💘( The Monsters Who Haunt Us! )✨

TWO

[ Fifty Shades of Grayson ]

( 🧙‍♀️🗡🧛‍♀️⚰️🐺⚜️ )

" She's not a monster—not really. Just a person trying to survive her pain, even if it means doing things she once would've hated herself for. "

~ STEFAN SALVATORE to AARON WHITMORE

☆《》¤

THE RELENTLESS POUNDING ECHOED THROUGH THE DARK, MUSTY BASEMENT OF THE AUGUSTINE CELLS. Each thud was met with a dull ache, the sound of skin splitting against stone, but Vivienne didn't care. Her fists hammered the rock wall with unrestrained fury, each strike loosening her frustration and anger until a thick piece of rock finally broke free, tumbling to the floor at her feet. She snatched it up, her bloodied fingers tightening around her makeshift weapon.

Augustine Cells 

1957

The dim, lifeless light of the Augustine cells flickered as Vivienne gritted her teeth, slamming her shoulder into the cage door again and again. Every strike left her muscles aching, but she felt stronger—stronger than she had in months. Enzo had been giving her his blood rations for awhile now, so they could execute their plan perfectly, and now she finally felt the difference. She took a shaky breath, readying herself for another try, when Enzo's soft chuckle broke the silence.

"You're wasting your energy, love," he murmured from the neighboring cell, his voice laced with fatigue yet still carrying that familiar warmth.

Vivienne shot him a defiant glare, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath, "The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can be together," she said, the urgency in her voice unmistakable. "Isn't that what you want?" She didn't want to wait till New Year, she wanted out now. 

Enzo gave her a weak but genuine smile, his eyes dark but still glimmering with that rare spark only she seemed able to kindle. He was pale, his shoulders slumped, and she could see the toll the lack of blood was taking on him. But his gaze softened as it lingered on her, the hint of something wistful crossing his expression, "More than anything," he replied softly, his words a promise.

He leaned back against the cold wall of his cell, eyes half-closed as he tried to imagine something beyond the steel bars and unforgiving stone, "Picture this," he murmured, his voice carrying a warmth that chased away the cell's chill. "The two of us, out on the open road. We'll take my car and drive until the sun starts to set. You and I, sitting on the hood, nothing but open skies around us. I'll have my arms wrapped around you, and we'll watch the colours change." 

Vivienne closed her eyes, letting his words wash over her, painting an image so vivid she could almost feel the warmth of the setting sun on her skin. The stale, sterile smell of the cells faded as she imagined the fresh, crisp scent of open air, the touch of his arm around her...

Her voice softened, "Someday, right?"

Enzo's smile grew, weary yet hopeful, "Someday, my love," he promised.

Taking a deep breath, Vivienne dropped to the cold floor of her cell, stretching her arm out between the bars, reaching for the glint of metal just out of reach. The wooden bullet Aaron had dropped while loading his gun earlier lay mocking her from the ground, so close yet so agonisingly far. She strained, fingertips grazing it, until finally, she felt it shift toward her. With one last effort, she caught hold of the bullet, letting out a sharp, triumphant breath as she pulled it back.

Quickly, she slid the bullet into the keyhole of the gate's lock, gripping the chunk of rock with fierce determination. She raised her arm and smashed the rock down on the bullet. The impact caused a small, explosive burst, the force vibrating through her hand and up her arm.

Vivienne staggered back and tried the gate, yanking it with all her strength. Nothing. Her frustration boiled over as she pounded the metal with her fists.

"Come on!" she spat, teeth clenched. "You son of a bitch!"

She shook the gate, her fingers slipping on the blood from her knuckles. With a final, furious kick, the lock gave a reluctant groan and popped open. She stared in shock, then let out a breathless, exhilarated laugh, instinctively turning to the cell beside her with a wide grin, but all happiness dropped from her face when she saw no one staring back at her. 

***

The sound of Katherine's footsteps echoed as she strode down the hallway, slipping her dark hair under the brim of a baseball cap. She made her way toward the exit. But just as she reached the door, it swung open, and there, blocking her path, stood Vivienne Salvatore, looking worse for wear. Her usually polished appearance was gone, replaced by a disheveled, drained look, with streaks of dried blood trailing down her neck.

Katherine paused, folding her arms and looking Vivienne up and down with a mixture of shock and disdain, "Vivienne!" she drawled. "My least favorite Salvatore. What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with Klaus, plotting how to take down Jane-Anne Deveraux over a couple of Bloody Marys?" She smirked, eyes narrowing as she added, "You look like hell, by the way."

Vivienne managed a sarcastic smile, though exhaustion was etched into every line of her face, "You don't look much better," she shot back.

The two women regarded each other with narrowed eyes, both unwilling to let the other see any sign of weakness. After a tense beat, Vivienne broke the silence.

"Damon's not around by any chance?" she asked, glancing past Katherine and into the house.

Katherine shrugged, feigning indifference, "I haven't seen him," she replied. "Not that I've been looking."

Vivienne sighed and raised her voice, calling up the grand staircase, "Stef, you awake?"

Katherine's lips curled into a smirk, "You know, he hasn't seen him either," she said slyly, leaning in. "I know because we were together all night."

Vivienne's expression twisted in disgust, "Look, I've had a really crappy couple of days, okay? If you're implying what I think you're implying—"

Katherine cut her off, "Why? What were you thinking?" She adopted a melodramatic pose, pressing a hand to her chest, "That our hot, naked bodies collided in one unforgettable night of passion?"

Vivienne's face contorted as she held back a gag, "I'm going to puke all over your face," she said flatly.

"Ew!" Katherine grimaced, recoiling. "Well, in that case, I'm getting out of here."

"Great choice." Vivienne gave her a mocking wave, "Toodles."

With a roll of her eyes, Katherine swept out the door, making sure to shut it firmly behind her, leaving Vivienne alone in the mansion's dim, empty silence. 

"I really hate that bitch," both women muttered to themselves in unison, before they both walked away from the door. 

***

Damon lay sprawled on the cold metal surface of a gurney, his vision blurry as he blinked awake. His whole body felt drained, heavy, a raw ache seeping into his bones. Weakly, he turned his head, catching sight of a bag full of blood hanging from an IV stand beside him, the thin tube connected to his arm.

Overhead, sterile lamps casted a harsh light across the room, illuminating walls that closed in like a cage. His gaze drifted toward the far end, where a narrow staircase led upward. For a moment, he saw a flash—like an old, faded memory surfacing against his will.

A small girl's scream echoed in his mind, piercing and desperate, filling the space. He blinked, confused, as a vision sharpened before him: a needle syringe clattered down the stairs, bouncing down each step, trailing a haunting cry, "Help me!" the voice echoed, as if pleading from a distant, painful past.

"Subject 83182 appears conscious," came an impassive voice, snapping Damon out of the vision.

Damon's eyes focused with difficulty on Dr. Wes Maxfield, who stood nearby, clipboard in hand, his expression as detached as if he were inspecting a lab specimen rather than a living, breathing being.

"Where am I?" Damon croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes darted around, taking in the large dialysis machine humming ominously nearby, its tubes and wires creating a web of unknown horrors. A chill crept up his spine as he tugged against the restraints, his movements sluggish and weak.

"What is that thing?" he demanded, panic lacing his tone as he tugged harder, feeling no give. "What are you doing to me?"

Wes glanced down, a slight smirk ghosting across his face, but he said nothing directly to Damon. Instead, he addressed his clipboard in clinical detachment, "Subject 83182: resume prep for blood dialysis."

Damon struggled, his breaths coming faster as Wes leaned over him, fitting a cold mask over his mouth and nose. The smell of chemicals filled Damon's senses as he tried to shake it off.

"Count from ten," Wes instructed coldly, ignoring Damon's defiant glare. "Nine...eight...seven...six..."

Damon's vision began to swim, darkness edging in, his body succumbing to the forced sedation. The last thing he heard was Wes's voice, counting down, before the shadows pulled him under, leaving him utterly alone in the cold, eerie silence.

***

Stefan blinked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he registered the figure standing at the foot of his bed. He could hardly believe it was her—Vivienne, his little sister, looking as fierce as ever, her face set with determination. He hadn't seen her in months, not since she'd moved to New Orleans and vowed never to return. Yet here she was, in his bedroom, looking as if she'd stormed her way through hell to get here.

"Vivienne? What are you doing here?" he stammered, still groggy.

She cut him off mid-sentence, "We don't have time for reunions," she snapped. "Let's go. Get up. Damon's been kidnapped."

Stefan jolted fully awake, shock and worry flooding his face, "What?!" He immediately swung his legs out of bed, reaching for his phone on the nightstand, his fingers already dialing a number.

"What are you doing?" Vivienne's voice was sharp, her gaze narrowing as she watched him.

"Calling Elena," he replied, the phone at his ear.

Vivienne rolled her eyes, swiping the phone from his hand and tossing it over her shoulder. The phone clattered to the floor, and Stefan gave her an incredulous look, "We don't need her," she said firmly, crossing her arms.

"Viv," Stefan began, sighing. "I know you're still mad at her for the whole Kol thing—"

"The whole 'Kol thing'?" Vivienne scoffed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "She murdered my best friend, Stefan. I can't forgive something like that, unlike you." Her eyes were steely, a pointed jab at Stefan's own history of forgiveness.

Stefan sighed, his face softening, "She's still Damon's girlfriend. She has a right to know."

"She'll know—once we find him," Vivienne replied, her tone unyielding. "What's she gonna do anyway? Panic? I already know who has him."

Stefan's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, "Who?"

"It's a long story," Vivienne said briskly, tossing him a set of clothes she'd grabbed from his dresser. "I'll tell you on the way. Now, hurry up. Let's go."

As Stefan pulled on his clothes, he felt a mixture of relief and unease. He'd missed his sister more than she'd ever know, but the fire in her eyes told him she was far from the girl he'd known when they were kids was slipping further and further away, and he didn't know how to stop her from slipping into the darkness completely. 

***

VIVIENNE'S OUTFIT 

Aaron Whitmore sat on an old leather couch inside the Whitmore campus lounge, his focus entirely on the notebook in his lap. Headphones covered his ears, shutting out the world as he scribbled away, lost in his own thoughts. The only thing that broke the silence was the scratch of his pen and the low hum of music filling his ears. That peace shattered abruptly as he felt a sudden tug on his left ear, his headphone sliding off.

He looked up, startled, his heart leaping into his throat. Sitting next to him, with a casual smirk and an unsettling glint in her eye, was Vivienne Salvatore. The sight of her filled him with a deep, paralysing dread.

"Pop quiz," she said, voice soft but laced with dark amusement. "So, your brother is taken by a mad scientist. Now, do you: A, forget it, 'cause you at least still have one; B, call the police; or C, kill someone close to the mad scientist?"

Aaron's eyes widened, terror flashing across his face. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to run. He shot to his feet, adrenaline urging him to flee.

But he didn't make it far. Stefan Salvatore stepped into his path, blocking his way with an imposing presence, a look of warning in his gaze, "Sit," Stefan commanded. 

Aaron froze, glancing back at Vivienne, who was still lounging on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, looking utterly unbothered by his panic. She patted the seat beside her, a mocking invitation for him to sit back down. Reluctantly, he lowered himself onto the couch, his gaze darting between the two Salvatores, each as dangerous as the other in their own way.

Vivienne's smirk softened just a touch, but her eyes were still sharp as they bore into him. She leaned closer, her voice a venomous whisper, "So, Aaron, which would you pick?"

*** 

Damon's mind was still foggy, every muscle in his body protesting against the restraints, but his eyes never left the IV bag. Blood, he could smell it in the air, thick and metallic. A strange sense of dread washed over him as he tried to focus, fighting against the haze that clung to him like a second skin.

"4.1 pints drained," Dr. Maxfield muttered to himself, checking the bag with a clinical detachment as he made a note in his ledger. The cold, calculating look on his face made Damon's stomach churn. The man was playing a twisted game, and Damon was his unwilling pawn.

Wes didn't seem to care about the state Damon was in. He moved toward him, flashing a tiny light in his eyes as if Damon were just another specimen. Damon felt his body twitch slightly, trying to move, trying to wake up, but everything felt so heavy.

"83182 still shows signs of consciousness," Wes observed, his voice as lifeless as ever. "Note that 59 years ago, subject 21051 faded into unconsciousness after losing 2.9 pints."

Damon's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline fueling the faintest bit of clarity. He could feel the dialysis machine sucking his life out, his blood literally draining from his body. He tensed against the restraints, every inch of him wanting to tear free, but his limbs felt like lead.

"Evolution or luck?" Wes mused as he stared down at him, stepping away from the bed. "Mystery for another day."

Damon's chest heaved with every breath as he finally found his voice, weak but defiant, "What are you doing to me? What are these tubes? Let me go!" His voice cracked, a mix of rage and panic.

Wes didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved to a nearby table, picking up a journal and began scribbling more notes, completely ignoring Damon's desperate plea, "Relax. I plan to once I'm through with you." 

Damon felt his pulse spike. His mind scrambled for answers, "My brother is going to find me," he said, his words gaining strength despite the fog clouding his thoughts.

Wes chuckled darkly, turning to face him, his expression one of pure disdain, "Your heroic vampire brother?" He walked over to the machine and punched a few buttons, the machinery humming ominously. "Did you know Aaron Whitmore spent his entire life thinking his family was haunted by some death curse?" Wes raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing the moment. "Turns out that curse was your sister systematically killing every member of his family tree. I'm curious, Damon...How does one justify that in their mind?"

Damon clenched his jaw, trying to stay calm, "Well, seeing as his family tortured her for five years, I say it's pretty justified. But what about you? Holding people against their will, torturing them? How do you justify that?"

Wes' smile was cold, calculating, "Science," he replied simply, as though that were the only justification he needed.

He then opened a journal and began reading aloud in a mechanical, almost bored tone, "June 25, 1953. Incredible findings today. After enduring three thousand volts of electricity, the subject continues to have a heartbeat. June 26. More success. Subject was exposed to four thousand volts today. Seizing continues after electrocution. Flesh remains hot to the touch."

Damon's stomach twisted with disgust, "You're more of a monster than I am," he spat, his voice hoarse, raw from the effort.

Wes glanced up from his notes, unfazed, "Oh, this isn't my journal, Damon," he said, flipping it toward him. "These are the handwritten medical findings of Dr. Whitmore."

Damon's eyes widened as he glanced down at the journal, "What?" His pulse quickened. The pieces of the puzzle snapped into place, but the revelation didn't make him feel any better.

Wes' voice was soft now, almost triumphant, "That's right. The man who tortured your beloved sister. Everything I'm doing to you, she experienced too."

Damon's blood ran cold as the words sank in. His mind swirled with horror.

The image of Vivienne suffering under Whitmore's twisted hands flooded his mind, and it only made the bile rise in his throat. She had gone through this too. She had suffered like this.

Damon tried to steady his breathing, but it was impossible. Every inch of his being wanted to tear free, to make Wes pay, but all he could do was lay there, helpless, as the machine hummed steadily, draining him further with each passing second. 

***

Vivienne sat on the couch next to Aaron, her posture casual but her expression one of quiet determination. She flicked a glance at Stefan, who was perched in a nearby armchair, his gaze fixed on Aaron with a mixture of suspicion and frustration. The air was thick with tension, and Vivienne could feel it creeping under her skin as she waited for Aaron to speak.

Aaron, however, seemed lost in thought, his eyes darting around the room, "I have no idea where Wes took him," he finally admitted, frustration evident in his voice.

Stefan leaned forward slightly, his jaw tight as he mulled over the information, "Well, they're not at his lab, so where else could he hide a vampire?" he asked, his words clipped, an undercurrent of concern slipping into his tone.

Aaron turned to Stefan, raising an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, "Sorry," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "Am I supposed to know who you are?"

Vivienne let out a dry chuckle from beside him, "That's my brother, Stefan," she said, her voice laced with dark humour. "But I'd watch your tone with him, because he's kind of in the midst of a psychotic break."

Stefan froze, narrowing his eyes as he processed her words, "I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with confusion. "I'm what?"

Vivienne's gaze flicked over to Stefan, a smirk playing at her lips, "You're one step closer to the loony bin, brother," she teased, her words biting but playful.

Stefan scoffed, rolling his eyes, "And you're one to talk," he shot back, the tension between them palpable.

Vivienne turned toward him, her expression sharp, "At least I never screwed Katherine Pierce," she shot back with a sarcastic smirk. 

Stefan's face hardened, "No, you just screwed a homicidal maniac," he retorted, his words sharper than intended.

Vivienne gasped in mock offense, "That was one time," she said, raising her hands in defence. "And we were both very drunk. It had been a while for him, okay? I was helping a friend out."

Stefan chuckled, a low sound that didn't quite reach his eyes, "And I'm the crazy one," he muttered, shaking his head.

Zanadew Lounge 

2011

The dimly lit bar was quiet except for the low hum of the jukebox in the corner. Vivienne sat at the counter, the top of a bourbon bottle pressed to her lips as she stared into the amber liquid, swirling it absently. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer and old wood, but her focus was elsewhere—on the chaos that was unfolding in front of her eyes. 

She didn't care. She was used to it by now, used to the violence, the bloodshed, the constant pull of chaos that always seemed to draw her in. It didn't bother her anymore. She sipped her drink, her eyes scanning the bar's walls, as if the cracked mirror above the shelves or the neon signs could somehow offer her the distraction she needed. But nothing did.

The sound of heavy footsteps reached her ears, followed by a sickening, wet sound—a muffled cry. But Vivienne didn't flinch. She knew exactly what was going on. Kol Mikaelson was in his element. 

The newly turned vampires, sired by Klaus, were being slaughtered. Kol was wreaking havoc, using their fresh immortality as a toy to break and bend. He was a whirlwind of violence, graceful and brutal, feeding off the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. It was a bloodbath, and Kol reveled in every second of it.

Kol's laugh filled the space, manic and full of energy. A blur of motion, and suddenly, he was standing next to her, his hands lifting her from her seat with little effort. His arms wrapped around her waist, and before she could even register what was happening, he spun her around the bar with reckless glee, her bourbon bottle still clutched in her hand.

Vivienne laughed, a spontaneous burst of amusement escaping her as the world spun around her. Blood was everywhere—on the floor, splattered against the walls, dripping down from the piles of bodies Kol had left behind. It was a mess, a beautiful mess, but in that moment, it didn't matter.

Kol was grinning, his eyes wild with adrenaline, "I missed this," he confessed, his voice thick with excitement. He pulled her closer, the two of them moving in a chaotic, stumbling dance. It didn't matter that the floor was slick with blood or that their feet slipped every few seconds. It was exhilarating, freeing, a fleeting moment of recklessness.

Vivienne grinned back, her heart racing, the alcohol in her system loosening her inhibitions, "Missed what?" she teased, her voice light, but there was an undeniable tension in the air between them.

Kol's fingers trailed down her spine, his breath warm on her neck as he leaned closer, "Missed you. Missed us," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. "The fun we used to have. The chaos." 

Vivienne's breath caught in her throat. She'd always had a soft spot for Kol, even when she'd tried to pretend she didn't. They'd been partners in crime once, lost in the madness of their existence. She could feel the pull, the familiar bond between them, the magnetic force that drew them together, "Kol," she breathed, her voice almost like a warning as the adrenaline kicked in. She pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze, knowing where this was heading from the close proximity of their lips. 

Kol's lips curved into a mischievous smile as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "Darling, I've been daggered for over a century, left in the dark with nothing but the memories of what I once craved. And now that I'm free, standing here with you, it's impossible to ignore the fire that's always sparked between us. You can't deny it—this chemistry, this pull we've always had. I'm not asking for forever, love. Just one night where we don't overthink, don't regret—just let ourselves feel alive again. What do you say?"

Vivienne's breath hitched as she met his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. She couldn't deny the heat between them, the sexual tension that burned too brightly to ignore. Her voice was barely above a whisper, the words laced with uncertainty but also a trace of desire, "One night," she said, her fingers brushing his chest as she took a step closer. "Just one night...but no strings. We walk away from this without anything tying us down." She hesitated, her heart pounding in her ears, but the pull of Kol was undeniable, "No regrets." 

Her eyes locked with his, a quiet surrender in her gaze, "But if we're doing this, let's do it for right—for tonight, only tonight, let's relieve some stress..." 

Without a second thought, his lips were on hers, hot and urgent. The kiss was messy, a clash of teeth and lips, but it was electric. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts—just pure need. 

The moment stretched out, everything else in the world fading away. The bodies, the blood, the madness—it all blurred into the background. The only thing that mattered was Kol's hands on her, the heat of his touch, the way his body pressed against hers.

Without thinking, they found their way to the bar. She was on top of it in seconds, his hands pulling her close, their lips never parting. The air was thick with heat and alcohol, and soon, the two of them were caught up in the rush of it all. The chemistry was undeniable, intoxicating.

But just as things were about to go too far, the sound of voices shattered the moment.

"Listen, just go one at a time, only shoot for the heart, don't hesitate, and don't miss," the unmistakable voice of her brother filled her ears. 

Which was followed by Jeremy's, "Save the teaching moment. Elena's not here. You don't have to pretend like you give a damn about me," he sussed. 

The sound of a car trunk slamming close sounded, "I'm trying to keep you alive, dumbass. Come on." 

 Vivienne froze, her heart racing in a panic, "Damon. Jeremy," she whispered, meet Kol's gaze. 

Kol pulled back, his face breaking into a wicked grin, "Well, well," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "Saved by the bell, love."

Vivienne's eyes widened, a mix of regret and frustration washing over her as she scrambled off the bar. Her heart pounded in her chest, the reality of the situation crashing back down on her.

Kol, still high on adrenaline, looked utterly unbothered, "Guess we'll have to finish this later," he said with a wink, his usual cocky self even in the face of the awkward interruption.

But Vivienne and Kol never got to finish what they started as they both quickly recognised that, despite the powerful pull they had always felt towards each other, they were better off as friends. The depth of their love and respect for one another made it clear that they valued their connection too much to risk damaging it by venturing into something that might only serve to complicate everything they had.

In the end, the realisation was simple yet profound: their love for each other was real, but it was not a love that could exist in the form of anything more. And despite their desire, preserving their friendship was the most important thing. They loved each other enough to let go, to step back, and to recognise that sometimes, the best relationships were the ones that didn't venture into romantic territory.

Vivienne quickly smoothed down her clothes, her breath still coming in short bursts as she glanced around. She wasn't sure how to feel, the thrill of the moment lingering in her veins even as the reality of their arrival hit her.

Damon and Jeremy entered, their eyes scanning the scene—the carnage, the blood. Vivienne caught Damon's gaze for just a moment, her stomach tightening as guilt flickered in her chest.

Kol put on a playful smirk and threw his arms wide, "Well, it looks like the party's over," he said, his voice loud and unapologetic. "Welcome to the after-party."

Vivienne leaned against the bar, her fingers wrapping around the bottle of bourbon as she took another sip, eyeing Kol with a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

Kol, clearly reveling in the adrenaline, wiped a streak of blood off his face, his eyes glinting with that familiar mischievous spark that Vivienne adored so much. He moved closer to Vivienne with a swagger, wrapping an arm around her, ignoring the glare Damon shot him,  before turning his attention to the new arrivals, "Sorry about the mess," he said, his voice casual, though the grin on his face didn't match the apology. "Ugh, it was a little crowded when we arrived, and we prefer more intimate gatherings. Don't we, love?" He turned to Vivienne with a suggestive wink, making her roll her eyes, knowing he was purposely stirring the pot, wanting to get a rise out of Damon. 

Damon's lip curled into a sneer as he looked from Kol to Vivienne, "Seriously, Viv? This guy?" He motioned to Kol, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Vivienne sighed deeply, the irritation bubbling in her chest, "You need to listen to him, Damon." 

Kol chuckled, brushing past Damon with a lazy grace, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He grabbed the bourbon bottle Vivienne had been nursing and took a swig, then offered it to Damon and Jeremy, "Care for a drink?" he asked, holding the bottle out to them with a mockingly polite smile.

Damon recoiled, his brow furrowing, "He's underage." He instinctively moved Jeremy behind him, standing protectively in front of the boy. "And I don't like you." His glare sharpened, "And the influence you have on my baby sister."

Kol's grin only widened, his hands held up in mock surrender, "Don't worry, mate," he said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. "You interrupted before we could finish."

And that was the last straw, Damon's patience snapped. He lunged at Kol with a growl, but Vivienne was quicker. She stepped in between them, placing her hands firmly on Damon's chest to stop him. Her eyes flashed with warning as she looked up at him. Kol just smirked smugly, leaning against the bar, "You need to listen, Damon," Vivienne said, her voice firm. "Jeremy can't complete his hunter's mark."

Damon's eyebrows furrowed, confusion mixing with irritation, "Why?"

Kol stepped forward, his smile faltering as his tone grew serious, "Because, you fools, in your zeal to find the cure, you risk waking someone very dangerous."

Damon's eyes narrowed, "Oh...You must be talking about Silas."

Kol's face shifted, the playfulness draining from his features as a flicker of fear passed through his eyes, "What do you know of him?" he demanded, his voice suddenly cold.

Damon shrugged nonchalantly, "Nothing. Don't want to. Not our problem."

Kol's expression hardened, his gaze locked on Damon's, "Isn't it?"

The tension between them grew thick, both of them locking eyes in a silent standoff, neither willing to back down.

"A few hundred years back," Kol began, his tone darker now, "I came across a group that worshipped Silas. His followers told me that he would rise again, and when he did, he would trigger the end of all time. You know, being an immortal, you can see why I'm opposed to time's ending. So, I murdered all of them." He let the words linger in the air before continuing, "And now, here you are, willing to risk raising him in your search for the cure. I can't exactly sit back and let that happen, can I?"

Damon sneered, crossing his arms in defiance, "We're not going to back off the cure because you were told one too many scary bedtime stories, you idiot."

Vivienne pushed Damon back slightly when she saw Kol's muscles tense, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Her hand went up to stop him, trying to keep the peace. She turned her attention to Jeremy, who stood quietly, his bow still clutched in his hands, "Jer," she began, her tone gentle but insistent. "You and I are friends. You're a smart kid. Kol's been alive a lot longer than anyone we know. You need to listen to him."

Vivienne and Jeremy's friendship began as a natural extension of her bond with Elena, whom Vivienne considered more like a sister than just a friend. Jeremy was Elena's little brother, and at first, Vivienne watched over him with the same protective instinct that came with being close to the Gilbert family. However, as time passed, their interactions evolved into something more meaningful.

Jeremy felt suffocated by the constant vigilance of those around him, who treated him as fragile or naive, a kid who needed to be shielded from the harsh realities of their supernatural world. But Vivienne was different. She saw him for who he was—sharp, curious, and resilient. She respected his voice and his choices, offering him the space to express himself without judgment. With Vivienne, Jeremy felt seen and valued, no longer just someone to be protected, but someone worth listening to.

Their friendship became a safe harbour for both of them. Jeremy found comfort in her presence and her understanding, while Vivienne, who had lost and suffered more than most, appreciated Jeremy's unwavering loyalty and the way he could make her laugh even on her darkest days. Their bond was layered with moments of quiet conversations, chaotic adventures, and an unspoken agreement to always be honest with each other. 

Jeremy hesitated, his eyes flicking from Kol to Vivienne. He bit his bottom lip, his grip tightening around the bow, "I trust you, Viv. I do. But it's for Elena. If there's a chance she can be human again...I have to take it. I'm sorry."

Kol's expression shifted, and he took a threatening step toward Jeremy, "Well, we tried your way, darling," he said to Vivienne. "Now, it's time for mine." A wicked grin stretched across his face as his eyes darkened. 

Vivienne's hand shot out, pushing Kol back, "No, Kol, he's my friend." 

Kol smirked and caressed Vivienne's cheek tenderly, "Don't worry, Vivi. I'm not going to kill him." His voice dropped to a whisper, "I'd have to deal with the hunter's curse. And I don't particularly feel like being haunted for the next century."

Vivienne visibly relaxed, the tension leaving her body as she gave a small, grateful smile. 

Kol grin widened, an edge of sadistic amusement creeping into his voice, "Although, I do have a better idea." He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming with wicked delight, "I'll just rip off his arms."

Vivienne's eyes widened, her hand flying out in protest, "No!"

But before she could react further, Kol lunged at Jeremy, but Damon was faster, shoving Kol into the wall and knocking him off balance. The two of them tumbled to the ground in a flurry of punches and kicks.

"Jeremy, run!" Damon shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency.

Jeremy didn't hesitate. He fled, but Damon stayed behind, continuing to fight Kol. Vivienne sighed in annoyance and moved quickly, stopping Damon's next move by catching his fist with one hand and pulling him to the floor.

Damon looked up at her, his eyes filled with disbelief and frustration, "Oh, when we get home, you are so grounded, young lady!" 

Kol vamp-sped over and pinned Damon against the wall, grinning down at him with a mocking smirk. 

Vivienne's eyes went wide, "Kol!"

He barely glanced at her, his voice casual as he looked back at Damon, "Just go after the hunter, I'll handle your brother."

Vivienne hesitated, the tension still humming in the air, "Just don't—don't hurt him."

Kol's expression softened, but only for a moment. A mischievous glint flickered in his eyes as he gave her a lazy smile, "Of course not, darling," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

But Vivienne's gaze remained intense, "Promise me, Kol."

Kol sighed, his patience clearly running thin, "All right, I promise," he said, rolling his eyes. "You have my word, no harm will come to your brother by my hands."

Vivienne smiled softly, her features relaxing as she leaned up to place a quick kiss on his cheek, "Thank you." She paused, a final glance back at Kol, before vamp-speeding out of the bar in search of Jeremy.

Kol's eyes never left her as she left, his smile twisting into something darker, "I said nothing of yours, of course," he muttered, turning his attention back to Damon, who was still pinned against the wall. "Now, let's have some fun, shall we?"

Damon's expression was pure defiance, but Kol had no intention of letting him off easy. The game was far from over.

Vivienne ignored Stefan's snarky comment and turned back to Aaron, "He is," she said, her voice matter-of-fact. "He's off his rocker, losing his mind, teetering on the brink of insanity."

Aaron, still visibly rattled by the situation, blinked at Vivienne, "How are you not dead? I shot you," he asked, his confusion giving way to disbelief.

Vivienne sighed dramatically, brushing her hair out of her face as if the question were the most mundane thing in the world, "Well..." she began, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because you went for the head. You've got to go for the heart." She smacked the back of his head lightly, her grin dark and mocking, "Go for the heart next time."

Aaron frowned, clearly not amused by her levity in the face of all that had happened.

"Now, where's Damon?" she asked, his frustration growing.

Aaron leaned back into the couch, crossing his arms with a sharp exhale, "I have no idea," he admitted with a touch of irritation. "All Wes told me was to go about my life as usual." 

"You're gonna call Wes," Vivienne said, her tone becoming icy and calculated. "And you're gonna tell him that if he doesn't give us Damon, the next experiment he'll be conducting is how to sew your arms back on. You know, like Frankenstein." Her lips curved upward into a smirk, her humour dark and twisted.

Aaron's eyes widened as he processed her words. He could tell that, despite the lighthearted banter, Vivienne wasn't joking. She was completely serious about what she was willing to do to get Damon back. The dark humour, the sharp words, they all served as a cover for the brutal resolve that was there beneath the surface.

Stefan's gaze flicked between Vivienne and Aaron, his eyes searching the room as if trying to figure out how to proceed. He looked torn, unsure of how to handle the volatile mix of emotions swirling around them. 

***

Damon blinked, his surroundings finally coming into focus. The dim light barely illuminated the rough brick walls, but as his eyes adjusted, recognition crept in. His jaw tightened, "This is the Gilbert clinic," he muttered to himself, feeling a bitter nostalgia swirl in his chest. "We're in the basement."

Dr. Wes Maxfield, who was hovering nearby with a clipboard, barely looked up, his tone matter-of-fact, "Was," he corrected with a faint sneer. "Then your lovely town council decided to torch a bunch of vampires down here. Now, it's just a condemned building in Mystic Falls, the perfect little hideaway where no one will find us."

Damon glared at the chains binding his arms and legs to the cold metal chair. He pulled hard, feeling the cuffs bite into his wrists, but the restraints didn't budge. Wes observed his struggle with a detached amusement before his phone began to ring, breaking the silence. He stepped away, giving Damon a brief, scrutinising glance, before turning and heading upstairs. Damon heard the door creak open, followed by muffled footsteps.

As Wes exited, his gaze lingered momentarily on the tarnished brass sign on the office door. 'Dr. Grayson Gilbert, M.D.' He stepped out and answered the call, "Aaron, hey."

On the other end, Aaron's voice was fraught with fear, "Do you have Damon?"

Wes stiffened, "Aaron, what's wrong?"

"Stefan and Vivienne Salvatore are gonna kill me unless you give them Damon."

Wes' expression shifted, irritation flickering in his eyes, "Vivienne Salvatore is locked in an impenetrable, inescapable, fortified cell," he responded coldly, his confidence sharp as steel.

Aaron's dry laugh came through the line, laced with panic, "Or she's right in front of me, imagining what my kidney would taste like."

The colour drained from Wes' face as he realised just how wrong he'd been about his security measures. Clenching his jaw, he inhaled sharply, "Fine. Meet me in my classroom. Once I see that you're safe, tell them I'll give them Damon."

Aaron hung up abruptly, leaving Wes with only his racing thoughts. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he took a steadying breath and descended the staircase to the basement once more.

At the end of the hall, he pushed open a door, revealing a familiar figure strapped to a gurney—Enzo. Tubes and wires extended from his body, trailing back to an IV bag dripping an unknown substance. Enzo's head lolled to one side, his eyelids fluttering weakly.

Wes approached, yanking the IV out with a practiced efficiency, and watched as Enzo stirred, "Enzo..." Wes tapped a syringe against his gloved hand. "Wake up." He jabbed the needle into Enzo's arm, injecting the liquid slowly. "Do you want to go back out into civilisation?" he asked, voice smooth, almost mocking.

Enzo's eyes snapped open, dark with a blend of anger and exhaustion. His voice was barely a whisper, "What...what's that?"

Wes' mouth curled into a dark smile, "You know the drill, it's my little insurance policy that guarantees me you'll come back." He patted Enzo's shoulder with a mocking familiarity, reaching down to a small case at his feet and extracting a few blood bags. He held one up, letting the crimson liquid slosh inside the plastic, "It's about time you and your precious dandelion reunite, don't you think?" 

The sight of the blood stirred something primal in Enzo. He stared, eyes hungry, as Wes set the bags beside him. And though he was weakened, his lips curled into a wicked smirk.

***

Stefan and Vivienne walked side by side, trailing just a few paces behind Aaron as he led them across the campus grounds. The air was crisp, filled with the subtle murmurs of students in the distance, oblivious to the strange encounter taking place. Stefan glanced at Vivienne, his expression unreadable, but his curiosity gnawed at him.

"So, you want to give me a little backstory as to how you two know each other?" he asked, his tone casual but edged with suspicion.

Vivienne didn't miss a beat, "Aaron is Aaron Whitmore," she said, her voice flat. "And he comes from a very long line of vampire-probing, blood-testing, organ-removing freaks called Augustine."

Stefan raised an eyebrow, "How do you know this?"

A flicker of something dark crossed her face, "Because I was their test subject in the '50s."

Stefan stopped dead in his tracks, blinking as if he hadn't heard her right, "What do you mean, test subject?"

Vivienne's gaze drifted, her expression hardening, "Meaning I donated my body to science," she said with a bitter laugh. "Except I was alive, and it was against my will."

A pang of shock and anger hit Stefan, and he instinctively reached out, grabbing her arm and stopping her mid-stride, "Wait, hold on a minute." He searched her face, his voice a mix of disbelief and frustration, "How do I not know about this?"

Vivienne's eyes softened briefly, "It's fine, Stef. Nothing to feel guilty about." She shrugged off his grip, continuing in a low voice as she glanced away, "We weren't exactly talking back then...not after you scolded me for feeding on the wounded. Besides, it wasn't anything different than I was used to."

Before he could respond, she started walking again, leaving Stefan standing there, still grappling with her words. 

Ahead of them, Aaron turned, throwing a resentful look back at Vivienne, "Why don't you finish the rest of the story, Vivienne?" he challenged.

Stefan's face hardened instantly and glared at Aaron, "I don't recall saying that you could talk." He turned to Vivienne, raising a eyebrow, "Did I say he could talk?"

She smirked, her eyes glinting with a hint of mischief, "I believe you did." 

Stefan grinned, taking a step closer to Aaron, "Didn't think so."

They resumed their walk, the silence hanging thick with tension, a quiet but unspoken threat settling over the three of them. 

***

The dim light flickered in the cold, sterile basement, casting shadows over Damon as he lay strapped to the gurney, his wrists and ankles restrained. He clenched his jaw, tugging slightly against the bindings, the heavy silence pressing in around him. He glanced up, eyes narrowing at the staircase across the room, leading up to the main floor. The old wooden steps were chipped and worn. 

As he stared at the staircase, the present began to fade. The shadows of the basement shifted, and the room blurred, colours fading into muted, ghostly tones. He could almost feel the distant chill of another time creeping in, hear faint echoes of past voices.

A voice drifted through his mind—a young, panicked cry, desperate and pleading. Damon closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was no longer strapped to the gurney. Instead, he was standing at the foot of the staircase, his younger self, helpless, watching two men drag a struggling girl toward the door.

The basement around him shifted, and he was back in the hallway of his family's home, the air thick with memories and regret, as twelve-year-old Vivienne's terrified screams pierced the air, pleading with him to help her. Damon's breath caught in his throat, his body rooted in place as the echoes of her cries and the helplessness of that day crashed over him once again, pulling him back into a memory he had tried to bury deep.

Salvatore House 

1860

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Salvatore estate, spilling through the windows in fractured patterns. Twelve-year-old Vivienne struggled against the men who gripped her arms tightly, her small frame no match for their strength. She kicked and twisted, her tear-streaked face red with desperation as she cried out, "Damon! Damon, please! Help me!"

Damon stood nearby, his hands clenched into tight fists, a torn expression on his face. The sound of his sister's screams clawed at him, leaving marks he couldn't ignore. He took a small, uncertain step toward her, his instinct to protect her tugging him forward. But before he could act, his father placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Stand down, Damon," his father ordered, his voice cold and final. "This is for her own good. She needs help."

Damon swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Vivienne. She was talking about ghosts, spirits she claimed to see, and their father, with his rigid ideas of normalcy, was convinced she was mad. Damon's mind raced, torn between his duty to obey and the knot of dread building in his stomach.

Vivienne's pleading eyes locked onto his, her voice cracking, "Please! Damon! Don't let them take me!"

His chest tightened painfully, his hand twitching at his side, but he remained rooted to the spot, his father's grip a silent, unbreakable command. Maybe his father was right; maybe this was best for her. But as he watched her continue to fight, something deep down whispered that they were making a terrible mistake.

Vivienne's struggles only intensified, her body twisting as she kicked out in every direction, frantic, desperate, "Please!" she screamed, her voice raw, the sound tearing through the air, feeling like a dagger to the heart for Damon. 

One of the men grunted, his grip faltering as she clawed at his arm, "Enough of this," he muttered. And with a swift motion, he withdrew a syringe and, with practiced efficiency, jabbed it into her arm.

"No!" Vivienne shrieked, her voice fading as the sedative took effect, her kicks slowing, her eyes growing heavy as her body sagged in their arms. A last, faint whimper escaped her lips, "Damon..."

Damon took a shuddering breath, watching helplessly as his sister went limp, her small form slumping between the two men who dragged her out the front door.

As the door closed behind them, the house fell into a heavy silence. Damon stood there, frozen, his father's hand finally dropping from his shoulder. But the damage was done. Damon knew he'd never be able to unsee the image of his sister's tear-streaked face, or unhear her desperate cries echoing in his mind, leaving a hollow ache that would haunt him for decades to come.

Damon jolted awake, the vivid images of his sister's desperate face dissolving back into the stark, sterile basement. He was still strapped down, trapped in the reality of Wes' twisted laboratory. Across the room, Wes moved with chilling calmness, attaching an empty IV bag to the stand beside him, his back turned as he set up whatever sadistic experiment was next.

Damon's voice broke the silence, strained and laced with fresh anger, "I saw Enzo when I woke up. I know he's alive. And I know he's your little bitch. Where is he?"

Wes paused, slowly turning to face him, a cold smirk creeping onto his face, "Why do you care?"

Damon gave a bitter chuckle, "I don't," he sneered. "But my sister does."

Wes's smirk only grew wider, a glint of twisted satisfaction in his eyes, "Well, don't worry," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "She'll be reunited with her true love real soon."

The words hit Damon like a punch, his casual façade faltering as panic crept into his eyes. He tried to sit up, struggling against his restraints, his voice rising with mounting desperation, "What did you do?" He jerked his arms, muscles straining against the leather bindings. "What did you do? What did you do?!"

The metal of the gurney creaked under his efforts, but the restraints held firm. Wes only watched him with amusement, taking sick pleasure in Damon's growing distress.

Damon's mind raced, a fresh wave of dread filling his chest. Vivienne's face flashed before him again, young and terrified, and now she was in danger. Because he let himself be taken, and left her alone in the crossfire—once again, he isn't there to protect her. 

Wes' voice broke through his thoughts, "Relax, Damon. I'm sure they'll work through their issues." He tilted his head, studying Damon with scientific detachment. "After all, love is a powerful motivator. And they..." he leaned in close. "...they just made it way too easy for me."

Damon thrashed again, his frustration morphing into pure rage, but Wes simply stepped back, preparing the IV as though nothing could disturb his calm. The hollow feeling in Damon's chest intensified, a mix of fury and fear clawing at him. 

***

The hallway outside Wes' classroom was eerily quiet as Aaron, Stefan, and Vivienne approached the door. Aaron reached for the handle, his fingers trembling slightly, and opened it, stepping inside. Stefan and Vivienne followed him cautiously, their eyes scanning the room.

It was empty, or so it seemed at first—until they noticed a figure lounging in the back, his feet propped casually against the back of the chair in front of him. He lifted his head, eyes gleaming with a dark amusement as he spotted them.

"Dandelion!" he greeted with mock warmth, spreading his hands wide. His gaze held a familiar mischief, though tempered now with something sharper, something darker.

Vivienne's breath caught, "Enzo?" she whispered, her voice shaky. She couldn't move, frozen in place as tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision.

Enzo rose smoothly, his eyes never leaving her as he took a step forward, "It's been a while, gorgeous," he murmured, a sardonic smile playing at his lips.

Stefan's eyebrows furrowed as he watched the exchange, glancing between Vivienne and the stranger, "Who the hell are you?"

The man smirked, turning his attention to Stefan, "Lorenzo, but my friends call me Enzo." He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping him, "Ah. Kidding. I don't have any friends." His gaze flicked meaningfully back to Vivienne, his eyes narrowing.

He extended his hand to Stefan, who merely stared at it, refusing the gesture. Enzo withdrew his hand with a scoff, clearly unbothered, his focus returning to Vivienne.

"Enzo's...another Augustine vampire," Vivienne explained, her voice unsteady. "Our cells were next to each other." She struggled to find the words, still trying to comprehend the impossibility of him standing there. "How are you even—?" She trailed off, unable to complete the thought.

"Still alive after you left me to burn alive?" he finished for her, his voice low and dripping with barely contained resentment. His words hung heavy in the air, cutting into her like a blade. Vivienne's face fell, the colour draining from her cheeks.

Aaron shifted uncomfortably, his confusion growing by the second, "Uh, does somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

Enzo's face twisted into a wicked grin as he gestured toward the classroom chairs, "I'd love to," he replied, his voice laced with dark amusement. "Have a seat. Been waiting seventy years to tell my story."

He perched himself onto the teacher's desk, his stance casual, yet his expression told a different story—a mix of bitterness, pain, and years of unresolved anger. Stefan and Aaron exchanged glances, uncertain, but they sat, warily taking their seats. Vivienne lowered herself slowly, her gaze fixed on Enzo, still disbelieving yet helplessly drawn to him.

As they settled, Enzo's eyes swept over them with satisfaction. It was clear he'd been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. 

***

The cold hum of the dialysis machine faded as Wes flipped the switch, silencing the mechanical whir. Damon lay strapped to the gurney, glaring as Wes approached, methodically removing the IV needle from his arm. 

Damon's voice was tight, anger lacing his words, "Enzo is the Augustine vampire," he realised, his eyes narrowing. "He killed that girl, Megan, didn't he?"

Wes didn't respond immediately, instead choosing to walk over to another table, "Conserve your energy," he replied, his tone indifferent. "I've drained enough blood to start phase two."

Damon let out a hollow laugh, his defiance intact despite his weakened state, "Let me guess. You're not gonna tell me what phase two is, are you?"

Wes glanced over, a cold, calculated gleam in his eye, "If it works," he said with a smug grin. "You'll be the first one to know." He turned, retrieving a small, smoking  box from a nearby table, bringing it closer to Damon.

The box seemed to radiate cold, wisps of vapor spilling over its edges as if dry ice lined the bottom. Wes opened it with an almost reverent touch, pulling out a small vial filled with a dark, viscous substance. He carefully added a few drops onto the dialysis machine, watching as they mixed with Damon's blood.

"Megan liked to put her nose where it didn't belong," Wes continued, his voice impassive.

"She found Enzo in his cell."

Wes nodded, not looking up from his work, "And being clueless to what a starving vampire will do around fresh human blood, I'm guessing she got too close." Just then, his phone rang, breaking the silence. Wes answered it, his voice curt, "Aaron?"

Stefan's voice crackled through the receiver, "Where's my brother?"

Wes' eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes darted toward Damon, "Who's this?" he asked, clearly thrown by the unexpected caller.

"We have Aaron," Stefan replied, his tone dark. "And we're trying to decide how to kill him."

A twisted smile appeared on Wes' face, barely masking his irritation, "Funny," he countered, casting a taunting glance at Damon. "I have Damon, and I'm wondering how he'll function without his cerebral cortex. Touch Aaron, and you'll never see your brother again."

Stefan's voice grew steely, laced with a dangerous edge, "That threat works both ways."

As the call cut off, Wes pocketed his phone, his expression unreadable but clearly unsettled. Damon smirked, despite the agony coursing through his body, sensing a rare crack in Wes' composure, "Looks like you're not as untouchable as you thought, Doc," he sneered.

Wes ignored him, moving back to the dialysis machine, "It doesn't matter," he muttered under his breath, but Damon could see the tension in his shoulders. Whatever 'phase two' was, Wes was committed—and nothing would stop him from seeing it through.

***

The atmosphere in the classroom was tense, a palpable charge in the air as Enzo sat at the front, a cold gleam of mischief in his eyes. He looked at Vivienne, the corners of his mouth twisting into a mocking smile.

"Viv and I had been locked in those cells for years," he began, his voice steady and sharp, with an edge of bitterness that was hard to ignore. "Tortured, beaten, humiliated. But we weren't going to let them break us. No." He paused, locking eyes with her, a hint of sarcasm coating his words. "We decided if we were going to escape, we needed to work together." He put particular emphasis on the word, 'together', making Vivienne flinch ever so slightly.

Stefan entered, breaking the silence. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze fell on Vivienne as he delivered the news, "He's not sending him."

"Tragic," Enzo drawled, barely looking in Stefan's way. "Can I continue my story now?" 

Vivienne ignored him, speaking quickly to Stefan, "Doesn't he know we have Aaron?"

"He doesn't care," Stefan replied, his jaw clenched. "He's willing to risk it."

Aaron looked between them, the tension obvious on his face, "What?! Let me talk to him! He'll listen to me."

Enzo's smile twisted, irritation flashing in his eyes. 

"What part of 'he doesn't care' are you not registering?" Vivienne's tone was cold, cutting Aaron off. 

Suddenly, Enzo grabbed a classroom chair, yanking it from the floor and hurling it out the window. The glass shattered with a deafening crash, shards scattering like stars across the room, stunning everyone into silence, "Now, where were we?" he asked, a menacing calm settling over him. "Ah, right. I was telling my story, and you were all politely listening." He took his place at the front, his gaze hardening as he looked at Vivienne, "So, I'd given Viv all of my blood rations, so she'd have the strength to escape—and save me in the process." He lingered on the words, letting them hang in the air. "Our plan began perfectly, didn't it, love?"

Vivienne looked away, guilt flickering across her face as she met his gaze, avoiding the weight of his words.

"I was waiting in the cage," Enzo continued, his voice quieter now, but the hurt unmistakable. "Waiting for my girl, my cellmate, the only soul I'd connected with in all those years of captivity." Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, they looked at each other with something almost akin to longing, a shared history that was as haunting as it was painful.

"But then," Enzo's voice dropped, raw with barely-concealed rage. "A fire starts, burns out of control. And Viv just can't get the damn cage open." His eyes darkened, as he just addressed Vivienne now, fury twisting his features,  "Then you look me in the eye like you don't even recognise me. You turned around, and saved herself, leaving me to burn, isn't that right, love?" 

Stefan's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned to Vivienne. 

"Oh, don't look at me with those judgy little eyes, Stef," she snapped, her voice defensive. "You can't talk, Mr. Ripper of Monterey."

Stefan turned his gaze back to Enzo, ignoring her jab, "Well, you didn't die, obviously."

"No," Enzo replied bitterly. "Unfortunately, I lived. One of the scientists spared me, so I could spend another fifty years on a table, being opened and closed." He let out a mirthless laugh, the cruelty of it cutting through the tension in the room, "Now that we're all acquainted, I'm going to find something to wet my whistle." He turned and walked out the door, leaving the others in stunned silence.

Stefan turned to Vivienne, "You didn't tell me about him."

Vivienne's eyes were glassy, emotions she didn't want to share flickering behind them. She swallowed hard, "Because he doesn't matter." She quickly changed the subject, her voice brittle, "Do you want to kill Aaron, or should I?"

Stefan watched her closely, concern etched in his expression, "You don't expect me to believe that, do you? This guy was your cellmate for five years, you left him to die, and now he's back. And what, you couldn't care less?" 

She froze, the hint of something vulnerable in her eyes, "Fine," she said, forcing herself to sound cold. "I'll kill him then." She moved toward Aaron, her movements sharp, determined.

But Stefan's next words stopped her in her tracks, "You loved him, didn't you?"

Vivienne's face remained turned away, but her shoulders tensed, "Even if I did, it doesn't matter now. He hates me. Let's just get our brother back."

Aaron, wide-eyed with fear, backed away as Vivienne closed in on him, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on," he stammered, desperation colouring his words. "Wes gave me a bunch of files on my family history. They're in my dorm, okay? Maybe there's something in there you need, a name, I mean, another lab."

Vivienne's eyes narrowed, "That's a timely revelation."

Aaron gulped, stepping back further, "Yeah. Well, you know, he's not going to help me. Why should I help him?"

Vivienne smirked, advancing on him mockingly, "I don't like you. You shot me in the head! And if you're lying to me..." She raised his hands, miming the motion of gouging out eyes. "...I'm going to take my thumbs and gouge out your sad little eyes from your sad little head!"

Just then, Enzo reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in each hand, "Ah," he announced with a mischievous grin. "It's frightening what you can find on campus these days." He took a long drink, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

Stefan looked at him, unimpressed, "Knock yourself out. We're going with Plan B."

Enzo tilted his head, raising a eyebrow at Vivienne, "Viv's not. Viv's staying right here. She knows all my secrets," he smirked, his tone laced with a silent challenge. "So, she knows how ornery I can get when I don't get my way."

Stefan shot his sister a worried look. He didn't want to leave her alone with Enzo. 

"I'll be fine, Stef," she assured him quietly. "Call me if you find anything. Kill him if you don't."

Stefan gave a reluctant nod, casting one last wary glance at Enzo, before turning to Aaron, "Let's go."

With that, Stefan led a nervous Aaron out of the room, leaving Vivienne and Enzo alone in the unsettling silence that lingered after their departure.

***

Enzo stood by the window, his gaze distant as he tipped back a shot of liquor, the amber liquid catching the dim light, "What about cricket?" he asked casually, as though they were simply catching up. "That ever become a thing here?"

Vivienne crossed her arms, eyes steady on him, "No."

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, "Oh, shame. Fun sport. Not that I can play. Took up drawing for a while. Of course, I had no pencil," he continued, pouring himself another drink. "So, I'd just prick my finger and paint the cell wall with my blood."

Vivienne stiffened, his words hitting like a slap to the face, "What do you want, Enzo?" Her voice wavered, but she steadied herself, holding his gaze. "You want me to feel guilty? I couldn't save you." Her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes.

Just then, Enzo let out a grunt, doubling over slightly and grabbing the table for support.

Alarmed, Vivienne rushed forward, steadying him with her hands. "Enzo, what's wrong? What's happening to you?" 

Through gritted teeth, he choked out, "Wes injected me with a poison that will stop my heart. I'll desiccate if I don't return for the antidote."

Her face fell, a spark of desperation igniting in her eyes, "Then tell me where he is. You get the antidote, I'll save my brother, and we'll kill Wes together."

He straightened up, shoving her hands off him. There was bitterness, a cruel glint in his eyes as he stepped closer, cupping her face with his hand, thumb brushing her cheek in a gesture that might have once been tender, "Did you even think about it after you left? The experiments, the cell..." His voice softened, but the accusation remained, "Me? Or did you just go out and live your merry life?"

Vivienne held his gaze, her hands trembling as she cupped his face, mirroring his grip, "Look at me," she whispered. "If you go back, I go back too. We finish this together. Just tell me where Wes is keeping Damon. Please, Enzo."

They stood like that, foreheads resting on one another as if caught in a moment of forgotten love, of unspoken words and haunted memories. 

Then, Enzo's hand wrapped around her neck, his tone chilling as he spoke, "You're not gonna see your brother again," he hissed. "Because I want the antidote, and Wes told me not to come back until you were dead."

Without warning, he threw her out the window using his vampire strength. Glass shattered, the world spinning before she landed with a sickening thud on the hood of a car. 

Enzo stormed out of the building and over to Vivienne, fighting against the effects of the poison, "I imagine you just broke your clavicle. Probably a few lumbar and thoracic vertebrae," he snarled, rage and bitterness fueling his words. "It's funny what you learn about your body when it's taken apart like a bloody automobile!"

Stunned, but healing quickly. Groaning, Vivienne forced herself to her feet, raising her hands in a placating gesture, the desperation visible in her expression, "I don't want to hurt you, Enzo."

In response, he slapped her hard across the face, making her head whip to the side, "What are you gonna do then, run?" he spat. "You're good at that."

He went to strike her again, but she caught his hand mid-swing, the snap of his bones loud as she crushed his fingers in her grip, "I'm trying to help you, you bloody idiot!" she shouted, throwing him back with supernatural force. He rolled across the grass, but still managed to rise, staggering toward her.

"I don't want your help!" he bellowed, eyes blazing with fury. "You know what I was doing, while you were out running wild? I was thinking about you...about how I'd take pleasure in killing you!"

With a snarl, he lunged, his hand wrapping around her throat. But mid-grapple, he froze, his skin paling as he began to desiccate. His strength faltered, and Vivienne caught him, her arms encircling him as he slumped, his body slowly shriveling.

"Enzo!" She cupped his face, tears flowing freely. "Look at me. Hey!" She lightly slapped his cheek.

He struggled to stay conscious, glaring up at her through pain-clouded eyes, "Bloody poison!"

"Enzo, please!" she begged, panic lacing her voice. "Tell me where he is." 

Enzo's voice was barely a rasp, "Or what?" His lips twisted into a bitter, almost haunting smile. "You never see him again? Maybe it's time for you to know what it's like to miss someone so deeply that it claws at your sanity. To ache with every heartbeat, knowing that the one person you trusted left you for dead."

With that, he went limp in her arms, the light in his eyes fading as he succumbed to the poison, desiccating entirely. Vivienne clung to him, a agonising cry escaping her lips as her hands shook, clutching the remnants of the man she'd once loved, her heart breaking all over again.

***

The door to Aaron's dorm room swung open, and Stefan stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room, before settling on Aaron, who went to rummaging through the clutter under his bed.

"All the files of my family history are in here," Aaron muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He crouched down, his fingers brushing against a stack of papers, sorting through them with haste. 

Stefan leaned against the doorframe, his impatience barely masked, "Hurry up."

Aaron nodded without looking up. He yanked a file from the bottom of the stack, glancing over it quickly, before tossing it aside. There was a sudden shift in the room as Aaron's hands went lower, his fingers curling around something cold and metallic.

He pulled a gun from under the bed, the black barrel glinting under the dim light of the room. His finger wrapped around the trigger, and he stood up, quickly turning toward Stefan with the gun aimed directly at him.

But before Aaron could even react, Stefan was behind him. One moment, the space between them was clear, and the next, Stefan was there—his super-speed a blur of motion. He shoved Aaron roughly against the wall, his grip tight around Aaron's wrist, forcing him to drop the gun with a clatter. Stefan's other hand shot out, grabbing Aaron by the neck, his fingers tightening with a threatening finality.

Stefan's voice was low, dangerous, "Was this all a lie, huh? If you want me to kill you, I will kill you. Do not test me."

Aaron struggled for air, the pressure around his throat making it nearly impossible to speak. But he managed to rasp out a few words, his voice hoarse and broken, "Do it. I'm dead already. Vivienne's been planning my death since before I was born."

Stefan's grip tightened even more, the pressure making Aaron's vision blur, "What are you talking about?" Stefan's eyes narrowed, but there was something else—something flickering in his expression, a hint of confusion.

Aaron fought for air, his body trembling against the wall. His heart pounded in his ears as he gasped for breath, "Vivienne left out the best part of the Augustine story," he choked out, each word a struggle. "The part after she escaped."

For two more seconds, Stefan didn't let go. His eyes remained locked on Aaron, searching for the truth in his words. Finally, with a frustrated growl, Stefan released him, stepping back to give Aaron space. The air in the room felt heavier now, thick with tension. Aaron stumbled forward slightly, coughing violently as he rubbed his sore neck.

"Talk," Stefan demanded, his voice sharp, but with a reluctant curiosity.

Aaron's breath came in shallow gasps as he steadied himself, "It wasn't enough for Vivienne to kill the doctors who tortured her. She had to torture their families...and their future families. She spent the last sixty years killing every one of my relatives." He paused, his eyes hardening with bitterness, "Except she's a psychopath. She leaves one alive so that they can continue the family line...so that she can destroy future generations of innocent people. So, go ahead. Do it. Kill me. I don't want to give Vivienne the satisfaction. So, do it." He closed his eyes, preparing for the end. "Do it!"

Stefan stood still for a moment, processing Aaron's words. He could feel the weight of Aaron's pain, the rawness in his voice. His eyes softened, and he took a step forward, lowering his tone, "My sister's life hasn't been easy," he began, his voice gentle but steady. "And I'm not here to excuse what she's done...but you should know, she didn't used to be like that." He looked at Aaron, a faraway look in his eyes as he remembered the girl Vivienne once was, "When we were young, she was the sweetest soul you could imagine—kind, curious, always wanting to help others. She was the one who could make anyone smile, even on their worst day. She saw the good in everyone."

Stefan's gaze hardened slightly, a flicker of something dark crossing his expression, "But life...it can change you. When you lose someone you love, it twists that kindness, warps it into something dark. And it makes you do things you'd once never have believed yourself capable of." He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as he turned toward the door, "She's not a monster—not really. Just a person trying to survive her pain...even if it means doing things she once would've hated herself for."

He started walking toward the door, his fingers brushing against the handle. Just as he was about to leave, Aaron's voice rang out, breaking the silence, "Stefan?"

Stefan paused, glancing over his shoulder. Aaron was already pulling more files and papers from under the bed, his movements frantic but focused. His fingers trembled as he held out a stack of documents to Stefan.

"This is everything Wes gave me on Augustine," Aaron said, his voice low, almost apologetic. "Maybe it will help."

Stefan turned around, his eyes scanning the files as he crossed the room. Without a word, he grabbed the stack from Aaron's hands, before leaving. 

***

Damon's breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. The cold metal of the gurney pressed uncomfortably against his back, and the tight leather straps dug into his wrists and ankles, holding him in place as though he was some kind of experiment. His gaze shifted slowly from the sterile, blindingly white ceiling to the set of stairs that led up into the darkness of the upper floors. The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed in his ears, a monotonous sound that only served to amplify the silence around him. 

His eyes drifted back to the stairs again, the darkness at the top almost mocking him. And just like that, a old memory came back to him.

Psychiatric Facility 

1860

The heavy iron door creaked open with a soft groan as Damon stepped inside, his eyes scanning the sterile, gray walls of the mental institution. The air smelled of antiseptic, the silence broken only by the occasional shuffle of footsteps or distant murmurs. His heart beat a little faster in his chest as he made his way down the hallway, the sound of his shoes echoing against the cold tiled floor. 

Vivienne's room was at the end of the hall, tucked away in a corner where the light was dim and the air felt even heavier. Damon's hand hovered over the doorknob, his fingers tense as he wondered what he would find this time. Would she be calm? Or would the familiar hysteria be in her eyes again? He swallowed hard and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Vivienne sat on the edge of her bed, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes lifted when she heard him enter, and a flicker of recognition passed over her face.

"Damon," she whispered, her voice fragile, almost as if she was afraid speaking too loudly would shatter the moment. She stood up, her face pale and thin, as if the walls of this place had been slowly eating away at her, "I knew you would come."

Damon didn't answer right away, his eyes scanning her face. She looked so different now—broken in ways that only time and the cold, clinical treatment of this place could manage. He hated seeing her like this, but what else could he do? He walked towards her slowly, his steps hesitant, as if unsure of how to approach the sister he once knew so well.

"How are you, Viv?" Damon finally asked, his voice sounding too stiff for his own liking.

Vivienne gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile, but her eyes—those blue eyes that used to sparkle with mischief—were clouded with fear and confusion, "The nurses say I'm all better now," she replied softly, but there was a tremor in her voice. "And I'll stay better as long as I take my medicine."

Damon didn't know how to respond. He wanted to tell her everything would be fine, that this was just a phase. But he knew better. Vivienne's episodes were never just a phase.

She stepped forward, her hands shaking slightly as she reached for him, her eyes wide and earnest, "Damon, I need you to believe me. There are ghosts, I swear it. I see them all the time..." he paused, her voice hitching in her throat. "...Even here. I see their faces, hear their voices. They're trapped here, just like me. They can't leave, and neither can I. You have to believe me. I have to get out of here, Day. It's much." 

Damon's heart sank. He knew this was coming. The delusions. The hallucinations. They'd been a part of her for so long now, and he hated them. He hated seeing her like this. The last thing he wanted was for her to drag him into her madness. He took a sharp breath, trying to steady himself, "Vivienne, stop!" he snapped, his voice much harsher than he intended. "Stop talking about that. You're not well, and we've been through this before." His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration bubbling over, "Ghosts aren't real, and you know that."

But Vivienne didn't hear him. Her eyes filled with tears, the fragile composure she had left crumbling away. She stepped back, her hands trembling as they fell to her sides, "But I see them, Damon," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I hear them, every night. They're real, I swear. Please believe me."

A pang of guilt stabbed through Damon's chest, and before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, his arms wrapping around her tightly, pulling her to him. He could feel the trembling of her small frame, the ragged sobs escaping her throat as she clung to him for comfort. The suddenness of her breakdown caught him off guard, and for a moment, he could do nothing but hold her, his mind racing with the chaos of the situation, "Shh..." he soothed, his voice softer now, more protective. He could feel her body shaking in his arms, and the weight of her pain pressed down on him. He pulled her closer, pressing his cheek to her hair as she cried, "Vivi, stop," he whispered, his voice low, almost pleading. "Stop talking like that. If Father hears you talking like that...if he finds out...he'll lock you up for good. I don't want that. Stefan doesn't want that. We don't want to lose you."

Vivienne's sobs quieted, but she still clung to him, her fingers digging into his shirt, "I can't help it, Day," she whispered through her tears. "I can't stop seeing them. I can't stop hearing them. They want me to help them. They're calling me."

Damon closed his eyes, his breath coming in shallow bursts. He didn't know what to say anymore. There was nothing to say. He pulled back slightly, holding her at arm's length, his eyes filled with a helplessness, "I know you're scared," he said quietly, his voice rough. "I know this is hard for you, but you have to listen to me. You have to stay calm. You have to get better. For yourself."

Vivienne's eyes searched his face, her gaze desperate, "But what if they come for me again? What if I'm never free of them?"

Damon sighed, his thumb brushing across her cheek as he wiped away a stray tear, "You will be. I promise. No one is ever going to take you away from me ever again." He held her close, his arms tight around her as he whispered, "I won't let them hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you." 

For a long time, neither of them spoke. Damon simply held his sister, trying to reassure both of them with the only thing he had left to give: his presence. He couldn't make her see the truth. He couldn't make her understand that the ghosts weren't real. But he could promise her that he'd never leave her alone.

Damon's body jerked slightly as he was snapped back into the present. The feeling of the straps on his limbs brought him back to the cold, sterile reality. His heart beating faster now, the pulse of fear and adrenaline pushing through his veins. His eyes flicked once more to the stairs, wondering if he could escape whatever twisted fate had him bound to this place.

His breath quickened, his mind reeling. The memory of Vivienne's haunted eyes and their father's cold indifference still fresh in his mind, and for the briefest of moments, he wondered if this was just another step toward the darkness that had been following them their entire lives.

And as the memories continued to pull at his mind, he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't let it end here.

Not like this.

Suddenly, he became aware of footsteps coming from above. They were steady and purposeful, each step drawing closer with a quiet resolve.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, and for a moment, Damon's heart skipped, unsure if this was another hallucination or a cruel trick of his mind.

"Damon."

The familiar voice pulled him from his fog. His eyes, half-lidded from exhaustion, widened as he saw Stefan standing there, his expression fierce yet calm. 

"Stefan..." Damon managed to rasp, disbelief flickering across his face. Relief washed over him, though he wasn't sure if this was real or if he'd slipped further into madness.

Stefan quickly stepped into the room, surveying the straps binding Damon to the gurney, "I got here as soon as I could. Wes is...well, he's not going to be a problem for a while," he said with a hint of grim satisfaction.

With deft hands, Stefan began undoing the straps, loosening each one with practiced efficiency. Damon's body sagged as the restraints fell away, his wrists and ankles sore and red. Once freed, Stefan looped Damon's arm over his shoulder, lifting him up as carefully as he could.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," Stefan muttered, his grip steadying his brother, guiding him toward the door. Damon's legs wobbled beneath him, but with Stefan's support, he found his footing, each step taking them further from the cold, clinical nightmare he'd just endured.

They made their way down the corridor, the oppressive walls and buzzing lights fading into a blur as Damon leaned heavily on Stefan, "Stefan..." Damon's voice was strained, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.

"Don't talk," Stefan murmured, his gaze focused ahead. "Just focus on moving. We're almost out."

The brothers made it up the stairs, Stefan navigating them quickly, stepping over Wes' unconscious body at the top of the stairs. The emergency exit loomed ahead, its glow casting a cold light over them as they finally burst out into the night. Damon inhaled the cool air, feeling the tension in his chest begin to ease.

Stefan eased him down onto a bench by the parking lot, letting Damon rest for a moment. The quiet night air wrapped around them, grounding Damon back to reality.

Stefan's hand rested firmly on Damon's shoulder, "You're safe now," he said, his voice softer, steady. Damon glanced up at him, gratitude and something deeper passing between them.

"Thanks, brother," Damon murmured. 

Stefan gave him a faint smile, squeezing his shoulder, "Always."

***

Enzo's eyes flickered open, the blinding overhead lights bringing the sterile surroundings into sharp focus. He blinked, his senses sharpening slowly, taking in the clinical coldness of Wes' lab. His throat felt dry, his mind clouded from the poison. 

Then he noticed her.

Vivienne was beside him, her face streaked with fresh tears, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening. She looked relieved, as if she'd been waiting on a miracle, "Hey," she breathed out in relief. "You're awake," she croaked, a small, tremulous smile breaking through the rawness on her face. Her hand gently reached out, caressing his cheek with the lightest touch.

Enzo flinched, immediately sitting up and pulling away. He swung his legs over the side of the gurney and stood, his gaze cold, stepping out of her reach, "What did you do now?" His voice was sharp, laced with accusation.

Vivienne rose to her feet, moving toward a cluttered table filled with glass vials, "I...I injected you with a bunch of these that said 'antidote,'" she said, her voice shaking slightly as she glanced at him. "And thankfully, one of them worked."

Enzo's jaw clenched as he watched her. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, "If this is some attempt to make amends, it's a bit pathetic, love."

She met his gaze, "I'm not trying to make amends, Enzo," she replied quietly. "You have every right to hate me. And if you want to kill me...go ahead. I deserve it."

Her voice cracked, but she steadied herself, looking at him with a resolve that masked her trembling hands, "But let me at least answer your question first...No, I didn't think about you after I left. I didn't feel guilty either." Her gaze hardened, her hands clenching by her sides. "Because in order to save myself, to leave you behind, I had to shut off my humanity—something I swore I'd never do."

Enzo's eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists at his sides, but he remained silent, letting her continue, "I flipped the switch," she murmured, her voice hollow. "And after that, I felt nothing. No remorse, no regret, no pain. I didn't...I didn't love you anymore."

The weight of her confession hung between them, heavy and suffocating. Enzo's expression twisted with bitterness, but beneath that, something else flickered—an old hurt that refused to die as he stepped forward and cupped her face with both hands, caressing her cheek with his thumb, "And now?" His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Now what do you feel? Remorse, regret, pain...love? Even if I forgave you, Dandelion..." His hands dropped from her face as his eyes bored into hers with disdain. "...Would that make you any less of a horrible person?"

Vivienne shook her head, her own tears blurring her vision as she held his gaze, "No. It wouldn't." 

They stood inches apart, each mirroring the other's anguish, the rawness of their shared history painfully exposed. Tears slipped down Enzo's face, though he barely seemed to notice. Vivienne, too, was crumbling, the weight of betrayal and heartbreak breaking through her practiced walls.

Enzo looked at her, his expression darkening as he took in the sight of her, "You were the most important person in my life," he said, his voice trembling with anger and grief. "And you ruined me. But that's just who you are, Vivienne. That's who you'll always be—a monster."

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway until the sound faded into silence.

Vivienne watched him go, her own strength unraveling. She sank to her knees, the emptiness in her chest swallowing her whole as her sobs filled the hollow room. She pressed her hands to her face, feeling every sharp, jagged piece of her broken heart.

Augustine Cells

1956

The air was thick with the smell of rust and cold stone, but in that small corner of the world, behind the iron bars of two adjacent cells, Vivienne and Enzo existed in their own bubble.

They sat across from each other, staring at the ground, the constant low hum of the building pressing against their ears. Time had long since lost meaning for them. There was only the pulse of their connection, the bond that kept them tethered through the darkness.

Enzo's hand moved slowly through the bars, the familiar sound of his breathing steady, measured. He didn't say anything at first, just let his fingers graze the cold metal as if testing the distance between them. Then, ever so gently, Vivienne's hand stretched out toward his. Their fingers brushed once, the briefest contact sent a spark through them both. 

Without saying a word, they linked their fingers through the bars, the sensation of touch the only comfort they had in this bleak place.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that—fingers intertwined, gliding slowly over each other, taking in the simple, intimate contact they hadn't had in far too long.

Vivienne leaned her forehead against the cold bars, her voice barely a whisper, "I wish we could stay like this forever...You know, minus the torture." 

Enzo shifted, his breath catching for a split second before he responded, "We'd run out of things to talk about." There was a softness in his voice that didn't match the harshness of the bars around them.

She chuckled quietly, a sound that felt foreign in the hollow air, "I don't think that's possible with you."

Enzo's eyes narrowed as he lifted up her hand to his mouth and bit her hand playfully, before he started to place gentle kisses on her knuckles. His thumb brushing lightly over the top of her hand, a simple, soothing motion, "I don't think I've ever wanted anything as badly as I want to hold you without these damn bars in the way."

Vivienne smiled, "Maybe that's the point," she said softly. "The way these bars feel, the way you can't touch me all the way...kiss me. Maybe that makes this more real. More meaningful."

Enzo tilted his head, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips, "I don't need meaning, love. I just need you."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, the words a mixture of both aching truth and raw desire. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the moment of connection, "I'm not going anywhere, baby. Not even these bars can keep me away from you."

His fingers tightened around hers, the grip a promise, a silent vow between them that transcended the cell, the walls, and the prison that kept them apart. His eyes softened as he looked at Vivienne, and reached out with his other hand, brushing a stray lock of hair from her cheek, and with a voice as tender as she had ever heard, he said, "I never believed in fate until I met you. Every moment, every heartbeat, it all led me here. To you. I love you, Vivienne Salvatore. More than I ever thought I could love anyone."

Vivienne felt her chest tighten at his words. For so long there was so much unspoken between them, so much chemistry in the way their hands fit perfectly together. The world outside didn't matter. Dr. Whitmore, the experiments, the suffering—they didn't matter in these moments, these brief touches that spoke volumes.

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she let out a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "I must be mad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "We're trapped in this hell, surrounded by pain and darkness, and somehow...I found you." Her fingers dancing against his, the motion slow and deliberate. "I love you too. It's crazy and impossible, but in all this madness, you're the only thing that makes sense."

They remained like that for a long time. And for now, they had each other, and that simple, beautiful touch was enough.

Suddenly, a presence shifted beside her. She looked up to see Kol standing nearby, his expression softening as he took in her tear-streaked face. He was a ghostly figure, a soul trapped on the other side, unable to touch her but somehow still there.

"Vivi," he murmured, his voice gentle. "Don't listen to that bastard," he hissed, his eyes softening as he tried to meet her gaze, her body shaking with silent sobs. Kol knelt beside her, his hand hovering as if he could caress her cheek, offering her a quiet warmth, a sense of comfort, "Monsters are creatures born from darkness, devoid of love, incapable of redemption. But you, darling? You have more light in you than you'll ever realize. You've fought, you've survived, and yes, you've made mistakes—but that doesn't make you a monster. It makes you human. And trust me, love, the world is far more terrifying without souls like yours in it."

A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes, but she managed to nod, feeling the comfort in his words despite the distance between them. 

"I wish...I wish I could make all your pain go away," he said softly, regret woven into his tone. "You don't deserve any of it." 

She looked up at him, the smallest, saddest of smiles on her face, "Just...just stay with me a little longer," she whispered, her voice breaking.

And he did, watching over her as she wept, a silent anchor for her in her darkest hour, just like he always was. 

French Quarter 

1901

The streets of New Orleans were alive with music and laughter, the intoxicating blend of jazz and revelry drifting through the air. It was 1901, a time when the city pulsed with an energy that seemed to beckon the supernatural, daring them to join in on the chaos. Kol Mikaelson leaned against a shadowed archway, watching the crowd with a smirk playing at his lips. The world might have changed since the last time he was undaggered, but there was always something eternal about the thrill of the hunt and the games of the night.

Then he saw her.

Amid the swaying bodies, she moved like a ghost—her beauty sharp, haunted. She wasn't dancing or laughing like the others. No, she was different. There was an ache in her eyes that Kol recognised, a torment that resonated within him. She was radiant and broken, and it was that juxtaposition that hooked him, like a moth to flame. 

Vivienne Salvatore. 

He watched as she stepped into a quiet alley, her hands shaking as she tried to wipe blood from the corner of her mouth, panic in every hurried motion. She was fresh, still fighting against the very nature that had claimed her. Before she could catch her breath, Kol was there, appearing like a wraith with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes.

"Struggling, darling?" he drawled, voice low and teasing, but with a hint of something deeper.

Vivienne jumped, spinning around with wide eyes, the raw instinct to fight or flee flashing across her features. But Kol held up his hands, a gesture of peace wrapped in a cheeky smirk.

"I'm not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite, in fact," he said, stepping closer, his gaze never wavering. "I know what you're feeling—this war inside you, tearing at your soul. You think you're losing yourself, don't you?"

Her expression shifted, defiance wrestling with vulnerability, "I won't become a monster," she whispered, almost to herself.

Kol chuckled softly, a sound that was both mocking and sympathetic, "Oh, love, you're no monster. But if you keep fighting what you are, you'll become a shadow of yourself, and that's a fate far worse."

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. The touch was gentle, uncharacteristic of the notorious Mikaelson, "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dropping to a tender rasp. "There's power in what we are, beauty in the darkness. You can either let it devour you, or you can revel in it."

Vivienne stared at him, searching for deception, but found none. The madness in his eyes mirrored the tumult in her own heart, and for the first time in what felt like eternity, she didn't feel so alone.

***

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