Authors Note

Happy Christmas! Hope it was filled with family, hugs and just plain old good fun. I ate so much, my belly still hurts. My Christmas cheer was exponentially added to by all the lovely reviews. You never fail to amaze and inspire me with your words of support, so thank you and I hope you enjoy. Oh, before I forget, "riot" or "rioting" refers to when hounds hunt something other than there intended quarry. So what's Damon doing now? Warnings for violence...

Rioting

Elena POV

Elena jolted awake from a fitful sleep, feeling hot and sweaty. Disorientated, her chest heaved as she gasped for much needed air, the only sound in the room being her quick, sharp inhalations. She felt very peculiar and shakily lifted one hand to feel her forehead. It was clammy to the touch. Was she hung over? It appeared so, the room seeming to swim as she continued to struggle for breath. She gave a little groan and squeezed her eyes shut, willing the nausea to go away.

What had she'd been dreaming about again?

Something had unnerved her that was for sure, her heart was racing like she'd run a marathon. She furrowed her brow, slender fingers massaging her temples as she forced herself to think. I remember pale skin and a deep, dry laugh, the smell of crisp fresh air. With a wistful smile she eagerly embraced the images, feeling a pleasant warmth that seemed so conspicuously absent. Amidst the flickering pictures, a set of piercing blue eyes flashed before her and she gave a little shriek.

Oh my god, Damon!

Her eyes snapped open as she suddenly took stock of where she was. She noted the familiar bedspread, the dresser filled with cosmetics by the wall adorned with pictures that seemed a lifetime ago at Mystic Falls. How the hell did I get back here? The sick feeling inside of Elena grew, and she felt anxious, out of her depth.

I remember the show-down between Damon and Stefan, Bonnie coming out the woodwork and then...

Nothing. It was like she'd had a heavy night of drinking and had woken up disorientated with a serious case of memory loss. There was only one person she wanted right now, one person alone who she desperately needed to see or she was likely to have a panic attack.

"Damon?" she called out, her voice quivering.

Please say you're lurking around the corner.

Not a sound could be heard, no creak of footsteps on the stairs or a rustle of curtains by the window sill. Her heart thudded loudly as her panic reached boiling point – I'm going to start hyperventilating in a minute - and she scrambled to sit upwards.

"Damon!" she screamed, eyes wildly flitting around her bedroom as she sought to seek him out. Why the hell wasn't he coming? He was supposed to stroll in out of nowhere, acting nonchalant and drawl a sarcastic; "miss me?" before she shot him an exasperated look. He'd then tease her using all his sexist and crude quips until she'd finally break into a smile which he saw as permission to kiss her until her toes curled.

Minutes ticked by and her stomach rolled with realisation.

He isn't here. It really happened. They took me away from him – and I didn't even get the chance to tell him that I love him.

The memory of his face seemed etched in her mind, contorted with such pain and fear he had seemed almost crazed in appearance. Oh, how he had struggled with Bonnie's magic, trying to rip himself free with such intensity she was sure he'd injured himself. She worried her lip as questions hammered at her. Was he hurt somewhere or was he still trapped? Did he wonder why she hadn't come back? She almost wept with the frustration.

I have got to find him.

That was the only clear and undeniable thought in her mind. She felt a sudden rush of relief as she was filled with this sense of rightness at the thought of seeing him again. Her heart would stop pumping so fast, her breaths would become longer and less hurried. Everything would be ok again.

"It's got to be ok," she whispered quietly, clenching a fistful of her bed sheets in her hand. She threw back the covers and shakily got out of bed. Her body felt weak, fragile even, her muscles aching in protestation at being used. She ignored the pain and slowly moved over to her chest of drawers to pull some clothes on.

Elena was almost ready to go when she heard a sharp intake of breath behind. Hope bloomed in her chest as she spun round with a cry of "Damon?"

Stefan stood there, his face falling at the utterance of his brother's name before replacing it with a mask of calm. He jerked forward, and she was sure he was going to hug her, but he faltered, stepping back and she let out a whoosh of air out in relief.

"Elena, how are you feeling?" he said quietly, moving slowly towards her.

She gave an incredulous laugh then, the sound harsh and brittle in the silence of the room. "Unbelievable." She shot him a dark look, sidestepping him to grab her bag and check she had her purse. "How do I feel? Betrayed, irritated, pissed off. Take your pick."

He looked stunned for moment before trying again. "Okaaaay," he said slowly. "That's understandable; you're probably a bit confused about what has exactly gone on. How about we talk later this afternoon? I brought you lunch and some DVDs so you can chill out and recuperate."

"I don't want to 'chill out'" she snapped, making inverted comma's with her fingers. They curled into tiny fists as her anger grew, desperately wanting nothing more than to beat some sense into her ex boyfriend.

"For your information, I'm not confused in the slightest, in fact, everything is perfectly clear. You came to get me when I asked to be left alone," she ticked off on one finger, "proceeded to beat up your brother" she waggled another, "and then to add insult to injury you whisked me away – without my consent. Do I seem confused to you Stefan?"

"Yes!" he shouted. She widened her eyes shocked at his sudden outburst. "I'm sorry," he offered in a quieter tone. "But don't you get it? I found you being attacked and yet you see my actions as being the ones that are wrong? There's only one explanation for it – the spell to remove compulsion didn't work."

He sighed, whipping out his phone to presumably text Bonnie. "We didn't know how long D-" he seemingly choked on his name, his voice harsh and angry before he started again. "We don't know when he started manipulating your brain, so we made the spell extra strong just in case. You were out for two days, but we clearly messed up the timeline. You'd been gone for three weeks, so we cast the spell to remove any compulsion for an entire month, but I guess... I guess he must have been compelling you long before you left."

Seething, she snatched his phone to hurl it on the floor. "I've been here for two days whilst you performed magic on me? How dare you!" She gave a shriek of pure frustration then, jabbing one finger in his chest. "Now listen to me carefully as I won't say this again: I am not under compulsion. I am coherently telling you - despite you and Bonnie's best efforts to ignore me - that I want to be with Damon!"

"How do you know you're not talking under compulsion!" he glowered.

She threw her bags down on the floor. One hand tugged her sweatshirt up her arm to the elbow revealing a familiar locket looped around her wrist to make a bracelet. Stefan's eyes snapped to hers, and then to the bracelet again in shock.

"Is that...?" he muttered weakly.

She gave a sharp nod, tugging her sleeve back down. His eyes remained fixated on her wrists as if he was unable to tear his gaze away. "I wore it every day, like I promised you," Elena whispered. "This happened because I wanted it too. It may seem crazy, but there's something there..." she faltered, finding it hard to say the words in front of him. "I care about him Stefan. Our connection is so strong that I can't ignore any more, no matter how misguided it may seem. I don't expect you to understand it, but I owe it to myself and to him to go back and," she continued warningly as he opened his mouth to protest, "back to Damon where I should have been all along. You may have denied me my chance before but I can't let you do it again."

He stared at her silently, his eyes filled with pain and betrayal. He stumbled a few steps, before his legs hit the bed and he sank back onto it. "You and... Damon," he mumbled, saying the words slowly as if they belonged to a foreign language. She could only nod, feeling positively awful. This was never going to be easy, she firmly reminded herself, but it didn't stop her desperately wanting to give him a hug and whisper an apology.

He shook his head as if to snap himself out of it, abruptly standing up and moving to the window. "I think I need to go..."

"Wait!" she yelled, wrenching her body forward. "I know this is hard to hear or even think about right now, but I really need to find him Stefan. It's important. I need to get back to the lake house and I don't know the way."

He didn't turn around, his shoulders tight with tension.

"I don't know how to find him," she said quietly, her voice tinged with desperation.

His body managed to grow even more rigid and he drew an unnecessary breath to utter one single word.

"No."

She was keenly aware of how cruel she was to keep asking – this was torture to him and yet she couldn't stop. The image of Damon invisibly shackled to the floor, his face pulled in agony as he tried to set her free... it was unbearable. No, she resolved. She had to try, for him. Elena stumbled forward to tug at his arm in a final silent plea.

"You won't help me? Not even a little?"

He turned to face her looking utterly conflicted, a myriad of emotions flitting before his face before he shook his head resolutely.

"I can't. Even if I could put aside the fact that he's my brother and you're my..." he searched for a suitable word. "God Elena, you're you," he said on a strangled note. "I just can't ignore the fact that Damon is nothing but trouble. He always does the wrong thing, be it on purpose or by accident and I know without a doubt he'll hurt you. My conscious wouldn't allow me even if my heart could."

Tears pooled in her eyes and she gave him a fierce hug. "I get it." He was stiff for a few moments before he tentatively lifted his arms to hug her back. It was familiar, reassuring even, but Elena gave a little sigh as she realised what it was.

An embrace from a friend.

"I'm still angry at you for not listening to me," she sniffled "but I know it's because you care."

"And I always will," he mumbled, lowering his head dipped to place a kiss on the top of her head. Elena allowed herself one more second of comfort before disentangling herself from his body. She did not want to give the wrong impression by letting it linger on.

He gave a brief nod and muttered a gruff "be safe", before taking loping strides to disappear out the window.

"I will," she whispered.

The room was empty, and with firm resolve Elena hoisted her bag over her shoulder and walked downstairs to begin her journey. She could do this on her own, she resolved.

She would find him.

Damon POV

Where is she?

Despair and a terrible pain gripped his body. His gut constantly churned a sick, heavy feeling in his stomach that never eased and never waned despite all of his efforts. Nothing abated his loss.

I don't think I can survive without her.

Elena was all he thought about, a disease of the mind that festered and multiplied by the hour. He had dissected every conversation, frowned at every little spat and smiled at the delicious memories of when they made up. It was passion, it was fire and he longed to have her back.

Instead, he was in another non-descript town in a cheap ass bar, swigging shit alcohol to numb the pain. Country tunes were being murdered in the background and he felt a little bit like crying. Pussy. He blinked back tears, barely noticing the door being flung open by a gaggle of tittering new patrons sending a waft of cold air into the room.

Wait.

Long dark hair flashed in his peripheral vision and he automatically tensed up. She's not here you idiot, his subconscious said logically. Screw logic – what if it is? He just had to check and swung around anxiously searching for the face he dreamed of. His heart fell. It wasn't her. The face was a little too chubby, the eyes a pale watery blue. Told you so, his subconscious taunted, and he downed the rest of his drink to shut it up.

God you're pathetic Salvatore. How did it come to this?

After three days of a catatonic like state at the lake house, the coppery rich smell of blood had finally broken his addled brain. A hiker enticed by the coming of autumn, had lost his footing and tumbled down a steep slope cutting up his leg. It had been days since Damon had eaten, his mind and body ravaged by the fight with Stefan and losing...

Don't.

He couldn't even think her name right now, for to do so would surely undo the sudden clarity his bloodlust had brought him. Instead, he had peered down at the damage. Only bits of blackened skin remained what with most of it being burned with the muscle on the second day. Bones had begun to protrude, a ghostly white glint that leant a macabre and gruesome edge to his ravaged hands. He barely winced as he ripped the remained flesh from the copper pipes. He knew they would heal, and took pleasure in the thought he could purposely torture himself again, relishing the idea of using physical pain to detract from the break in his heart.

Weakened, he had focused on the hiker nearby, beginning a slow but steady pursuit that lacked his earlier prowl and finesse. He must have painted a terrifying scene, a half burnt deranged man launching at the injured man with a ferocity that surprised even himself, almost decapitating the neck from the body.

In a daze, he had buried the body methodically before washing himself of the blood that had he had spilled. Briefly, the thought of going home for a shower appealed to him before he remembered he would see her body wash in one corner, her hairbrush by the sink.

He had washed in a stream instead.

Thus sparked a routine that was pathetic but very necessary. He would roll into a new town or city, grab a bite to eat and pilfer some money before finding some hick bar where he proceeded to get royally drunk. Stage two, that was alcohol right? He let out a bark of laugher. Like there was a manual for this shit. This was no time to dig out the 101 ways to get over a breakup. It was going to be a wretched, pain ridden filled future ahead of him, with the only periods of peace being a drink induced sleep and the few seconds before you wake up again.

Best get on with it.

"Two more," he grunted to the bartender.

A couple of girls looked his way, a voluptuous red head shooting him a smile before getting up to brush off her cheap dress. His eyes glittered with disgust, his stomach instantly recoiling at the thought of another girl. Funny, you used to like the whorish look. His body shuddered at the realisation, screaming for something else, somebody more. Jessica Rabbit from across the bar and Elena were complete opposites. One was blessed with doe like eyes and pouty lips that needed no decoration, for they were sensual on their own. Unlike the redhead's crisp curls that smelt like plastic, her hair was soft to the touch. Pure.

You could go back and see her, his mind whispered.

"No," he croaked, giving a firm shake of his head. "I can't do it. I owe it to her."

Jessica Rabbit who had been eyeing him up so appreciatively on the approach now seemed wholly uninterested, returning back to her seat with a sulky look on her face. "Guy's fucking crazy," she said to her friend, pointing to her head. The friend spluttered in protestation before the redhead silenced her. "He's talking to himself, look!" Two sets of eyes gazed at him with a fierce intensity but he lacked the inclination to care.

"Maybe I am crazy," he muttered, downing another bottle before grabbing one more. "Crazy, crazy, crazy..."

For once his subconscious stayed silence, apparently in agreement with his new medical diagnosis.

"Fucking women," a raspy voice wheezed in his ear. Damon didn't even bother to look up and continued to swig his drink. The man was drunk, reeking of stale beer yet the bartender passed him another which he slurped nosily. "You understand don't you mate!" he crowed, slapping a meaty hand on Damon's back. "I think Bob Marley had it right you know. What was that song? No woman, no cry – yeah – that was it. True words man."

Damon couldn't help it – he chuckled then covered it up with a snort. Blearily he took in the guy next to him. He was of a heavy build in his late thirties with bad teeth, scars on his knuckles and angry tats up his arms. Perfect. "So what, you're contemplating a move to bat for the other team instead?" he said with a smirk. "I'm sorry," he said in a stage whisper, "but you're just not my type."

The bartender let out a bellow and Jessica Rabbit and Co squealed with laughter, obviously overhearing the conversation. The guy went red, slamming his glass down with a bang. "What the fuck? You better keep your mouth shut boy, you don't know who you're talking to," he snarled.

Finally. Maybe a good fight would bring him some comfort. With violence, Elena and his memories would surely fade away in the light of fists, punches and a good old fashioned battering. Time to push this guy's buttons one step further...

"And who am I talking to? Do enlighten me," he retorted sarcastically.

The man pushed back on his stool with a screech, rolling up his sleeves in a show to gather attention – which it did. "Bobby, Bobby Clayton. Remember the name, so you don't makes' another mistake like tonight. Fucking townie idiot."

"Mistake?" Damon sneered. "So you've decided to stick with women after all? Must be an expensive habit - tell me Bobby, do you pay them by the hour or by the fuck? Probably by the fuck – it's cheaper."

With a howl, Bobby swung for him. Damon didn't dodge out of the way, delighting in the feel of his meaty fist smacking into his cheek with a dazed smile. The man looked confused as to how Damon had yet to flinch, an ugly scowl on his face as he prepared to do more. He swung his hand back and hit him again and again until on the fourth time Damon heard the crack of bone. Not bad Bobby Clayton. Damon then made a furious charge and barrelled into him, sending them both over a nearby table.

Undeterred, Bobby scrabbled around on the floor and found a bottle. He wasted no time and thrust it high into Damon's stomach, wrenching the glass around to make a jagged, painful cut. Resourceful little fucker. Enraged, Damon ripped his weapon away, throwing fists and elbows until Bobby Clayton was a black and bloody mess; still breathing mind, but in definite need of some hospital help.

He sat back on his haunches to take a moment to enjoy the peace in his head. It was brief, fleeting and quickly disturbed by high pitched shrieks, an annoying buzz in his ear that didn't seem to end. Damn, he wished he had the foresight to drain Jessica Rabbit earlier in the night.

"Fucking bitches," he spat out, his blood intermingled with salvia.

Recognition hit and with a maniacal chuckle he turned back to Bobby Clayton, his body still unmoving on the floor.

"Oh! Looks like you were right all along."