearly willing to change the topic. “So, what’s the plan then? More killing?” He raises a brow hopefully.
Alaric can’t help a burst of tired laughter. Never let it be said that Damon ever shied away from finishing a job. “We’ll kill what we can find, then get to the car and get the hell out of here. And I thought Mystic Falls was bad.”
Damon grins in return. “It does add a whole new layer to ‘it could be worse’ doesn’t it?”
Alaric checks the canvas bag he’d been toting the supplies in, but it’s nearly empty so he simply fills his pockets and a smaller bag with loose shells for faster loading. They’re down to one gun and Damon’s machete, but as long as they’re careful they should be fine. The trickiest bit will likely be getting into the car since there’s no cover.
They head out to the street, and pick up where they’d left off. They hadn’t gotten far, when a group of seven or so catches up to them, and Alaric’s gun jams.
“Shit! I need time!”
Alaric sees Damon nod, before he heads towards the small crowd that is coming their way. He uses his extra speed and works around the outside of the group taking out a couple, but the fact that only completely taking off the head seems to make any real difference means he isn’t cutting them down as quickly as Alaric would have hoped. Alaric is splitting his attention, trying to both clear the gun and keep an eye on the situation. He’s fumbling with the gun, trying to hurry, anxious to get in there, when he sees one of the zombies fall and get a hold of Damon’s leg. Damon tries to disengage, but the hold keeps him in place long enough that a second corpse gets a hold of his free arm. Now weighed down on two sides the remaining zombies latch on, pulling Damon down as Alaric stands by helplessly. He hears Damon’s screams as they start to bite and tear at his flesh and in seconds Alaric can’t see Damon under the mass of bodies on top of him.
He finally gets the gun cleared and reloaded and Alaric rushes forward. He picks off a zombie that raises its head as he gets closer, but he still can’t tell how Damon is doing. With every step he takes another head shot, counting his rounds, careful to make each one count until he’s right up next to the pile of bodies. He presses the muzzle against the side of the last zombie’s skull and pulls the trigger. His gun is empty again, but a quick look behind him confirms he’s got a few seconds at least, so he starts hauling bodies off, calling Damon’s name. When he finally gets to the bottom, the gore and splatter make it impossible to know how badly Damon is hurt, but he’s not responding and there’s no time to be gentle. With his heart racing, Alaric quickly reloads the gun, and then with another look to check that his path to the bar’s front door is still clear, he gets behind him and hauls Damon up. He’s able to get his left arm under Damon’s and tug his back up against his chest, holding him there. It isn’t pretty but it does allow him to shuffle backwards dragging Damon with him and still shoot. Alaric grits his teeth and pulls. It may be the longest 20 feet of his life, but damn if he’ll leave Damon in the street.
When he finally reaches the entrance, he props Damon’s body against the wall until he is able to open the door. Just as he’s grabbing hold to haul him inside, he sees a zombie round the corner and he pauses to take the shot. When two others appear around the same corner, he swears and decides getting secured inside is more important. He grunts as he half drags, half throws Damon into the store before pushing the door closed, and throwing the deadbolt.
Alaric is panting with exertion and adrenalin, but he knows he’s not done yet. Damon isn’t doing well. His whole body twitches and seizes as Alaric watches, and his face is twisted in pain with his mouth open in a soundless scream. This isn’t good. He kneels down, not sure what he can do, when he notices the gashes and bites made by the zombies aren’t healing. That’s not right. The overall damage isn’t that bad. He’s seen Damon bounce back from worse, but these wounds aren’t healing like they should. He’s wracking his brain trying to come up with an answer, when he remembers what Bobby said about zombies being able to spread the contagion if it got to the bloodstream. A vampire survived based on the blood they took in. If the bites had contaminated Damon’s blood, he was essentially circulating poison. Jesus.
Alaric tries to reason his way through what he’s doing as he pushes up his sleeve. It’ll be just like giving blood to the Red Cross. He’ll replace it in a few days, or baring that, if things get really crazy, his ring will bring him back. Unless of course whatever Damon was fighting transferred over to him and the ring didn’t cover it. Shit. Better not to think about that. He hesitates for another second, then takes a deep breath in and holds it as he places his wrist up against Damon’s mouth. For a long moment nothing happens, then a particularly strong spasm moves Damon’s head and his teeth manage to scrape through the skin, bringing the smallest amount of blood to the surface. He hisses at the slight pain but stays put, until suddenly Damon bites down and Alaric screams.
There is nothing gentle, nothing controlled in this, and he has to fight his instinct to pull away. Another second passes and then Damon’s hands come up to hold his arm in place with an iron grip, and any chance Alaric might have taken to pull free is gone. As Damon’s hands clench tight the bite pressure eases up, and then Alaric can feel the pull. It’s nothing like giving blood. It feels like liquid fire along his forearm as his blood is pulled faster than his veins want to support, but for all that it looks like Damon might be improving. His crazy idea might actually be working. He bites back curses at the pain while he counts out the seconds in his head, trying to gage where to draw the line between helping Damon but not giving so much that he passes out. When what he hopes is enough time has passed he starts trying to put a halt to the process.
“Damon.” His voice is a pained hiss, but it’s there.
“Damon! Stop.” Stronger this time, but still no reaction, and Alaric is starting to think he might have made a serious mistake.
“Stop and think you dick!” He’s almost shouting but he keeps his rising panic at bay. “We’re surrounded by zombies! You need to stop if you want my help in getting out of here.”
Finally Alaric sees Damon’s eyes open, and while they are bloodshot - something he’ll never get used to - there appears to be some recognition in them. “Come on, Damon. Ease up. We have other problems, and you need me upright.”
Something in all that gets through as Damon abruptly lets go and shoves his arm back. The sudden change causes Alaric to fall backwards, ending up on his butt leaning back against a wall. He wraps his good hand around his torn wrist, not wanting to lose any more blood, and watches cautiously to see if Damon is really back to himself. Not that there’s a whole lot he can do if he’s not, but it’d be nice to know what to expect.
Damon’s still staring at him with an unreadable expression when he licks his lips, then moves to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Alaric kicks out at Damon’s legs without thinking.
“Stop! Zombie guts! Don’t you dare re-infect yourself!”
Damon freezes and his eyes flick down to look at his hand, before he makes a disgusted face and his eyes clear to his regular crystal blue.
“Ugh! I’m going to need the longest shower ever.”
Back to normal then. Good. Alaric lets out the breath he’d been holding and starts to get up. He needs some space, maybe to find a towel, but the world swims just a little and he slides back down, letting his eyes close for a second.
“Yeah.” Damon’s tone is odd, like he’s possibly embarrassed. “You might want to wait a bit before getting up. Just… hang on a minute.”
Alaric concentrates on slowing his breathing agreeing that maybe taking another minute or two would be a good idea. He hears Damon get up and move away, then return a bit later. When he opens his eyes Damon has crouched down next to him and is staring at him intently, though Alaric can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He’s cleaned off the worst of the mess that he’d been covered in and Alaric can see the damage he’d taken has healed over, though he’s still looking drawn and tired. He’s holding out a makeshift bandage in his now gut-free hands, but otherwise he’s still. The silence drags on a second or two longer than it should.
“Let me wrap that.” When he finally speaks Damon’s voice is quiet and earnest, and Alaric swears he hears an apology and a thank you in the spaces between the words.
Alaric meets his eyes, then holds out his arm. He clears his throat before speaking. “What do you say we try that whole ‘clear the way to the car’ thing again, only without getting mobbed this time?”
S
lowly, the corner of Damon’s mouth tips up as he wraps the bandage around Alaric’s wrist. “I can work with that.”
----
This time they do manage to stay out of trouble, picking off individuals and then drawing the now much smaller hoard to the far end of town. They lure them inside an office space, some sort of small time insurance company, and Damon closes and locks the door as they exit out the front. With a look to check that the way is clear he speeds off without a word, leaving Alaric to curse into the empty street. Within moments he’s back, with his flame thrower in hand.
“What? I’m just helping with the clean up. Those things are dangerous you know.” As Damon focuses the flame on the most flammable surfaces of the building, Alaric finds he can’t really argue. He’s just too damn tired.
“Fine. But you and I are going to talk about this little habit of yours later.” Damon doesn’t acknowledge the comment in any obvious way, but he does smile a little wider. Alaric will take what he can get.
With the building burning well enough to hopefully kill most of the zombies left in town, they cautiously walk back to the car. Alaric can feel the night catching up to him now that the adrenalin is starting to clear, so he stops Damon before he can head to the passenger side.
“Are you good for driving? I’m wiped.”
Damon smiles tiredly, but reaches for the keys. “Yeah. I can drive.”
He pulls the car around slowly, avoiding the bodies lying along the street as if keeping the tires clean is somehow important. For all they know maybe it is. Alaric texts a message to Bobby, then sits back just trying to process the events of the evening.
As they drive east along the interstate the sky starts to turn color, shifting from black to purple, and then shot through with streaks of bright red and orange as the sun begins to rise. It’s a comforting sight, the natural order of things still in place after the surreal experience of last night. With a quiet sigh Alaric lets the last of his guard down, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, listening to the hum of the wheels along the pavement. He lets himself feel the ache in his shoulders, the soreness of his feet, and that’s when it hits him. The smell. The two of them are disgustingly putrid and they have trapped that smell in his car. Detailing may not be enough - he might just have to buy a whole new car.
He’s just started on that thought, when Damon’s voice interrupts his musings. “I can’t do it. We’re stopping at the next town.” He sounds equal parts decisive and desperate.
Alaric frowns, before opening his eyes and turning to look at Damon, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
“I’ve got dried rotting crap everywhere and I won’t deal with it any longer.” His face is pulled into a grimace, and he’s holding the wheel with his palms, fingers spread as if that might help him get away from his own skin.
Alaric can’t help the tired snicker that bubbles up. He tries to sound understanding, but he can’t hold in a bark of laughter that escapes. “Are you rethinking that chainsaw now?”
Damon is nearly pouting at this point, which Alaric just finds more hilarious, so he waves his hand in surrender. “Find a motel, whatever. The smell is killing me too.”
----
They arrive back in Mystic Falls wearing newly purchased clothes and shoes, and smelling of cheap motel soap. Since Alaric had managed a half hour nap while Damon had been cleaning up, and they’d stopped to pick up coffee, he’d offered to drive the rest of the way. It only seemed fair. He had been up all night and given some blood, but he hadn’t been nearly turned into a zombie. That kind of thing had to be taxing.
He pulls up to the Salvatore house and leaves the engine running. Damon hesitates before getting out, looking like he’s about to say something difficult or uncomfortable, but Alaric just doesn’t have the energy for it. When he starts to open his mouth Alaric cuts him off, hand raised.
“No. Save it.”
Damon blinks at him, but doesn’t interrupt, so Alaric continues. “Here’s what going to happen. I’m going home to fall into bed. When I wake up I’m going to shower again, and then eat something with actual nutritional value. I will not let your heavy revelations, or insights, or whatever you were going to say mess with my well deserved, boring plans.” He gives Damon a tired, lopsided smile. “We will discuss what makes a strategy more than just lucky aggression later. ”
Damon laughs quietly instead of saying whatever he’d had in mind and opens his door. Before he can swing it closed, Alaric adds, “Thank you for coming with me.“
Damon looks surprised before he ducks his head. When he looks up again his face is back to his normal mask of neutral good humor, even if it is a little worn around the edges. He nods and taps his hand lightly against the door frame. “You do keep it interesting. I’ll see you around Ric.”
He returns the smile and nods, then pulls away, rolling down the driveway. As he makes his way home he lets himself take stock of his life - as bizarre as it is. Last night had given him perspective. The chaos, the monsters, the almost dying - all the things that made him question why he’d stayed - they didn’t just happen in Mystic Falls. Now that he knew what was out there, he’d find it wherever he went. Here at least he has friends that back him up and stand with him. Here he has people to fight for, good people that remind him it’s not all about darkness, and that the choices he’s made matter.
As that truth quietly sinks in, he feels a sense of certainty replace the doubts that had been gnawing at the back of his mind. It may not be the life he’d imagined or hoped for, but on the other hand, it’s not all that bad either.
Author: kachera
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, slight Supernatural cross-over
Pairing or Characters: Damon, Alaric, guest appearance by Bobby
Length: ~7400 words
Disclaimer: Written for fun, not profit. I do not own these characters - they belong to The Vampire Diaries and Supernatural.
Rating: M for Mature. There is graphic violence ahead. Guns and shooting and gore.
Warnings: Mostly crack!fic. The epic awesomeness of Team Badass lives on.
Summary: Alaric gets a call from a friend that sends him to Tennessee to investigate some suspicious activity. Damon comes along.
EDIT: Bonus material has been written! After reading this, if you want to find out what happened in the missing motel scene, go here: With A Little Help From Your Friends .
Cross posted to tvd_fic and damon_alaric
Notes: This story idea was planted back in July of 2010, when I commented on luredin's journal that adding either zombies of unicorns would make pretty much any story better. That’s when I started plotting this fic.
Thanks: To alittleblue, hammerhead22, and coffeebuddha who agreed to beta for me and helped toss around ideas. Thank you. Special extra thanks however goes to luredin for in the final stages, she went above and beyond. She more than beta’d. She poked and prodded and collaborated until my story was as shiny as I could make it. She *is* made of unicorns and rainbows and sparkles and cotton-candy.
Not in Kansas Anymore... or The One With Zombies
It’s just past 1pm on a Saturday when Alaric’s phone rings. He’s considering just letting the call go because he hasn’t had a day off with nothing going on in far too long, but a look at the caller ID tells him it’s Bobby. Alaric freezes for a moment. Up to now Alaric had always been the one to call Bobby, not the other way around. He’s not sure what this change might mean, but every reason he can come up with suggests the conversation could get very uncomfortable.
He grimaces before blowing out a breath and picking up. “Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”
Much to his relief the conversation is pretty straight forward. Bobby had picked up some reports of a whole town going suspiciously quiet, and, while he didn’t have a lot of information to go on, he was hoping Alaric could look into it. Alaric can’t deny the bubble of pride he feels that Bobby thought enough of his skills to call on him for help. After all, the guy has a whole network of people who’ve been at this ‘monster thing’ longer than he has.
Alaric quickly agrees to check into it, glad it’s a task he doesn’t have any qualms about fulfilling. He wraps up the call but hesitates before putting down the phone. Bobby taught him a lot in those months after Isobel 'died'. When Ric's only focus had been to hunt down and kill the thing that had killed her, Bobby hadn’t just taught him how to take down vampires; he’d taught him how to fight. Alaric owes the man his life. The problem is that in the last six months Alaric's view of vampires, werewolves--all of it--has changed, and he knows Bobby wouldn’t approve of the people Alaric has chosen to align himself with lately. Still. Alaric owes Bobby, and today is apparently pay-back day.
He just doesn't want to do it alone.
Before he can change his mind he’s already dialed another number, and hears the phone ring several times before it’s picked up.
“You better be calling with something entertaining.” Damon sounds like he’s in a good mood, possibly on the verge of boredom, which for Alaric’s purposes is perfect.
“Hello to you, too. How do you feel about a road trip to eastern Tennessee?”
-----------
Less than an hour later they’re in Alaric’s car travelling down the interstate with the sun still high in the sky. Damon’s boots are on the dash, a habit Alaric knows better than to try and break, and Alaric is filling Damon in on why they’re headed to nowheresville again. His first explanation was apparently not adequate.
“Let me get this straight - you get a call from some guy named Bobby, and you drop everything to look into things for him? Who is this guy?“ Alaric doesn’t need to look over to know what Damon thinks of that idea. Damon’s tone says it all.
“I owe him.” Alaric pauses, weighing how much detail it will take to simultaneously appease Damon’s curiosity but also get him to drop the topic. Keeping Bobby and Damon from ever knowing too much about each other is something Alaric considers pretty damn important in terms of avoiding a potentially disastrous fallout. He decides to tell the short version of the history. “Bobby was the guy who set me up when I first needed to learn about vampires.”
Damon scoffs at that, but Alaric is well practiced in ignoring his opinion, especially on this topic. “Turns out he also gets leads on other things that go bump in the night. He’s wrapped up in something else right now, so he called me to look into whatever is going on in Tennessee.”
Damon narrows his eyes, clearly not believing Alaric is giving him the whole truth, and since Alaric isn’t telling the whole story, he can’t really blame him.
“And the best he could tell you was that things got ‘too quiet’?” Damon still looks suspicious, but at least he’s moving on with the conversation.
“Yeah. Look, it could be nothing, but I said I’d check into it. I’m sure at the very least there'll be a bar we can hit. At this point being anywhere that isn’t my place, your place, or the Grill sounds like a nice change of pace.” He looks over and catches Damon’s smirk. Alright, then. Topic settled for now.
---------
They head southwest along the highway, chasing the sun. The scenery flies by alternating between rolling hills of open grassland spotted with fence posts and sprawling forests whose leaves are just starting to change color. It reminds Alaric of just how beautiful this part of the country is. He should really get out of town more often.
It doesn’t take long until Damon breaks the silence. “OK. The letters will be F and M. No names, and no repeating words that have already been used.”
Alaric shoots him a confused look. “Am I supposed to understand what you just said?”
“Didn't you ever play this on your road trips? What could F. M. stand for? Like… Family Matters. There. I’m winning.”
Alaric huffs out a short laugh, and figures he might as well play along. He looks around trying to find inspiration, until he finally comes up with one. “Field Mouse” he announces, but Damon just groans in reply.
“Boorring.” He draws out the word, singing it like some sort of condescending doorbell chime. “I expected you to be better at this.” The derision is familiar and good natured, and completely effective in challenging Alaric to raise his game.
Damon is faster than he is with a second answer. “Functional Mediocrity.” He says it with a fake smile and tips his head towards Alaric.
“Very funny.” Alaric replies drily.
The miles roll by easily as they keep playing. Damon is still in the lead when Alaric breaks into a grin, and thumps the steering wheel in pre-emptive victory before calming pronouncing, “Phonetic Mistake.”
He looks over just in time to see Damon’s stunned expression, mouth gaping. “That… was well played.“ He pauses another few seconds, clearly trying to counter with something better, but eventually he starts laughing and raises his hands in surrender. “You win. I can’t beat that.”
Not long after that they exit the highway and travel the last few miles with Damon acting as navigator. They crest the final hill just as the sky is darkening, and they get their first look at the town. At a glance, it looks just like any other small town. There appears to be a central downtown area, where bigger buildings sit clustered closely together. Radiating out from there the concrete structures give way to modest brick and wood constructed homes with yards of varying sizes. To one side there looks to be school playground and, on the other, some industrial buildings. As they drive by the tree lined properties on the outer edges it’s obvious the residents have taken pride in their community. Fences are in good repair, and the lawns are mowed; and while there are a few rusted cars along the sides of some of the yards, overall, it looks like a blueprint for a perfect middle-class town.
The road they are on appears to take them right into town, so Alaric keeps driving, but a feeling of unease starts growing. The large porches that wrap the front of most houses are empty, the rocking chairs that sit on them are still and vacant. The tree swings hang abandoned in the yards, and a brightly colored ball rests deserted against a gate. As they get further into town it becomes startlingly obvious that theirs is the only car moving on the empty streets. Where are all the families that should be driving home after a dinner out, or heading into town to catch the late showing of a movie? The whole town is simply silent.
Too quiet was right.
Alaric slows down as they reach the heart of the downtown area. They still haven’t seen a single person going about their daily life. The street lights come on as the daylight fades, but Alaric can’t see any reason for the apparent exodus. Everyone is just gone.
He brings the car to a stop in the middle of the street. “Well this isn’t creepy at all.”
Without another word they both get out of the car. Alaric heads to the trunk, pulling out a shotgun, while Damon scans the street frowning.
“This doesn’t feel right. There’s something…” Damon’s voice trails off and he turns toward an alley a second before a man stumbles out into the street. He’s dirty, his hair hanging limp in front of his face, and he's unsteady on his feet.
Alaric walks forward to meet the man, figuring he might know what happened, but Damon is suddenly at his side with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. Damon’s body is tense and he’s in a half crouch, fight-ready, as if he expects the homeless guy to be some sort of threat. The man keeps coming, slow and half-dragging one foot, when Alaric realizes he’s also making a kind of groaning sound. A few more steps and the light from the street lamp fills in the shadows that had been hiding the man's face. What he sees causes Alaric to nearly trip over his own feet as he stumbles backwards, Damon keeping step with him. The man’s face has started rotting off, skin pocked with holes and his eyes are so clouded they can’t possibly be functional anymore.
“Jesus Christ!” Alaric shouts.
The man is still lurching forward, his body carrying him towards them even though he moves as if bones and tendons have broken and slipped out of place. None of that stops him. Horrified, Alaric looks into his eyes, his face, but there is no one there to reason with. There is no spark of humanity, just a driving, urgent hunger. Alaric is too shocked to look away, completely unable to process what is coming at him. He’s instinctively putting distance between himself and the thing coming towards him, when Damon’s hand on his shoulder stops him again.
“Don’t think that’s going to work.” Damon is looking the other way, and Alaric tears his eyes away from the man in front of him to see what Damon has already discovered - there are dozens of rotting people closing in from the other side of the street, cutting off access to the car.
“Zombies?!” Alaric shouts in frustrated disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” The sun has dipped below the horizon making it harder to see just how much trouble they’re in, but with every passing second more shambling bodies emerge into the street, all heading towards them.
“Apparently not.” Damon’s using the tone he gets when the shit is truly hitting the fan - clipped words and sarcastic nonchalance. Perfect. “We need to get out of the street. Now.”
They break into a run heading further down the street and the crowd of corpses turns to follow. Alaric spots a sporting goods store. “In here!”
Damon gets to the door first and throws it open, quickly pulling the bolt once Alaric is inside. There are bars across the front windows, but as the bodies outside start pushing and pulling, trying to force their way inside, both men take another few steps back. Eventually they will break through. We need a plan, Alaric thinks. A plan would be good.
“Zombies.” Alaric takes a deep breath, uselessly trying to wrap his head around the situation. “I can’t even… Tell me you know what to do about these things?”
Damon looks at him, eyes wide and hands jerking up in irritation. “Why would I know what to do with zombies? I’ve never run into them before! You’re the research guy. Didn’t you and your pal Bobby bone up on all sorts of undead creatures?”
“I wasn’t researching zombies! I was hunting you! Fuck. Can’t you just...” Alaric moves his hands in a vaguely running motion, “super speed your way through them? Get to the car and pick me up here?”
Damon glares at him, before turning back to watch the front entry to confirm it’s still holding. “If there were just a few, sure. But you may have noticed we’re a little outnumbered. I have no interest in being ripped to pieces.”
Alaric has to concede the point. Technically his ring would probably bring him back if they got a hold of him, unless one of them got his hand first. He’s not willing to risk it.
He worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. “So how do we kill them?”
“Usually I’d say take out the heart - you’d be surprised how often that works - but in this case… shoot them in the head?” Damon says with a shrug.
Alaric frowns at him. “Are you suggesting that because you saw it in a movie?”
Damon shrugs again, still taking stock of the hoard of bodies relentlessly trying to break through the bars and glass. “Do you have a better idea?”
Alaric opens his mouth to answer, but closes it when he realizes he really doesn’t have a better idea. Ok, they’ll try shooting them in the head.
Satisfied that the front entry will hold for an hour or so, maybe long enough for them to figure a way to even the odds, they hurry to the gun department. Alaric gets busy finding ammunition and loading the guns they pull out. Thank God for small towns and their love of hunting and home defense, he thinks. Damon disappears while he’s doing that and comes back a couple minutes later with a propane tank, a hose with some sort of improvised regulator, and a butane lighter.
“To cover our bases, I’m going to try fire too.” He’s grinning as he says this, and the previously random items suddenly make sense. Alaric thinks Damon’s fascination with homemade flamethrowers would be more disturbing if, in this situation, it might not also save their lives. Alaric nods, and finishes loading the last of the rifles before handing one to Damon and pocketing a couple boxes of ammunition, leaving most of the guns and ammo on the counter.
“Right. Is there roof access? We should probably see if shooting them in the head works before we go any further.”
They find the storage room, and sure enough there’s a ladder leading up to the air conditioning unit on the roof. A look over the ledge confirms the zombies haven’t given up on breaking in, and that there are now over a hundred of them, at least, gathered in the street. Jesus, Alaric thinks. How many people were in this town before whatever happened happened? He’s still adjusting to the fact that they are surrounded by an entire town of zombies when the crack of Damon’s rifle firing beside him makes him jump. Refocusing on the task at hand, he takes a quick look down and watches a now headless body crumple to the ground. They both wait another few seconds, but when it doesn’t get back up Damon starts aiming for another shot.
“Taking out the head seems to work.”
“Good to know.”
Alaric sights down his own gun and pulls the trigger, watching as another head explodes into the crowd and the body collapses. He aims for a leg next just to test the theory, but while the injured body spins sideways -can you injure a corpse?- he wonders, it keeps on scrabbling forward trying to enter the store.
“You missed? I’m disappointed in you Ric.”
Alaric glares at Damon, trying to express his irritation before replying. “Some of us like to actually gather facts about the things that are trying to kill them. Not just go for the first solution that works.”
Damon sniffs in derision. “My strategy has served me very well up to now. Very efficient.”
Alaric nearly chokes on his disbelief. “Your strategy? You think that’s a…” He’s so astonished he can’t even finish the sentence so he picks his next target instead, talking slowly and deliberately as he takes aim. “When we get out of this you and I are going to have a long talk about how many times in the last year your ‘strategy’ has nearly gotten everyone around you, including me, killed.”
When he pulls the trigger the resulting splatter isn't nearly satisfying enough.
---------
An hour later, they’ve created quite a pile of bodies, but can’t get an angle on the ones closest to the windows. The zombies had broken the glass long ago, but the bars had been holding so they’d kept at their shooting practice. When Damon’s head suddenly jerks back to look towards the ladder, Alaric’s pretty sure their time has run out.
“Did they just rip off the bars?”
Damon’s still listening, but he answers. “No, but they ripped out one set of bolts and the rest could give any second now.”
“Time for stage two then.” They hurry down the ladder and Alaric gathers up the spare pre-loaded guns and ammo shoving it all into an oversized canvas bag while Damon picks up his makeshift flamethrower. They head to the front of the store and Damon aims an initial fiery blast through the bars. The zombies don’t fall back, but they do start to burn, and the smell is enough to make Alaric gag. It’s a cloying, decaying, rancid carbon smell, and Alaric is sure there is nothing worse in the world. One look at Damon’s face, though, and Alaric has a new disturbing concern. There’s a crazy glint in Damon’s eye, and the light and shadow of the fire playing over his face isn’t helping dispel the notion that perhaps Damon isn’t entirely sane all the time. Alaric quickly revises his mental note. When they get out of here they’ll talk about the definition of strategy and reinforce the concept that burning people shouldn’t become a favorite hobby.
Eventually, the burned bodies drop to the ground, but by then new ones are moving in. It’s disappointing that fire won’t clear the way like they’d hoped, but they do have other options if Alaric can get Damon to give up on his bar-b-que fantasy.
“Damon. “ When he doesn’t respond, Alaric grits his teeth - there’s no time for this. He steps closer and slaps Damon upside the head. “Can we focus here?”
Damon stops pelting more fire into the crowd and turns to frown at him, but at least he listening.
“Lighting them up just turns them into flaming corpses trying to eat us. Stop. The bars are going to give any second. Go find something else.”
After what feels like a nerve wracking eternity, Damon concedes and puts down the flamethrower before disappearing back into the store. Alaric uses the time to fire off several more shots, simply dropping the spare guns once they’re empty instead taking time to reload. He hears a loud crack as the metal finally gives, and he’s back-peddling down the aisle still taking shots when Damon is at his side again.
A quick glance over and Alaric can’t help himself. “An electric chainsaw? Are you serious? Those things have almost no power, and your battery will die in no time.”
“If they stocked gassed up versions I’d have chosen differently. As it is, at least I’ll have some staying power and will be able to go longer than, what, five shots before needing a break to reload.”
Alaric makes no effort to hide the condescension in his voice. “Fine, you can have your ‘staying power’. Meanwhile I’ll be a safe distance away laughing at you going hand to hand against those things with your stupid electric chainsaw… if it can even do any damage.”
Damon scowls at him, and sounds almost defensive as he replies. “I’ll do plenty of damage, thank you very much. And I also picked up a machete, so quit complaining.”
Alaric would have argued some more but the zombies had figured out how to get over the toppled bars and were advancing. Damon leads the way to the store’s back door as Alaric continues to pick off zombies one by one. He still has his back turned when he hears the chainsaw start up, and a look over his shoulder shows him Damon opening the back door. They hurry through, and Alaric pushes the door closed, bracing it with a broken pallet under the handle as a temporary stop.
He whirls around as he hears the chainsaw sink into something. Damon’s working his way through a zombie’s neck, and when he finishes the decapitation the body falls messily to the pavement and stays down. Ok, taking the head off works, too. Damon is standing frozen in place and Alaric realizes the chainsaw has coated him in splattered fluids and rotting chunks of flesh. Slowly Damon brings up a hand and wipes the worst of it off his neck and cheek, flinging it to the ground, unable to suppress a grunt of disgust. He spits before speaking.
“See? It works just fine.” He pauses to look at himself, “Though I will need to burn everything I’m wearing.”
It takes all of Alaric’s self control not to laugh.
They set up a pattern from there, working their way along the back of the buildings, picking off targets guerilla-style and being careful to always keep an exit path clear. They are still outnumbered, but the zombies aren’t any good at planning, and Damon and Alaric are able to stay ahead of them. Eventually they run out of pre-loaded guns, and the chainsaw battery dies. Damon switches over to the machete and covers each time Alaric needs to reload. It’s time consuming and tense, and after they put a small group down and have pulled back out of sight, Alaric puts a hand on Damon’s arm.
“Time out. Seriously. I can only be on high alert for so many hours in a row.” He still has an eye on the street as he rolls his shoulders, trying unsuccessfully to loosen some of the knots. He’s relieved to see Damon look him over before nodding in agreement.
“I spotted a bar not too far away with lovely bars on the windows, and you did promise me a drink on this little adventure,” Damon reminds him.
“Then by all means, lead on.“
Damon has to force open the back door, but once inside he secures it with several stacked kegs and a small freezer while Alaric does a quick sweep to make sure they’re alone. Task done, Alaric snags a couple glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels before settling on a bar stool. He pours off a couple shots, and downs the first one quickly, then refills his glass and sips the second more slowly. If anyone deserves a free drink, it’s them. Zombies. When did his life turn into this?
Damon disappeared a few minutes earlier to clean up, but when he returns he’s not only wearing a new shirt with the bar’s logo, he’s also carrying plates. Alaric’s stomach growls in appreciation.
“Food. I might love you right now.”
Damon smiles indulgently. “Microwaved chicken fingers and nachos. If this is all it takes to impress you, you need to raise your expectations.”
Alaric simply drags the plate closer and digs in as Damon downs his drink and refills their glasses. When they’ve polished off the food, Alaric leaves Damon at the bar and walks over to the front window to evaluate the situation. He can see more zombies in the street, maybe another 30 or so, plus however many are out of sight. It’s an improvement from when they first arrived, but still too many to make getting to the car feasible. Decision made, he takes out his phone and dials Bobby, not caring that it’s the middle of the night. Bobby got him into this, he can help get him out.
He hears a groan on the other end of the line before a mumbled “What?”
“Just thought you should know what was going on in that little town you sent me to.” There’s a muffled cough on the other end of the line, probably Bobby trying to wake himself up.
“Alaric. What’d you find?”
“Zombies.” Alaric waits, but doesn’t get an immediate reply, so he tries again. “Hoards of mindless, shambling zombies trying to kill me.”
“You said mindless and shambling. They aren’t smart or quick about trying to kill you?” Like a switch has been flipped Bobby sounds wide awake, like what Alaric is telling him is perfectly possible. Alaric isn’t sure if he should interpret that second part as reassuring or alarming.
“No higher thinking going on, very much rotting, and they’re pretty focused on trying to eat me. They also keep right on coming after being shot or flambéed unless you take out the brain.”
“Yeah, that’s zombies alright. Shit.” He pauses, but then gets right down to business. ”What do you need?“
“Information to start. Will they stay down once their heads are gone or do I need to do something else?”
“No, you’re good. If they drop when you take out the head, then they’re finished. Be glad it isn’t the other kind.” That there is more than one kind gives Alaric pause, but Bobby’s still talking. “Don’t get bitten. Depending on what you’re dealing with this thing might be able to spread if it gets into your bloodstream.”
“Yeah, I already had ‘don’t get eaten’ on my list, thanks.” He looks over his shoulder to see Damon smirking at him, confirming he’s at least paying attention to Alaric’s half of the conversation. “They seemed to show up after the sun went down. Does that mean anything?”
“Could just be coincidence. The ones I’ve run across don’t care if the sun's up or not, but what you’re describing sounds a little different." Bobby pauses, and Alaric can practically hear him thinking through the options. "Don’t take any chances, and when you’ve done all you can, get out. I’ll send people in to clean up the bodies, quarantine the area, and figure out what started it.”
“Got it.” Alaric hesitates, before asking his next question. “You’ve got a lot of resources. Do I even want to know your story?”
Bobby chuckles roughly before answering. “No, probably not. It ain’t short or pretty.” There is reluctance in his tone, and he’s quick to change the topic. “Thanks for looking into this one for me. Better you than some tourist. Be careful, and send me a message when you’re clear.”
Alaric can respect Bobby’s unwillingness to share his history. He has his own secrets after all. “Will do. Talk to you later.” He ends the call and heads back to the bar, where Damon is sipping his drink, ostensibly minding his own business. Right. “You heard both sides of that conversation didn’t you?”
Damon shrugs one shoulder and nods. Just as well - means Alaric doesn’t have to repeat anything. Damon downs the last of his drink in one gulp then turns to face him. “I noticed you were pretty careful about your pronouns. A lot of ‘I’ and a significant lack of ‘we’.”
This time it’s Alaric’s turn to shrug. He leans both elbows on the counter, buying himself some time, staring at the bottles lining the back shelves of the bar. He takes another sip of his drink and thinks, no lying. That's what he'd said to Damon the night they'd killed Elijah.
He turns his head to eye Damon, hoping a partial answer will be enough. “I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t go over well for anyone if Bobby knew you were helping me on this one. Or that I sometimes help you. He has… strong opinions about vampires and a lot of friends who think the same. ”
Damon holds his gaze, then simply nods. He can be very good about reading between the lines when he wants to. It’s just one of the reasons Alaric puts up with him.
Damon claps his hands together clearly willing to change the topic. “So, what’s the plan then? More killing?” He raises a brow hopefully.
Alaric can’t help a burst of tired laughter. Never let it be said that Damon ever shied away from finishing a job. “We’ll kill what we can find, then get to the car and get the hell out of here. And I thought Mystic Falls was bad.”
Damon grins in return. “It does add a whole new layer to ‘it could be worse’ doesn’t it?”
Alaric checks the canvas bag he’d been toting the supplies in, but it’s nearly empty so he simply fills his pockets and a smaller bag with loose shells for faster loading. They’re down to one gun and Damon’s machete, but as long as they’re careful they should be fine. The trickiest bit will likely be getting into the car since there’s no cover.
They head out to the street, and pick up where they’d left off. They hadn’t gotten far, when a group of seven or so catches up to them, and Alaric’s gun jams.
“Shit! I need time!”
Alaric sees Damon nod, before he heads towards the small crowd that is coming their way. He uses his extra speed and works around the outside of the group taking out a couple, but the fact that only completely taking off the head seems to make any real difference means he isn’t cutting them down as quickly as Alaric would have hoped. Alaric is splitting his attention, trying to both clear the gun and keep an eye on the situation. He’s fumbling with the gun, trying to hurry, anxious to get in there, when he sees one of the zombies fall and get a hold of Damon’s leg. Damon tries to disengage, but the hold keeps him in place long enough that a second corpse gets a hold of his free arm. Now weighed down on two sides the remaining zombies latch on, pulling Damon down as Alaric stands by helplessly. He hears Damon’s screams as they start to bite and tear at his flesh and in seconds Alaric can’t see Damon under the mass of bodies on top of him.
He finally gets the gun cleared and reloaded and Alaric rushes forward. He picks off a zombie that raises its head as he gets closer, but he still can’t tell how Damon is doing. With every step he takes another head shot, counting his rounds, careful to make each one count until he’s right up next to the pile of bodies. He presses the muzzle against the side of the last zombie’s skull and pulls the trigger. His gun is empty again, but a quick look behind him confirms he’s got a few seconds at least, so he starts hauling bodies off, calling Damon’s name. When he finally gets to the bottom, the gore and splatter make it impossible to know how badly Damon is hurt, but he’s not responding and there’s no time to be gentle. With his heart racing, Alaric quickly reloads the gun, and then with another look to check that his path to the bar’s front door is still clear, he gets behind him and hauls Damon up. He’s able to get his left arm under Damon’s and tug his back up against his chest, holding him there. It isn’t pretty but it does allow him to shuffle backwards dragging Damon with him and still shoot. Alaric grits his teeth and pulls. It may be the longest 20 feet of his life, but damn if he’ll leave Damon in the street.
When he finally reaches the entrance, he props Damon’s body against the wall until he is able to open the door. Just as he’s grabbing hold to haul him inside, he sees a zombie round the corner and he pauses to take the shot. When two others appear around the same corner, he swears and decides getting secured inside is more important. He grunts as he half drags, half throws Damon into the store before pushing the door closed, and throwing the deadbolt.
Alaric is panting with exertion and adrenalin, but he knows he’s not done yet. Damon isn’t doing well. His whole body twitches and seizes as Alaric watches, and his face is twisted in pain with his mouth open in a soundless scream. This isn’t good. He kneels down, not sure what he can do, when he notices the gashes and bites made by the zombies aren’t healing. That’s not right. The overall damage isn’t that bad. He’s seen Damon bounce back from worse, but these wounds aren’t healing like they should. He’s wracking his brain trying to come up with an answer, when he remembers what Bobby said about zombies being able to spread the contagion if it got to the bloodstream. A vampire survived based on the blood they took in. If the bites had contaminated Damon’s blood, he was essentially circulating poison. Jesus.
Alaric tries to reason his way through what he’s doing as he pushes up his sleeve. It’ll be just like giving blood to the Red Cross. He’ll replace it in a few days, or baring that, if things get really crazy, his ring will bring him back. Unless of course whatever Damon was fighting transferred over to him and the ring didn’t cover it. Shit. Better not to think about that. He hesitates for another second, then takes a deep breath in and holds it as he places his wrist up against Damon’s mouth. For a long moment nothing happens, then a particularly strong spasm moves Damon’s head and his teeth manage to scrape through the skin, bringing the smallest amount of blood to the surface. He hisses at the slight pain but stays put, until suddenly Damon bites down and Alaric screams.
There is nothing gentle, nothing controlled in this, and he has to fight his instinct to pull away. Another second passes and then Damon’s hands come up to hold his arm in place with an iron grip, and any chance Alaric might have taken to pull free is gone. As Damon’s hands clench tight the bite pressure eases up, and then Alaric can feel the pull. It’s nothing like giving blood. It feels like liquid fire along his forearm as his blood is pulled faster than his veins want to support, but for all that it looks like Damon might be improving. His crazy idea might actually be working. He bites back curses at the pain while he counts out the seconds in his head, trying to gage where to draw the line between helping Damon but not giving so much that he passes out. When what he hopes is enough time has passed he starts trying to put a halt to the process.
“Damon.” His voice is a pained hiss, but it’s there.
“Damon! Stop.” Stronger this time, but still no reaction, and Alaric is starting to think he might have made a serious mistake.
“Stop and think you dick!” He’s almost shouting but he keeps his rising panic at bay. “We’re surrounded by zombies! You need to stop if you want my help in getting out of here.”
Finally Alaric sees Damon’s eyes open, and while they are bloodshot - something he’ll never get used to - there appears to be some recognition in them. “Come on, Damon. Ease up. We have other problems, and you need me upright.”
Something in all that gets through as Damon abruptly lets go and shoves his arm back. The sudden change causes Alaric to fall backwards, ending up on his butt leaning back against a wall. He wraps his good hand around his torn wrist, not wanting to lose any more blood, and watches cautiously to see if Damon is really back to himself. Not that there’s a whole lot he can do if he’s not, but it’d be nice to know what to expect.
Damon’s still staring at him with an unreadable expression when he licks his lips, then moves to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Alaric kicks out at Damon’s legs without thinking.
“Stop! Zombie guts! Don’t you dare re-infect yourself!”
Damon freezes and his eyes flick down to look at his hand, before he makes a disgusted face and his eyes clear to his regular crystal blue.
“Ugh! I’m going to need the longest shower ever.”
Back to normal then. Good. Alaric lets out the breath he’d been holding and starts to get up. He needs some space, maybe to find a towel, but the world swims just a little and he slides back down, letting his eyes close for a second.
“Yeah.” Damon’s tone is odd, like he’s possibly embarrassed. “You might want to wait a bit before getting up. Just… hang on a minute.”
Alaric concentrates on slowing his breathing agreeing that maybe taking another minute or two would be a good idea. He hears Damon get up and move away, then return a bit later. When he opens his eyes Damon has crouched down next to him and is staring at him intently, though Alaric can’t figure out what he’s thinking. He’s cleaned off the worst of the mess that he’d been covered in and Alaric can see the damage he’d taken has healed over, though he’s still looking drawn and tired. He’s holding out a makeshift bandage in his now gut-free hands, but otherwise he’s still. The silence drags on a second or two longer than it should.
“Let me wrap that.” When he finally speaks Damon’s voice is quiet and earnest, and Alaric swears he hears an apology and a thank you in the spaces between the words.
Alaric meets his eyes, then holds out his arm. He clears his throat before speaking. “What do you say we try that whole ‘clear the way to the car’ thing again, only without getting mobbed this time?”
S
lowly, the corner of Damon’s mouth tips up as he wraps the bandage around Alaric’s wrist. “I can work with that.”
----
This time they do manage to stay out of trouble, picking off individuals and then drawing the now much smaller hoard to the far end of town. They lure them inside an office space, some sort of small time insurance company, and Damon closes and locks the door as they exit out the front. With a look to check that the way is clear he speeds off without a word, leaving Alaric to curse into the empty street. Within moments he’s back, with his flame thrower in hand.
“What? I’m just helping with the clean up. Those things are dangerous you know.” As Damon focuses the flame on the most flammable surfaces of the building, Alaric finds he can’t really argue. He’s just too damn tired.
“Fine. But you and I are going to talk about this little habit of yours later.” Damon doesn’t acknowledge the comment in any obvious way, but he does smile a little wider. Alaric will take what he can get.
With the building burning well enough to hopefully kill most of the zombies left in town, they cautiously walk back to the car. Alaric can feel the night catching up to him now that the adrenalin is starting to clear, so he stops Damon before he can head to the passenger side.
“Are you good for driving? I’m wiped.”
Damon smiles tiredly, but reaches for the keys. “Yeah. I can drive.”
He pulls the car around slowly, avoiding the bodies lying along the street as if keeping the tires clean is somehow important. For all they know maybe it is. Alaric texts a message to Bobby, then sits back just trying to process the events of the evening.
As they drive east along the interstate the sky starts to turn color, shifting from black to purple, and then shot through with streaks of bright red and orange as the sun begins to rise. It’s a comforting sight, the natural order of things still in place after the surreal experience of last night. With a quiet sigh Alaric lets the last of his guard down, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, listening to the hum of the wheels along the pavement. He lets himself feel the ache in his shoulders, the soreness of his feet, and that’s when it hits him. The smell. The two of them are disgustingly putrid and they have trapped that smell in his car. Detailing may not be enough - he might just have to buy a whole new car.
He’s just started on that thought, when Damon’s voice interrupts his musings. “I can’t do it. We’re stopping at the next town.” He sounds equal parts decisive and desperate.
Alaric frowns, before opening his eyes and turning to look at Damon, eyebrow raised in inquiry.
“I’ve got dried rotting crap everywhere and I won’t deal with it any longer.” His face is pulled into a grimace, and he’s holding the wheel with his palms, fingers spread as if that might help him get away from his own skin.
Alaric can’t help the tired snicker that bubbles up. He tries to sound understanding, but he can’t hold in a bark of laughter that escapes. “Are you rethinking that chainsaw now?”
Damon is nearly pouting at this point, which Alaric just finds more hilarious, so he waves his hand in surrender. “Find a motel, whatever. The smell is killing me too.”
----
They arrive back in Mystic Falls wearing newly purchased clothes and shoes, and smelling of cheap motel soap. Since Alaric had managed a half hour nap while Damon had been cleaning up, and they’d stopped to pick up coffee, he’d offered to drive the rest of the way. It only seemed fair. He had been up all night and given some blood, but he hadn’t been nearly turned into a zombie. That kind of thing had to be taxing.
He pulls up to the Salvatore house and leaves the engine running. Damon hesitates before getting out, looking like he’s about to say something difficult or uncomfortable, but Alaric just doesn’t have the energy for it. When he starts to open his mouth Alaric cuts him off, hand raised.
“No. Save it.”
Damon blinks at him, but doesn’t interrupt, so Alaric continues. “Here’s what going to happen. I’m going home to fall into bed. When I wake up I’m going to shower again, and then eat something with actual nutritional value. I will not let your heavy revelations, or insights, or whatever you were going to say mess with my well deserved, boring plans.” He gives Damon a tired, lopsided smile. “We will discuss what makes a strategy more than just lucky aggression later. ”
Damon laughs quietly instead of saying whatever he’d had in mind and opens his door. Before he can swing it closed, Alaric adds, “Thank you for coming with me.“
Damon looks surprised before he ducks his head. When he looks up again his face is back to his normal mask of neutral good humor, even if it is a little worn around the edges. He nods and taps his hand lightly against the door frame. “You do keep it interesting. I’ll see you around Ric.”
He returns the smile and nods, then pulls away, rolling down the driveway. As he makes his way home he lets himself take stock of his life - as bizarre as it is. Last night had given him perspective. The chaos, the monsters, the almost dying - all the things that made him question why he’d stayed - they didn’t just happen in Mystic Falls. Now that he knew what was out there, he’d find it wherever he went. Here at least he has friends that back him up and stand with him. Here he has people to fight for, good people that remind him it’s not all about darkness, and that the choices he’s made matter.
As that truth quietly sinks in, he feels a sense of certainty replace the doubts that had been gnawing at the back of his mind. It may not be the life he’d imagined or hoped for, but on the other hand, it’s not all that bad either.