[fic] Confessions
Title: Confessions
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon + Ric (Ric/Jenna, Damon/Rose, Damon/Elena, Damon + Stefan)
Word Count: ~500
Rating/Warnings: R / general drunkeness and pathetic boys pretending to be men
Spoilers: Everything through 4x22.
Summary: They are slumped down in the hallway of Mystic Falls High, which is, in and of itself, humiliating enough.
Author's notes: Unauthorized companion piece to upupa_epops's Avoidance, because somehow within this crazy friendship that she and I have struck up through fic writing, my favorite thing that she writes is Alaric, particularly Alaric + Damon. It must be in tribute to our own *bromance* is all I can figure. For you, Marta, since I never did write that Damon/Rose fic I intended to.
"I could've really loved Jenna," Ric says, his words slurred, his voice really sad.
(Fuuuuuuck. They are super drunk.)
"She was sweet, you know? Not like Isobel. She just wanted someone to treat her good." He blows out a heavy breath. "I could've done that."
Damon doesn't argue. It's not that he disagrees; it's not that he knows what treat her good really means beyond the fact that with too much bourbon inside him, Ric's grammar goes all to hell.
They are slumped down in the hallway of Mystic Falls High, which is, in and of itself, humiliating enough. Two grown men, getting drunk--well, they're way past the getting stage, really--in a school. Granted, it's summer, it's dark-thirty, and there aren't any kids around, but seriously? Why are they here?
(Because no one would look for them here, that's why. Especially not Elena. And that's who they're hiding from; Elena and her little scraps of paper with last known addresses of grisly murders that are the hallmarks of one Stefan Salvatore. Damon hasn't worked up his nerve to tell Ric that yet, which means he's never going to be able to tell Elena. Let's be real, if he's so drunk he's listening to Ric wax nostalgic about Jenna, but not drunk enough to tell his best friend that his brother is a ripper, most likely there just isn't enough whiskey in the world.)
"You love Elena like that, don't you?" Ric asks, trying to coerce Damon into his own confession.
(Come to think of it, he'd rather talk about Stefan.)
Instead he says, "I gave Rose rolling green hills and rainbows for her last dream."
"What?" Ric questions, his head lifting up slightly, his hair skimming the bottom of open locker door #42. Which is, by the way, a terrible place to stash alcohol. Then again, Ric's got tons of inappropriate stashes, including his desk drawers, which don't even have locks.
"Rose, remember her? When she was dying from the werewolf bite. She was scared, so I used this memory she'd told Elena about--about England when she was human. I created this dream place for her, Paradise. She was happy when I staked her."
Ric doesn't respond immediately, and Damon decides that's for the best; he probably passed out, which is good. Nobody needs to remember this come tomorrow.
There's a little breath, not indicative of a loss of consciousness, and then Ric muses, "Sometimes you're not a total bastard, you know?"
Damon lifts the bottle to his mouth, his glass long forgotten now, but doesn't look over at his friend. He takes a long drink, imagines Stefan ripping heads off lifeless bodies, sees Elena's face when he has to tell her.
(Feels the emptiness in his own chest.)
"Yeah," he whispers. "I know."
Author: badboy_fangirl
Characters/Pairings: Damon POV; Damon + Ric (Ric/Jenna, Damon/Rose, Damon/Elena, Damon + Stefan)
Word Count: ~500
Rating/Warnings: R / general drunkeness and pathetic boys pretending to be men
Spoilers: Everything through 4x22.
Summary: They are slumped down in the hallway of Mystic Falls High, which is, in and of itself, humiliating enough.
Author's notes: Unauthorized companion piece to upupa_epops's Avoidance, because somehow within this crazy friendship that she and I have struck up through fic writing, my favorite thing that she writes is Alaric, particularly Alaric + Damon. It must be in tribute to our own *bromance* is all I can figure. For you, Marta, since I never did write that Damon/Rose fic I intended to.
"I could've really loved Jenna," Ric says, his words slurred, his voice really sad.
(Fuuuuuuck. They are super drunk.)
"She was sweet, you know? Not like Isobel. She just wanted someone to treat her good." He blows out a heavy breath. "I could've done that."
Damon doesn't argue. It's not that he disagrees; it's not that he knows what treat her good really means beyond the fact that with too much bourbon inside him, Ric's grammar goes all to hell.
They are slumped down in the hallway of Mystic Falls High, which is, in and of itself, humiliating enough. Two grown men, getting drunk--well, they're way past the getting stage, really--in a school. Granted, it's summer, it's dark-thirty, and there aren't any kids around, but seriously? Why are they here?
(Because no one would look for them here, that's why. Especially not Elena. And that's who they're hiding from; Elena and her little scraps of paper with last known addresses of grisly murders that are the hallmarks of one Stefan Salvatore. Damon hasn't worked up his nerve to tell Ric that yet, which means he's never going to be able to tell Elena. Let's be real, if he's so drunk he's listening to Ric wax nostalgic about Jenna, but not drunk enough to tell his best friend that his brother is a ripper, most likely there just isn't enough whiskey in the world.)
"You love Elena like that, don't you?" Ric asks, trying to coerce Damon into his own confession.
(Come to think of it, he'd rather talk about Stefan.)
Instead he says, "I gave Rose rolling green hills and rainbows for her last dream."
"What?" Ric questions, his head lifting up slightly, his hair skimming the bottom of open locker door #42. Which is, by the way, a terrible place to stash alcohol. Then again, Ric's got tons of inappropriate stashes, including his desk drawers, which don't even have locks.
"Rose, remember her? When she was dying from the werewolf bite. She was scared, so I used this memory she'd told Elena about--about England when she was human. I created this dream place for her, Paradise. She was happy when I staked her."
Ric doesn't respond immediately, and Damon decides that's for the best; he probably passed out, which is good. Nobody needs to remember this come tomorrow.
There's a little breath, not indicative of a loss of consciousness, and then Ric muses, "Sometimes you're not a total bastard, you know?"
Damon lifts the bottle to his mouth, his glass long forgotten now, but doesn't look over at his friend. He takes a long drink, imagines Stefan ripping heads off lifeless bodies, sees Elena's face when he has to tell her.
(Feels the emptiness in his own chest.)
"Yeah," he whispers. "I know."