An Extended Affair, a vampire diaries fanfic

Title: An Extended Affair
Author: Silvia Kundera
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Pairing: Klaus/Stefan
Warnings: none
Summary: In which Damon doesn't do nostalgia. Or kittens. And Stefan gets an unexpected second chance at love, in a very unexpected manner. [Goes AU during 3.04 but includes spoilers through 3.09]

There was a time when his baby brother, fat fingered and flush cheeked, would bring him wounded rabbits and crows to nurse back to health.

But Damon didn't really do nostalgia. So when he opened the door one fine Friday evening to Stefan with an armful of hissing calico kitten, he naturally slammed it shut and swiped open his phone.

"Did your dog take a chunk out of one of my invaluable limbs again and everyone forgot to tell me?"

"Ever notice that you never say 'hi'? It's never hello, Caroline, how have you been adjusting at home? Hello, Caroline, I thought I'd ask nicely before ordering you to risk life and limb to spy on someone totally horrible. Why hello, Caroline, just wanted to say thanks for convincing your mom not to behead me in my sleep."

"That's because I don't actually care about any of those things," he replied reasonably.

And politely waited for her to sputter out, "No one bit you, Damon, god," before sailing the phone across the carpet to chime against his glass of bourbon.

He really was making progress.

"It is true that my hallucinations tend to be a lot more interesting," Damon mused as he reopened the door. "If you are Stefan, a query: would admitting all your woodland creatures went right into Cook's crockpot have made you end up more or less schizo?"

A few insistent pokes, and an attempt from the kitten at slicing open his jugular, and they called Caroline and Bonnie and Alaric and Liz and Jeremy and Elena- who stormed over to greet Stefan with a very familiar face slap. And then there was the obligatory chest beating and crying and blah blah blah I was used to you being the wind beneath my wings, the reason our love could fly, and we were so worried about you, and how could you kill Damon's girlfriend, when she was so nice and made the best strawberry margaritas

"She liked you too," Damon assured her, stepping smoothly back from the assault. "Always started suggesting a threeway every time she got tipsy."

Stefan favored him a look-which was entirely unfair, since they were talking about his dead fake girlfriend and Damon had heard all about that month in 1975. (The vampire gossip vine never dies. Literally.)

Though it quickly shifted into 'Er, about that' Face as Elena pulled the kitten into her arms and rubbed her cheek into its purring belly.

"Hello precious, and what's your name?"

Because these are just the sort of things that happen his brother, apparently when he'd gone to visit Gloria (the most flexible, patient, and charming witch that Damon had ever met) it had taken approximately three hours before he was being carved up like a Thanksgiving turkey and Katherine had to pop in to save her damsel in distress.

And then of course he did an impossibly shitty job at covering up anything, proving himself to be both dumb and untrustworthy. And while Klaus should have been sensibly considering which leg to saw off first, Gloria's moldering corpse shambled into the room, pointed at Stefan, and would have blasted him with unholy light if that deranged Original hadn't dove forward and shielded him with his freaky hybrid killing machine body.

It was really that last part that Damon kept coming back to.

"Long story," Stefan said, swiftly collecting the demon spawn back and curled against his chest.

Damon raised a skeptical glass. (and then since it was already up there all close to his mouth and everything, downed it) "So you never slept with him?"

Stefan's jaw did that repressed clenchy thing.

"Sounds pretty short to me."

After Elena pried Stefan off his neck, it turned out that apparently they couldn't use even this golden opportunity to solve the aforementioned freaky hybrid killing machine problem, because the idea gave Elena feelings -

("I assume you've already tried drowning him in a river."
"We don't even know if he remembers what he's done," Elena said, biting her lip. "And. He's a kitten.")

- and there was also this other non-hybrid ruthless Original problem child named Rebecca who used to love doggy style and killing hot blondes indiscriminately. (Sure, Stefan didn't offer the positional tidbit. But Damon had run into enough of his exes over the years to fill in that particular blank himself.)

Thus despite the fact that little bro's furry boy toy could change back at any moment and slaughter them before they had a chance to blink - when Damon came to think of it, this truly was a terrible idea. And since those were his very favorite kind, he only had one real ground rule.

"As glad as I am that your weak protestations and gratuitous martyring are at an end – I'll have you know, I don't do litter boxes."

"That's what Rebecca said," Stefan said, looking put upon and downtrodden.

So everything really was back to normal.

Though there was that other thing:

"She wanted to turn him into a cat?" Alaric demanded.

"We're talking zombie-risen witch running on lingering magic and divine vengeance. Translation error?"

"Right."

"And obviously he'd come back here, because I am nothing if not calm and reasonable in the face of crisis."

"Right. He's gotta be hiding something," Alaric said, eying the weapon trunk.

He was going to mention how that was supposed to be Alaric's cue to say 'don't be ridiculous Damon, you always come through. also, you are my personal hero', with a whimsical little voice and everything, but Alaric was already pawing through his trove, elbowing past crossbows and muttering to himself.

"You know, one of these days I'm going to develop feelings and then you're going to really hurt them."

"I can dream," Alaric sighed, strapping on a wrist guard.

Five weeks passed during which Mystic Dry Cleaner had a three-for-one sale, Jeremy began talking to thin air, and no one seemed to find it at all strange that Stefan was now constantly accompanied by a manic depressive pet. A pet that loved to strut ahead of Stefan as they walked, preened greedily at the slightest praise, and coincidentally scurried under the nearest couch, bush, or table whenever Bonnie neared.

("I'm starting to believe this is an elaborate practical joke."
"There is a cat," Jeremy informed her seriously. "I've nearly lost a finger at least twice."
"And it's totally in love with Stefan, you have no idea," Caroline added. "..what?")

But there didn't actually appear to be any secret conspiracy nor an army of witches and/or enslaved hybrids out to get them. Just a one-woman army of cooing eighteen year old vampire, showing up more and more frequently to dangle string for "Nik" to jump after, introduce him to Gossip Girl, and pour saucers of blood laced milk.

Damon mostly just dodged attempts at his designer shirt and tilted his head in bewilderment.

Which generally lead to Stefan patting him on the back in a way that said you will never understand women as well as me, plus they just consistently like me better.

Damon could swear he used to smirk less.

Of course, revenge was had when Little Gilbert popped up a bit unexpectedly and certain beans had to be spilled.

"You're going to tell everyone it's about me being a pussy, aren't you?" Stefan said, resigned.

"Don't be ridiculous, I'm not going to start a witchhunt for us in our own town."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "But a few decades from now."

"Definitely."

Sometimes it was like he didn't realize what brothers were for.

Immortal vampire kittens must retain certain supersensory advantages, because it was Klaus who tipped them off to Vicky's eminent attack. He'd been twitchy all day and just when Vicky lit the match and jammed Elena's bedroom door (a bedroom that now smelled strongly of gasoline and the faintest whiff of cheap beer and repressed envy), Klaus skittered into Damon's room and turned in anxious circles.

To which, admittedly, he responded, "What's that Lassie? Timmy's down a well? Aaaaaaaaaaah my fucking leg."

But then they got that all straightened out, and Matt said that he was very sorry and clearly it was this Original Witch who had poisoned Vicky's ghostly mind into thinking she had to murder Elena (since lots and lots of drugs no longer applied).

At which point Klaus' tail stood straight up and he halted his nuzzling of Stefan neck to leap off his shoulder and scramble into Elena's lap with almost desperately affectionate licks at her fingers.

"He was worried about me," Elena exclaimed, helpless in the face of tiny feline ardor.

"Aw, don't be jealous," Damon told Stefan, "History says you have a good chance for at least three near death experiences within the next few weeks."

"Maybe he did it all for love," Elena mused hopefully the next afternoon, as Klaus playfully stalked a swallowtail butterfly across the back lawn.

He was, to be honest, a rather endearing sight - bounding over dandelions, tail twitching merrily - until he caught it between both paws and began pulling off wings with his teeth as his prey struggled and screeched.

"or not," Elena said, looking queasy.

Perhaps to keep his killing prowess at its peak (or because he just enjoyed the shrill screams of the innocent), Klaus began with strategic ambush attacks against wasps, beetles, brightly colored moths, and (inexplicably) Mrs. Simmon's prize geraniums but quickly graduated to bringing his brother the still twitching, bleeding carcasses of rabbits, foxes, bobcats, the occasional owl, and - just once - an American bald eagle.

"I'd tell you not to encourage him," Damon remarked as Stefan sunk his teeth into a possum while Klaus used tiny scarlet dipped claws to climb up into his lap, lapping at the excess dribbling down the side of his throat and purring with self-satisfaction. "But I'm really looking forward to the day he drags a cocktail waitress through the town and into our living room."

"Not that this would be impressive or in any way a good idea," Elena said loudly.

"She's jok-is she joking?" Alaric looked pained.

"Aren't we late for some extra-spirit-y school event or human buffet dress-up party?" Damon threw rousing arms around their shoulders and pressed the Johnny Walker Blue into Ric's chest. "Who wants to watch our Tyler send another quarterback to the emergency room? Go Timberwolves!"

"You know," Damon finally ventured, after watching Elena and Stefan dance around each other awkwardly all morning as they discussed whether they should move the body of that broken spine girl (there was some deep forest, midnight scavenger hunt being organized) (well, no one had died in three weeks, the Council probably wasn't feeling very useful). "I would have thought, big reunion! Love conquers all!"

Elena's face did interesting things and then settled into nonchalance. "We've both changed from time apart," she hedged. "We don't want to jump into things."

"Plus!" Caroline popped her head into the doorway to interject, "psycho kitty tries to sever your tendons the moment you get within a foot of broody Salvatore goodness."

"Caroline," Elena yelped, palms cupped pointlessly around Klaus' smug little face.

Caroline huffed. "What? It's not like I haven't heard your drama-rama before. I visit this house. I have ears!"

Elena looked over silken, adorably spotted fur with wide just-admit-you're-a-slave-to-my-diabetes-inducing-sweetness-already eyes.

"Fine. Sanity challenged."

But Caroline was not wrong. Kitty Klaus was surprisingly creative in his methods of monopolizing any conversation or hair sculpting expert, regardless of his slight 4 lb frame and inability to talk. He'd also tear a hole in your fine leather shoe if you dared to change the channel from any movie set during the roaring twenties. Plus, Stefan had seemed to develop some sort of sign language so that they could still conduct impassioned arguments that blocked hallway traffic and felt personal enough that a man might sense he'd been intruding.

When even the thought that it could possibly matter if Damon intruded on anything left him feeling as if he was just not living up to his best self.

This made them rather imperfect house guests, up to and including what had befallen his rugs.

Which wasn't to say that Stefan's return was not greatly appreciated when a motley gang of newborn vamps decided to come sightsee, both times Mrs. Wilson tried to grope Damon across barstools, and that time Klaus disappeared for a weekend, Elena mysteriously sliced herself sleepwalking, and Barbie's boyfriend just got up again after diving headfirst off the clock tower.

But never so much as the night that scrawny werewolf stumbled in sickly, on the verge of change, and panted, "You have been marked. In the name of Mason Lockwood."

In all honesty, Damon might have been more help if he could stop cackling, but: "Seriously? What is it with that guy? He was a surfer. From Florida. And that was like 6 months ago."

Of course Elena tried to step in with Conciliatory Face and Stefan snapped, "Shut up Damon", but it was the outside of enough.

"No, really. I need to know. Was he like the Justin Bieber of werewolves? Do you have a TigerBeat? Is it called WolfBeat? Did he have foldout posters?"

And then scrawny turned into, well, a wolf, which was just a very inconvenient thing for pretty much every inhabitant of the house and resulted in an inordinate amount of running. During which Damon probably should have regretted the excessive taunting, except he totally didn't.

Especially since it only survived approximately four more minutes as Klaus began to shiver and shudder and suddenly increased twenty sizes into something with bigger teeth, a thicker pelt, and very sharp claws.

"Hey, who knew? He's still a werewolf!" Damon observed happily.

Stefan trotted down the staircase for a better view. "That does explain how he caught me that antelope."

"So that was the deal with the zoo break-in."

"Uh," Tyler called, fist tapping against the open door. "I know this is weird, okay, but I've been having the strangest urge to bring you guys catnip."

In The name of Mason Lockwood was too busy screaming to respond.

After that Stefan stopped hiding his pouring over of journals and the grimoires that had been wrested from under Bonnie's narrowed eyes with solemn promises.

They'd find him curled over the pages come daybreak with Klaus standing guard or tucked in against the inside of his elbow. Then Elena would smile like they were the cutest fucking thing (which was still actually Damon himself, thank you very much) and leave a cup of coffee at their table.

Stefan was actually still dozing the morning this dick Michael arrived, because Katherine didn't think that merited a call. (or found it hilarious)

Unfortunately, when roused he wasn't much more convincing than Damon and Elena's chorus of nope, never seen him, never heard of him, isn't Klaus a funny name, is that spelled Claus? Wow, you eat vampires? What a very interesting hobby. Please don't skin us slowly as that would hurt quite a bit.

"He was last seen in your company," Michael intoned gravely, after showing off his fancy weaponry and supplying them with a brief history of the one vampire family more dysfunctional than Damon's own.

"It will be no gift to your friends to harbor him," he admonished Stefan. "I saw him with you for weeks before my attack. I witnessed the unclean longing in his breast, how he hungered for the sight of you, your touch, admiration and companionship perverted into lust. You will never be truly free while he lives, you must know that. Klaus, he loves—

"recklessly and completely, and jumps first to reject those that will reject him, cruel when he wants to be kind but struggles for the courage..." Elena petered out at Michael's narrowed eyes. "I mean, that's what I'd assume. From, you know. What I've heard."

It seemed like a pretty good time for Damon to whack him over the head with a poker and then jerk that magic stake out of his jacket to stab him with.

Elena shrieked, Stefan's face went bluescreen, and Damon shrugged. "Like I was going to let him kill your boyfriend."

Stefan still looked flabbergasted. Which was unsurprising, as it was common knowledge that his brother really did think that good things weren't allowed to happen to him. (He also tended to underestimate Damon's occasional well-executed badassery.)

"Come on, let's get it out there: Jenna, those twenty times he used me as a chew toy, Bonnie's talent at implacable resentment," Damon announced, and threw up his hands. "But I killed your best friend. And her brother a little. Her dad tried to murder me twice. Katherine's... Katherine. And—admittedly, you ate our father. Not a huge loss, in retrospect, but what I'm saying is-"

"Everyone gets one freebie," Elena said grimly, and strode up to stomp on the stake, pushing it the rest of the way through the fallen body and setting it to flame.

"So don't fuck it up," Damon informed the kitten, patented crazy eyes included.

"You don't know what we've done, those months on the road," Stefan began, the false self-confidence he'd been using to shore up his wounds now flaking off just had Damon had expected. "Things even you —"

"Oh no, my work is done here," Damon cut him off and wiped his hands. "I made the corpse." He tossed the poker to Elena. "The guilty conscience is yours."

"Right there with you, mate," Klaus said at his shoulder as Damon cleared the doors.

"Could you have done that at any time?" Damon asked dryly, once his muscles had stopped seizing and his throat remembered how to make sound. "Not that it matters, since it occurred to me that first week that you could torment or murder us in about eleven different ways even without opposable thumbs. And then I stopped sleeping for three days and tried to eat Daddy Vampire Barbie, and Elena was seriously pissed at me."

"Nope," Klaus announced with gleeful malice. "Only just now, freed by an act of profound love."

"Tell no one and we're even," said Damon seriously.

"Now would I do that to a brother? We're practically family."

"God help this town," Damon said, and drove them straight to the Mystic Grill bar.