Boop

Damon Salvatore stood silently as he scanned the forest outside of Mystic Falls. A quiet, heavy fog rolled in, wrapping through the density of trees, the fog bearing down around the little town like an anchor, inescapable and foreboding. He chuckled softly to himself, bemused at the endless duplication of his circumstances: Here he was again trying to fix someone else’s shit--even if it was family--when his own shit piled up elsewhere. A problem for future him. Mystic Falls was the last place he wanted to end up, but there he was chasing his younger brother Stefan through Virginia. 

Stefan Salvatore was on another ripper rage and damn if he could only ignore the trail of blood and tears his baby bro left behind. Stefan was drawing way too much attention to himself, too. The last thing Damon needed was a meddling Original interceding. Worse, Damon wasn’t looking forward to Stefan's despairing, his self-flagellation, and his own poor attempts at mending his baby brother when the regret rolled in. The faster Stefan turned his humanity back on, the better.

Damon quieted his thoughts. He was listening for Stefan, for his footfalls on the ground, the light snap of twig and leaf, for the imperceptible snicker of his smile, laughter. He waited for his scent. A soft breeze touched his face and hair. He smelled what he was waiting for--Stefan, his sweat and soap. But there was something else, too. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. The wind carried the faint whistle of a song and a trace of popcorn and briny iron, of blood.

“Got you, little brother,” Damon said. In a flash he zipped through the forest, rattling the falling leaves, until he stood about ten feet from Stefan.

The veins around Stefan’s eyes pulsed and bulged red. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Will you just get over it already,” Damon said. He wanted to ease Stefan back into his humanity but didn’t know how. He wasn’t good with pain and feelings and all the human-y crap; his humanity was always on as was his brutality. The irony of his brother’s current state wasn’t lost on him. “What happened … it wasn’t your fault.

Stefan guffawed. “Is that the best you can do, big brother? ‘It wasn’t your fault’. Damon, Damon, Damon, tend to your own problems and leave me to mine.”

The thick, low fog crept in further around them and the smell of popcorn grew stronger. A chorus of laughter and applause pulsated distantly, coming closer and closer. Not too far from them was a bustling carnival that seemed to appear out-of-nowhere. The Salvatore brothers locked glares, each knowing what the other was thinking, 

“Stefan,” Damon said slowly. He took a stance, ready to charge after his brother. “Aw, man. Don’t do this.”

Stefan smirked. “Lighten up, brother. Let’s have some fun.” He paused for a moment and then darted into the carnival, grabbing a woman in a mask and disappearing into the crowd.

“Damn it,” Damon said. Sighing, “You’ll be a sopping hot mess later.”

Damon ran off after Stefan. He found Stefan and the woman hidden and stopped outside the back of a red and white carnival tent. The woman was giddy and drunk. She giggled annoyingly unaware of the fate handed to her. Stefan’s eyes darkened, the veins around his eyes bulged. His lips curled in a devilish smile. He covered the woman’s mouth and then bit into the woman’s neck. Her muffled scream was lost in the sea of noises around them. Damon waited for the woman to die before grappling him. She fell from Stefan’s grip, lifeless, her frightened expression frozen on her face. 

“You’ll thank me for this later.” Damon took out a syringe from his back pocket, wolfsbane mixed with a sedative. He was about to inject his brother when Stefan began to cough.

“What’s happening?” Stefan choked on the words.

The woman began to rise from the ground. Her once frightened face was like stone. Her giggle gave way to a raucous laughter before subsiding to eerie silence.

“What the hell?” Damon said. 

Stefan’s face changed instantly. His face contorted with grief. “Damon?” Anguished, he dropped to his knees. The woman’s blood dripped from his mouth. 

“Your humanity?” Damon asked. 

Stefan nodded.

Stefan’s humanity had been turned on somehow. Damon guessed the woman had something to do with it. She took off her mask, her face a mixture of sorrow and vengeance. She looked familiar to him, and he noticed Stefan recognizing her, too.

“You,” Stefan said. 

Damon remembered the same time as Stefan did. “Didn’t you die in Mckinley?”