A/N: I was bored, so I messaged my bb wee birdy to ask for a song and a pairing to write about. And of course she never fails to deliver.

This is where it starts.
This is where it will end.
Here comes the moon again.
If I Was Your Vampire
Marilyn Manson

Katherine's back. Katherine's back.

For the moment, it's all he thinks.

She's back and he feels like he can't breathe. The trees spin in a hazy circle around him, the stars mere twirls of painful light, everything just perfectly unreal like he's dreaming. For the life of him he can't remember the last time he ever dreamed. Everything is colorless and gone and he thinks there must be little point left to anything, because she was gone once and now that she's back he doesn't know what to think.

For the first time in a long time, he kills. He presses his face into the dying human flesh and drinks until he can't drink anymore, if only to remind him that he exists, if only to prove to himself that he's as invincible as he's always been.

And as if it's an apparition, some sort of summoning of her presence, she's there. She's bathed in some ethereal glow, the moonlight so soft and cold and silver on her skin. He wants her. He wants her more than anything right now. He wonders idly if she ever missed him; he wonders if she'll see the body at his feet, the sloppy kill that earned him nothing but a satisfaction.

It was only supposed to be me.

"Katherine?" He whispers her name because he thinks that he may make her disappear if he says it any louder. He doesn't know what else to say; he's at loss for words and he hates himself for vulnerability. But he loves her. He remembers loving her.

She comes to him slowly. It's a steady movement, each profound footstep, each breath she breathes. It's beautiful; he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, her face in the moonlight and her form so real and tangible in front of him.


All she had to do was open her mouth and he knew. He knew, but why couldn't he simply pretend? Pretending was easier. Pretending made things less tragic. He wants to grab her and shake her and force her to be Katherine, to say something only Katherine could say, to say in Katherine's cold, lifeless voice, "I'm sorry."

"Get away from me." He doesn't want her near him. Go away. Leave him be. He's perfectly fine, yes, he's absolutely fucking fine. Leave him be so he can be fine without you.

She hesitates. The trees shadow her, dappling tiny little specks of light on her, like she's some sort of guiding star. He wants to follow her, to remember what it's like to be somehow normal, to be fine again. She presses her lips together in a smooth, unnoticeable movement. "You killed again." She says it as if she's surprised, yet unafraid.

There is blood on his teeth and in his mouth and body, blood filling every conscious thought. He inhales the scent through his nose, feeling already the strange shift of features, the veins pulsing in his upper cheek bones, something he could never get used to no matter how many times it happened. He smiles at her, fake and wide and angry and bloody. "You were expecting any different?"

He wants to smell her fear. He wants to terrify her, so he can be reminded what it's like to be feared. So he can remember that he's still somewhat alive in the sense of everything. Her breath quickens and her eyes widen but she doesn't move, doesn't even take a step back.

"No. Not from you." Her jaw is set and her eyes are determined but she still doesn't move, doesn't say anything else or even twitch. Everything is cold and still and tense underneath the silver glow of the moon.

"Go." He narrows his eyes and bares his teeth and hopes she's scared enough to leave. "I'm not afraid to kill again."

She actually does move this time, but only a step closer, her mouth firmly pressed shut, her eyes watching him, totally unafraid and ready to handle anything. "Stop it. Stop doing that, trying to push everyone away."

He snarls at her, clenches his fists, wanting to hurt her and wanting to kiss her and wanting to say something else to make her go. He's vulnerable and she should never see him like this.

In a swift movement, he appears behind her, body flitting in a blur of speed. He can hear her gasp, her shallow intakes of breath, and relishes in it. He relishes in her unease and presses his hand to the hollow of her throat, freezing her in place. "You think I won't?" he hisses into her ear. "Why aren't you afraid?"

She swallows thickly. He thinks she must be the most idiotic person he's ever met. "I'm not afraid of you, Damon." He wants to believe it's a lie, but the way her voice is smooth and steady and real, the way she breathes evenly, makes him sure she's telling the truth. He wants to scream. He wants to snap her neck and drink her blood and watch her bleed to death next to the corpse he already killed.

So why doesn't he do it?

"I know you." She continues on as if he's asked her to speak. "You're not this person anymore." She pauses, as if she just remembers something. "You never were, this person."

He presses his teeth into the soft, porcelain skin of her neck, enough to apply pressure but not enough to break through. There's blood smearing on her skin, there's moonlight covering it, as if she's bleeding black from a wound he can't see or heal.

She doesn't try to escape; she doesn't struggle. She is calm and stoic and poised. "I dare you," she whispers into the air, permeating a cloud of fog in front of her. "I dare you to hurt me, right now."

He can't.

I can't.

Before she can even say another word, breathe another breath, he lets go, escaping into the trees and moonlight until everything flashes by in a blur of saturated color and silver glow. He runs and runs until he can forget everything, until all he sees is red, until all he remembers is her face and the moonlight and her warm eyes.

He runs until he feels nothing at all.