A/N Set in season 2 after the Salvatore brothers begin to drink vervain to protect against compulsion and build a tolerance. Damon POV

"Just a small amount of vervain each day to prevent us from being compelled by the originals and to help us build a slight tolerance"

The dialog of Stefan's speech replaying in my mind as I prepare my morning 'medication'. His suggestion is a page torn straight from the Katherine Pierce Survival Guide.

I admit I'm impressed; it's a damn good idea.

But forcing down two finger's worth of watered down vervain each morning was not how I liked to begin my already long and overworked days.

It wasn't the burn of the herb as it glided across my tongue, leaving a fiery trail down my esophagus and hitting my gut with enough force to double me over like a kick to the groin.

It wasn't the ten minutes of blurred vision and labored breathing that occurred after swallowing the cursed blessing.

No, the worst side effect of this drug were the memories associated with it.

5 years.

1,826 days.

43,824 hours.

Experimented on, tortured, and ripped apart with a creative flare that would threaten to churn the stomachs of the most psychotic minds.

Unable to defend myself. Unable to run.

Kept tame, sedated, and weak.

All thanks to a natural vampire repellent forced into my system in a variety of ways each day.

I try to shake off the reoccurring nightmares as my gaze remains transfixed on the glass in my hand, the small amount of clear liquid promising freedom of will and imprisonment of mind.

I once considered mixing the caustic substance with my top shelf bourbon but immediately dismissed the idea. Bourbon was my escape from the pain, and I had no intention of fucking that up with my demons.

I grip the crystal glass in my hand, my resolve building. I close my eyes and take a deep therapeutic breath. "Bottoms Up" I whisper dryly to the empty room, raising my glass in a sarcastic toast.

I down the contents in one hasty gulp feeling the burn and breathlessness in full force. Then begin the violent flashes of the memories I spent 60 years suppressing.

Vervain injected directly into my heart with a large syringe.

Vervain forced down a tube in my throat.

Thick vervain laced steam burning my lungs with each breath as I gasp for clean air.

A few times they mixed it into my daily blood rations but stopped when they realized that I couldn't drink what my body needed and wasn't healing as quickly as the needed me too.

The searing pain begins to fade as my body heals itself. My breathing becomes easier, my lungs filling with clean air. My vision returning to normal.

But one side effect remains, the side effect that never goes away.

The memories.

I return the glass to its place at the wet bar and place the bottle of liquefied vervain into the drawer it resides in, locking it away.

No one will compel me today.

Eventually it won't burn as much when I come in contact with anything vervain ridden.

But the memories never leave.

Most assume that I detest vervain for the same reasons as all vampires.

I chuckle humorlessly at the theory.

The real reason I hold such a high distain for the delicate purple flower is one they would never guess.

A side effect they will never experience, a burden they will never understand.