Chapter Text
Elena"s footsteps echoed through the empty hospital hallway as she gathered her things from her locker. Another twelve-hour clinical rotation complete, and her mind was already drifting to Damon. Seven days. Seven days of brief texts and missed calls. Something wasn"t right.
"Heading out?" Dr. Matthews called from the nurses" station. "You did great work today with that trauma patient."
"Thanks." Elena managed a tired smile as she shouldered her bag, her expressive eyes reflecting both exhaustion and concern. "I"m actually going to surprise someone."
The drive to Mystic Falls gave Elena too much time to think. The setting sun cast long shadows across the familiar roads as her mind wandered to the last time she"d seen Damon. He"d been distracted, checking his phone more than usual during their Saturday date night. At the time, she"d attributed it to work stress, but now...
The Mystic Grill"s darkened windows made her stomach twist. The "OPEN" sign was off, though it was well past opening hours. Several regular customers stood outside, looking confused. Mrs. Henderson, who came in every Thursday for her book club meeting, was peering through the glass with concern.
Elena"s medical training kicked in as she noticed small details: Damon"s car parked crookedly in his usual spot, yesterday"s newspapers still stacked by the door, the plants on the windowsill wilting from lack of water. These weren"t just signs of being busy – these were signs of someone in crisis.
She pushed open the heavy door, the familiar bell"s chime seeming eerily loud in the deserted space. The chairs were still stacked on tables, and the distinct smell of cleaning products hung in the air, mixed with something else – the musty scent of neglect.
"Damon?" Her voice carried across the empty space, warmth and concern mixing in her tone. Something felt off. The Grill should have been open by now.
A crash from the back room made her jump. "Just a minute!" Damon"s voice sounded strained, lacking its usual sarcastic edge.
When he emerged from the storage area, Elena"s breath caught in her throat. Her clinical eye immediately cataloged the symptoms: several days" worth of stubble, dark circles under bloodshot eyes, wrinkled clothes that looked slept in. His usually sharp features and intense gaze seemed dulled by exhaustion.
"Surprise visit from the future Dr. Gilbert?" He attempted his trademark smirk, but it didn"t reach his eyes. His dark charisma, usually so captivating, seemed fractured.
"The Grill"s supposed to be open." She stepped closer, her intelligence and empathy driving her to understand. "Are you sick? You look terrible."
"Thanks for the compliment." Damon moved behind the bar, creating a physical barrier between them. "Just doing inventory. Lost track of time."
"For how long? I haven"t seen you in a week, Damon. You haven"t been answering my texts."
"Has it been a week?" He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, avoiding her searching gaze. "Med school must be keeping you busy. I"ve just been dealing with some supplier issues. Nothing to worry about."
Elena crossed her arms, her fierce loyalty and resilience showing through. "Since when does inventory make you forget to shower?"
"Come on, Elena." His voice carried that familiar edge of deflection, his words carefully chosen to manipulate the situation. "Not everyone can look perfect while memorizing human anatomy. Some of us have to deal with the exciting world of liquor orders and broken glass."
But Elena knew Damon too well to be fooled by his casual dismissal. Something in his eyes reminded her of times past when supernatural threats loomed over their lives. Yet this was different - more personal, more desperate.
"Damon-" she started, reaching across the bar.
"I need to get this place open," he interrupted, already turning away. "Rain check on the interrogation? I"ll make it up to you on Saturday."
Elena withdrew her hand, watching as the man she loved retreated behind walls she thought they"d long since torn down. Whatever was happening, one thing was clear - Damon was hiding something, and it was consuming him.
Lightning split the sky, illuminating the rusted hulls of abandoned ships that loomed like ancient beasts in the darkness. Rain pelted the metal surfaces in deafening sheets, creating an orchestra of chaos that nearly drowned out the desperate footfalls echoing through the shipyard.
The man"s shoes slapped against wet concrete as he darted between towering stacks of shipping containers. His breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the cold night air. Each flash of lightning cast harsh shadows that danced and twisted, making every corner a potential hiding place for whatever pursued him.
Thunder rolled overhead as he pressed himself against a container, his soaked clothes clinging to his trembling frame. The storm"s fury whipped around him, but even the howling wind couldn"t mask the sound that made his blood run cold – something moving in the darkness behind him.
He risked a glance around the corner, the rain stinging his eyes. Another flash illuminated the yard, throwing long, menacing shadows across the ground. For a split second, he caught a glimpse of something that made his heart stutter – a silhouette that shouldn"t exist, backlit by the storm"s fury.
The man bolted again, his feet slipping on the slick ground as he wove between the maze of metal giants. Water sloshed around his ankles, each puddle a potential trap that could send him sprawling. The wind howled through the gaps between containers, creating an eerie whistle that sounded almost like laughter.
Lightning flashed again, and this time he saw it – two glowing eyes emerging from the shadows, moving with deliberate purpose. The sight sent him stumbling backward, a strangled cry torn from his throat.
The storm raged on, indifferent to the terror playing out beneath its fury, as the man disappeared deeper into the labyrinth of steel and shadow. The man stumbled forward, his expensive leather shoes now ruined by murky puddles. His lungs burned with each ragged breath as he darted between the maze of shipping containers. The rain had soaked through his suit jacket, the weight of it pulling at his shoulders as he ran.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the yard, and he caught his reflection in a rain-slicked container – his face contorted in pure terror, tie askew, mud splattered across his once-pristine clothes. The thunder that followed seemed to shake the very ground beneath his feet.
He slipped, crashing hard onto his hands and knees. The impact sent shock waves of pain through his palms, but terror drove him back to his feet. His shoes squeaked against wet metal as he scrambled around another corner, only to find himself facing a dead end.
"No, no, no," he whimpered, spinning around to retrace his steps. But there it was again – that shadow, moving with impossible grace through the storm. His back pressed against the cold metal of the container, rain streaming down his face, mixing with tears of desperation.
The wind howled through the shipyard, carrying with it the sound of his own panicked breathing. Lightning flashed once more, and this time, he saw it clearly. A scream tore from his throat, echoing across the abandoned yard, quickly swallowed by the roar of thunder.
The man stumbled backward until his shoulders hit cold metal. Trapped. The rain continued its relentless assault as lightning crackled overhead, briefly illuminating his tear-streaked face.
"Please," he sobbed, his voice barely audible over the storm. "I"ll give you anything you want!"
Flames suddenly erupted before him, seeming to defy the downpour. The orange glow revealed what had been stalking him – not one figure, but three dark silhouettes standing motionless in the rain. Their shapes were human, yet something about their stillness felt wrong, unnatural.
The fire grew brighter, dancing and twisting unnaturally in the storm. The man pressed himself harder against the container, as if trying to sink into the metal itself. His eyes widened in horror as the flames surged forward like a living thing.
His scream pierced the night, rising above even the thunder – then abruptly cut short.
The storm raged on, washing away all evidence of what had transpired in the abandoned shipyard.
Elena paced her living room, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand running through her long hair in frustration.
"Caroline, you should have seen him. I"ve never seen Damon like this before – not even during our darkest supernatural days."
"Well, this is Damon we"re talking about," Caroline"s voice carried its characteristic blend of warmth and directness. "He"s never been great at handling things on his own. Remember the bourbon shortage of 2023?"
"This is different," Elena sank onto her couch, her medical textbook forgotten on the coffee table. "He looked... haunted. Like he hasn"t slept in days. The Grill wasn"t even open, and you know how proud he is of that place."
"Have you tried following him?" Caroline"s tone shifted to her problem-solving mode. "I mean, I know you"re busy with med school, but clearly something"s going on. The Damon we know doesn"t just shut down his business and ghost his girlfriend."
"I don"t want to spy on him, Care."
"Elena Gilbert, you and I both know that sometimes the people we love need us to meddle. Especially when they"re being stubborn idiots about asking for help." Caroline paused. "Look, I can send someone from the school to-"
"No," Elena cut her off. "You"re right about the meddling part, but this needs to be me. I"ll figure out what he"s hiding."
"That"s my girl. Just... be careful, okay? Whatever"s got Damon acting this way, it can"t be good."
Elena"s gaze drifted to the window, where storm clouds were gathering again. "I know. That"s what worries me."
Elena parked along the curb in front of Mystic Grill, her expressive eyes studying the darkened storefront windows. The restaurant should have been bustling with its usual evening crowd, but instead stood silent and dark, its emptiness a stark contrast to the normal Thursday night atmosphere.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, wrapping her jacket tighter against the evening chill. Years of strange occurrences in Mystic Falls had taught her to trust her instincts, and right now, every one of them was telling her something was wrong. The door was unlocked – unusual for Damon, who had become particularly meticulous about security since becoming human.
The familiar bell chimed as she entered. "Damon?" Her voice carried through the empty space, the warmth in her tone masking her growing concern.
The main room stood frozen in time – chairs still stacked on tables, glasses lined up behind the bar as if waiting for the day to begin. Small signs of neglect were evident everywhere: dust gathering on the bourbon bottles Damon usually kept pristine, wilted flowers in the window boxes he meticulously maintained, yesterday"s newspaper abandoned on the counter beside a half-empty coffee cup.
The back room door stood slightly ajar, yellow light spilling onto the main floor. Elena paused, her medical training kicking in as she cataloged the scene before her: scattered papers visible through the gap, a coffee cup knocked on its side, dark liquid staining documents beneath it, Damon"s favorite leather jacket thrown carelessly over a chair – all signs of someone working with frantic purpose.
She pushed the door wider, and her breath caught. Papers littered every surface, scattered across the floor and desk like autumn leaves. The usually organized storage room looked like a research center run by a madman. Maps with locations marked in red ink covered a bulletin board, along with newspaper clippings and hastily scribbled notes in Damon"s distinctive handwriting. None of it made sense – the marked locations seemed random, spread across different states without any apparent connection.
In the upper corner, a weathered photograph caught her attention. Though blurry with age, it showed a young man no more than fifteen, his features hauntingly familiar despite the photograph"s poor quality. Elena carefully unpinned it, turning it over in her hands. Two initials and a date were written in faded ink: ‘R.S. 1880.’
She slipped the photograph into her pocket, her mind already working to piece together this puzzle. Whatever Damon had gotten himself involved in, it went beyond simple business troubles. The obsessive nature of the research, the historical photograph, the marked locations – it all pointed to something darker, something that had consumed the man she loved.
Elena unlocked her front door, the mysterious photograph from the Grill weighing in her pocket. As she stepped inside, a dark shape on the couch made her pause. She flicked on the lamp, its warm glow revealing Damon passed out across the cushions, still in his clothes from earlier.
In the soft light, she studied him with her characteristic mix of compassion and concern. His usually pristine appearance was completely disheveled – his black button-down shirt wrinkled beyond recognition, dark hair wildly unkempt, and several days" worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. Dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and even unconscious, his features were drawn with tension. His phone lay on the floor beside the couch, screen dark.
Elena retrieved the soft throw blanket from the back of the couch and carefully draped it over him. Typically, Damon would wake at the slightest sound – a habit from his vampire days that had carried over into his human life. Tonight, he didn"t even stir.
Upstairs in their bedroom, Elena pulled out the photograph and settled onto their bed, studying the faded image once more before dialing Caroline.
"Care? I found something at the Grill tonight," Elena spoke quietly, mindful of Damon sleeping downstairs. "The back room was covered in papers – maps with red marks all over them, newspaper clippings, notes scattered everywhere. It looked like something out of a detective movie."
"That definitely doesn"t sound like normal bar inventory," Caroline replied, her characteristic directness coming through. "What kind of maps are we talking about?"
"Different states, mostly along the East Coast. But the locations seemed random. And Care, there"s something else." Elena turned the photograph over in her hand. "I found an old photograph, dated 1880. It"s of a teenage boy, maybe fifteen. The only identification is the initials R.S. on the back."
"R.S. in 1880?" Caroline paused, and Elena could practically hear her mind working. "That timeframe... it could be a Salvatore relative."
Elena sat cross-legged on the bed, studying the faded image. "That"s what I was thinking. But why would Damon be researching this now? And why is he being so secretive about it?"
"Have you talked to Alaric? With his knowledge of history and the Salvatore family, he might have some insights."
"Not yet. I want to give Damon a chance to tell me himself first." Elena glanced toward the door. "He"s running himself into the ground over this, Caroline. You should see him – he looks worse than during the bourbon shortage crisis of 2023."
"Just keep an eye on him, Elena. And call me if you need anything. I can have someone cover the school and be there in a few hours if necessary."
"Thanks, Care." Elena set the photograph on her nightstand, next to a framed picture of her and Damon from happier times. "I"ll let you know what I find out."
After hanging up, Elena stood at her bedroom window, watching as clouds gathered in the night sky. Whatever secret Damon was keeping, whatever connection this mysterious R.S. had to him, she was determined to help him through it – whether he wanted her help or not.