A/N: This chapter isn't very long, but it's more of a filler for the next chapter (which, HOPEFULLY, I will get the inspiration to write up soon, considering I have a bit of a writer's kick going at the moment) so I hope it doesn't disappoint simply due to length (that's what he said). Enjoy!

Dull mumbling. The faint scent of coffee. Light padding footsteps. The distant creek of a door. Something similar to sniffling. Murmured words that were impossible to make out.

It was none of these things that jolted him from his unconscious state, it was the one thing they had in common. The fact that they were falling on untrained ears.

Damon's eyes shot open in the same instant that his body jumped to an upright position, and with what seemed like a snail's pace, his eyes adjusted to the scene in front of him.

Elena, always the first thing he unconsciously sought out, was sitting in a chair with tear stained cheeks and her doe like eyes portrayed the very definition of fear, and her pained gaze was directed right at his own. He felt an ache build instantaneously in his chest. That look on her face. It was the look of pure heartbreak. And even if he didn't know the root of it, he felt her pain in the very depths of his soul.

His secondary thought was the fact that her face didn't look right. It was..blurry? She was out of focus. The beautiful features of her porcelain face weren't as obvious anymore. The redness of her eyes that was brought on by crying, wasn't as striking as it should have been, and it wasn't as easy to make out the light golden flicks that accompanied the chocolate shade of her irises. He couldn't quite make out the freckles on her cheeks, the ones he'd always made sure to take notice of. The outline of her perfectly plump lips didn't appear to be as strong as before, which was a travesty all its own, Elena Gilbert's flawlessly sculpted pout, which was sometimes the root of his own wisecracks but more often than not just the point of his fixation, not getting every ounce of attention it deserved was unacceptable. Though of course he liked to think that the looks he shot teenage boys in The Grill when he caught their stares lingering too long were justified, he was her personal bodyguard, and it had nothing to do with the deep amusement he felt when sheer terror whitewashed the faces of sex driven minors.

It was while he was taking mental notes on these faults that it dawned on him that this couldn't be a momentary fault in his vision, and his brows furrowed when the shift from Elena's side barely caught his attention. An unexpected move like that should have his senses on high alert, but as he swiftly turned his eyes to inspect the source of the movement, he was only met with the sight of a broken looking Stefan. He looked exhausted. Drained. And once again, fucking blurry! What was going on here?!

"We thought we lost you, brother." Stefan spoke out in a cracked voice and the words earned a new sniff from Elena, and it was at that point that his mind wouldn't allow him to settle his gaze on one point.

Elena. Stefan. The furniture that failed to draw his attention to the barely notable detail. The stairs to Elena's room, the ones he'd climbed more times than the brother of her ex probably should have. The family pictures that hung on the wall, some too far away to name the faces beside the olive toned one he'd always know, even in a state like this. The burning fire that should have been a more vibrant red. The carpet. The coffee table. The TV that wasn't driving his crazy due to being able to make out every speck of dust across the screen. With a fist crashing against the arm of the chair he sat it, he pushed himself to his feet and realised his breathing had become laboured during his frantic inspection of his surroundings.

Wide oceanic eyes found their way back to the other two inhabitants of the room, whose eyes had also grown in a new kind of fear, and with as much conviction as was possible in the midst of a panic attack, he forced the words from his mouth like they were acid that he needed to rid his body of. "What. Happened. To me."

Elena's hands fidgeted instantly, and though it may not have been as attention catching as it should be to him, he still didn't fail to miss one of her trademark quirks. She was longing to do something, but was restraining herself more than likely due to inner conflict. The action was like second nature to her when she was in his presence.

Stefan rose to his feet from where he had been perched on the arm of the chair Elena occupied, and his hand instantly rose to rub his fingers back and forth across the creases of his forehead.

"Spit it out, Stefan," Damon knew his little brother well, and he'd be damned if he was going to stand here for the next four hours waiting for him to string together a coherent and informative sentence.

He was met with a gaze filled with pain and he had no choice but to look away. Even when they weren't on the very greatest of terms, he still couldn't take that look on Stefan's face. He never could, even when they were kids and Stefan's lower lip was wobbling, his cheeks were stained and he was stumbling through his apology for having let the rabbit out and the dog had caught it before before anyone else had.

"We thought we lost you," the raspiness to his voice let Damon know that Stefan was holding back the tears he'd surely let loose once Elena was no longer around, he never was one to risk Elena being any more upset than she already way.

"Well, you didn't. So why don't you answer the question I actually asked. What is going on with me?" Everything was beginning to build up again. The annoyance. The feeling of being unable to guard himself. Feeling inadequate. Nothing felt right. Nothing sounded right. He'd even had to hide the pang of nostalgia for how his brother's voice had somehow reminded him of their years together back in 1864. Wrong. It was the word to describe everything right now. His own mind was about to drive itself insane with how on edge he felt. So with the last grips on his sanity barely intact and his impatience for an answer spurring him on, his head shot back in Stefan's direction and he barked out, "What the hell is going on, Stefan?!"

He seen his brother visibly flinch, but chose to ignore the display of fear in hopes of it getting a damn response out of him. "We think.." he shifted on his feet for a moment and his mouth opened and closed as if he was speaking, but no sound came out.

"You think," Damon coaxed.

Another whimper from Elena dared his attention to break, but he held his ground and kept his gaze locked on Stefan.

"We think that Esther used some sort of spell on you. A strong one. It..it was like it reversed everything. It shouldn't be possible. None of it is. It's not real. It can't be." Slowly, Stefan's words grew to incomprehensible mumbles and their pace quickened as he went on, and he began to pace, that was the last straw for Damon. The reminder of the off sounding footsteps that had woke him in the first place, it was the last thing he could take.

"What was reversed, Stefan?"

In that moment, he basically saw the switch in his brother's head flip, and his heated glare was turned on him, his hand flying out towards Damon in an indicating motion.

"You're human, Damon! Human!"

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(They make my heart all tingly and that makes me want to continue, so encouragement is..encouraged!)