Summary: A spell killed Bonnie, and Damon reflects on the 6th anniversary of her death. BASED ON THE TRAILER FOR EPISODE 10, SO IF YOU'VE WATCHED THAT THEN YOU'RE GOOD.

A/N: This was written for skysamuelle at the Bamon Drabble Party on livejournal.

The Prompt: 'I see signs now all the time, That you're not dead, you're sleeping, I believe in anything that brings you back home to me' (Bloc Party).

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

Drowning

The scotch traveled down Damon's stomach to mix with the pain, guilt, and resentment that churned there. He stared unseeingly into the fireplace, the only light in the entire mansion. He was home alone. Stefan always disappeared off to some place this time of year. He didn't know where he went every time, but he knew he did not go to Elena.

His mind was six years in the past, in the tomb the night that Bonnie fell for good. He had not been aware of what was happening to her. His attention had been focused solely on Elena, trying to keep her from going inside the tomb, trying to keep her from getting involved. Everything and everyone else had been white noise. He had been preoccupied with keeping Elena from carrying out her apparent death wish. He had been in love with her, and thus he had not wanted to lose her.

A condescending smile fell on his lips when he thought of what he had considered important back then. He leaned his head back on the chair and closed his eyes to better see it, to better remember it. This was how he commemorated the anniversary of her death.

He would learn from Stefan that her nose had started to bleed during the spell. She was visibly weakening, but she had used what power she had left to push Stefan away from her when he tried to make her stop. He would learn that Jeremy knew that she wasn't strong enough to do the spell, but that he couldn't do anything to stop her once she had made up her mind. She had told Jeremy that she would be fine, and he had believed her. Damon didn't know if she had known how much strength the spell would require and thus had lied to Jeremy, or if she had truly thought that she would be alright.

Pain clawed inhumanly at his heart leading him to shift in his seat. No surprise that time was not a friend to him: it never had been. The more the years went by, the more it hurt.

He had not seen when she fell. He had heard Stefan yell her name, but he had not been sure why. Whatever it was, he had been sure that they would figure it out.

She had died on the spot. No chances, no last words. The spell had killed her. Jeremy's face had paled to an unnatural white, Stefan had held her as he stared at the tomb walls as if they could give him an answer, and Elena had shaken her while screaming her name. He had stood away from the small circle, looking at her, at the blood still trickling along her mouth to color the sand, at the color fading from her skin.

When he had finally been able to lift heavy feet, he had walked up to them, aware that Elena had started looking at him as if he could do something, and picked up Bonnie's face from Stefan's arm. He had held her head in his hand, his fingers flexing on her cooling skin. Her eyes had been closed. Shut, and he'd stared before gently putting her back in Stefan's arm and stepping back.

Tears pricked his eyelids in the almost darkness. He didn't turn on lights anymore.

He had not cried when she had died. He had not even gone to the funeral. He had not been angry when he had learned of Jeremy's confession to Elena. He had not cared that much then. The witch was dead. There was something wrong with that, sure, but he had not had so much affection for her that he experienced any sort of emotion. No, when she had died, he had gone quiet. He had run into Elena plenty of times in the days and weeks after her death, her eyes begging him to say something to her, but he had not. One time when they had found themselves alone, she had started to talk about her, had started to cry, and he had told her to please stop, that he didn't want to be doing this with her. He had told her to go find someone else.

He had mostly dealt with questions in the wake of her passing. She had been weakening because of all of the spells she had been casting. Why the fuck hadn't she said something? The witch who was always too happy to tell him no. Had it been because of Stefan? Because he had asked? Because of Elena?

He lifted his hand and slowly took a drink. He worked it down his throat before staring at the contents of the glass. He remembered a time when he had told Rose that caring got you killed. He turned the glass in his hand again and again as he thought.

He had been speaking from a place of hurt. He had loved Elena, wanted her, wanted to be with her. But he had chosen not to pursue her because he loved his brother. He had been speaking as someone who had resigned himself to loving from afar.

It had seemed like such a curse at the time. To love a woman and to know that she would never return those feelings. That you would never be with her.

Caring had gotten Bonnie killed. And she hadn't cared in the sense of romantic love. She had simply cared. She had been weak, and the only person who had known had been too weak to do anything about it. But he had not gone after Jeremy. He had not been pissed at Elena for not knowing what the fuck was going on with her so-called best friend. He had not blamed Caroline, even though she was supposed to be the nosiest one. He had not gone after Stefan even though, as the one whom she favored between the two of them, he could've known this information.

There were just long stretches of time where he despised them all because in the end they, who were supposed to be closer to her than he and who could get her to do anything while he could not, ended up knowing as much about what was truly going on in her life as he did. But he never reacted violently towards them because it's not like he had cared that much. Bonnie had seemed capable of doing the spell, so he had taken her at face value.

No, she had not meant much to him until she died. As the years progressed, she came to mean more and more to him. Each year she was gone was harder than the last, and there was no switch.

Each year he asked himself how he could have gotten so spectacularly distracted. He had told Bonnie that he owed her, yet he never looked to see if she so much as faced an external danger, let alone an internal one.

It was amazing how much Mystic Falls had gone to shit in the two years that followed her death. The death toll of the town had climbed. They did what they could with he and Stefan sometimes calling on the witches they knew, with the Luka guy sometimes helping out. However those witches had lives, and the warlock's dad had whisked him away from the God forsaken town the first time he almost lost his life. A new witch moved into town four years, and her, her he treated as if she worked for them. He treated her like shit. She looked nothing like Bonnie. She acted nothing like Bonnie. She was White American with auburn hair and light brown eyes. She was thicker than Bonnie and also more cooperative. He never failed to remind them all that she did not belong. Any time it would seem that the group would start to relax around her, any time it would they would laugh with her, he would say something, or not say anything, just to ruin it. When they would get together to eat and celebrate, he would tag along just to remind them all that the reason they knew this witch was because they couldn't bother to pay attention to the last witch they knew.

He was the reason everyone still felt like shit on this day 6 years later.

His throat closed up, and it was hard to swallow the liquid. He drowned in pain all of the days of the year. Random memories of the witch came to him while he wasn't sure how often Elena and Caroline looked at the pictures they had of her. He would think about the hard glint in her eyes when she would address him, the smirk on her face as she'd walked away from him that day at the Lockwood wake.

He let the glass fall on the carpet and grabbed his head. It hurt all of the time. He remembered trying to figure out, the night she had set him on fire, what the hell he was going to do with her when she really reached her full potential.

He ran his hand down his face and then rested his elbows on his knees. He looked at the sparking fire, and then he turned to his left. He looked at her through desolate eyes. She wore what she had been wearing that day. He knew she wasn't real. Yes, vampires can see ghost, but this wasn't Bonnie's ghost. He had not seen her in 6 years. He knew that Tonia, the witch, has offered many times to call up Bonnie's ghost for Elena and Caroline although she has been smart enough not to make that offer in his presence. The two refused, and he knew it was because of him. He didn't want anyone summoning Bonnie. If she wants them to see her, then she'll haunt them in some fashion until they call on her.

She has not done so in 6 years.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked at what his mind continually dreamed up. Bonnie in her long grey shirt that had the wings design on the front along with the long necklace that adorned her neck, the black sweater that covered her up, and her jeans and flats. He truly had not realized that he had paid that much attention to what she was wearing.

She looked at him with her mouth slightly slanting to one side, giving the appearance of a little smile. She didn't have hate in her eyes. She looked at him as if she held no animosity towards him, not because of who he was or any other reason, and that hurt all the more. The witch would never have neither an opinion nor a reaction to him ever again.

He had thought he was cursed at the time. To love Elena and to know that she would never return those feelings. That he would never be with her.

He watched Bonnie turn and walk away. He turned to stare at the fire as more tears streamed down his face.