It was lonely in the mansion, and misery hates loneliness. Nothing makes you more miserable, or insane, than a broken heart. So Damon, without really knowing where he was going had ended up at the school. It was late, how late he had no fucking clue. It was dark outside and most people were in bed, asleep, having happy dreams. Fuck them. They didn't deserve to be happy, he had half a mind to jam their doors and set their houses on fire just to hear them scream and know that someone else was in as much pain as he was; felt as alone and helpless as he did. Their pain would be over in less than an hour and their charred corpses turned to ash, but his wouldn't. An eternity of misery was what he had promised his brother, but it seemed like the eternity of misery had been destined for him. And murdering the little brother of the one person left you had cared about was damage enough for one night. That was probably a stupid thing to have done.

He stalked around the school hoping to find some janitor to take out his anger on and crushing any object that caught his attention, like a brand new mustang that some had left in the parking lot. It was totaled. Completely trashed. If he was still human, he probably would have peed on it, too. The best he could do was to kill a raccoon and stuff it in the trunk. Hopefully it would start to smell before the owner came back for his car.

You would think that destroying a car would have taken the edge off of his anger. It didn't. A car didn't feel; he could not make it suffer. Sure the owner would be pissed but it would not be real pain. He said it was like a switch. He had told the idiot kid it was like a switch. Switch his ass. He was the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke as the flood waters drowned him. And the idea that a kid could stop a flood was fucking stupid. A fucking lie that they told you so you wouldn't be so hopeless stuck in your miserable fucked up life. You'll find a pretty girl, they told him, sweet as can be, and you'll marry that girl, grow old together, until you two are sitting on the porch arm in arm watching your fat grandchildren play in the yard. It was what he had been promised. What a fucking lie.

He had found his pretty girl, she had been exciting, sexy, dangerous, and everything he ever wanted. The fact that she was also sleeping with Stefan was a minor problem. She would surely get bored with his innocent act and she and Damon would run off into the sunset. But she had turned them, both, and disappeared. So while he was trying to rescue his beloved princess from the tomb he had thought she had been trapped in, she had been roaming the world, without a care, probably seducing other young men, though the thought made him want to vomit, while he waited. And then he opens that fucking tomb, after all that time and effort she is not there. Maybe it had been a mistake and she didn't know he was alive, but Anna said she did and that hurts. So he drank, pouted, and started to move on with his life. Yeah she was his first love, but what's gone is gone. He was left alone.

And then the bitch comes back. The fucking bitch comes right fucking back, kisses him, gets his homes up about Elena, granted she is Stefan's girl but there is definitely something there, gets his hopes up about her, and then rips what is left of his heart right out of his chest, chops it into little pieces, sets it on fire, and eats it for lunch. Because she wants Stefan. They all want Stefan; Damon is left by himself, second best.

Everyone wants fucking holier-than-thou, rod-up-his-ass, guilt-ridden, boring little brother. Elena wants Stefan, she loves the fucking prick. Katherine comes back for Stefan, who doesn't even want her. Stefan gets all the women and Damon gets none.

A stray dog walked across Damon's path and he savagely picked it up and swung it against the wall until it stopped yelping. He left the bludgeoned mess on the ground. He wishes he could hate Katherine; it would be so much easier if he hated her, but he hates Stefan, his brother. This is all his fault. He curses the day that Stefan was born and curses the day Katherine met Stefan, and curses the day Elena fell in love with him, and he wishes that son-of-a-bitch had never been born!

Everyone liked Stefan best. Father always liked Stefan best. Damon was always a disappointment, a disgrace, without honor, and Stefan, oh Stefan, he was the golden child. Always polite, always good at his lessons, always did everything right; the apple of his father's eye. If that cold-hearted bastard could have loved anything it would have been Stefan. Damon was the shadow to Stefan's light. It was taking every inch of restrain in him not to race back, find Stefan, and kill him. Cain had the right idea.

One of the classrooms had a light on and this caught Damon's interest. Someone was still here, someone he could torment. There was nothing like hearing someone's tortured screams to make you forget about you own problems. And to sweeten the deal, a vampire did not need to be invited into schools.

Alaric was sitting at his desk at an ungodly hour looking over badly written papers thinking that this was a torture he would not wish upon his own mortal enemy. That was until he was blindsided by a row of lockers that had been hurled at him. Getting hit with lockers was definitely worse. On the bright side, he didn't feel his head connect with the wall.

Damon pulled the locker off the teacher he has just ambushed. It had been a perfect throw and the poor sucker hadn't seen it coming. When he lifted the lockers off the poor sod, he was surprised to find Alaric in a crumpled heap underneath them. The human wasn't breathing at the moment, but as he was wearing his magic ring of his, he would be up soon. Sure enough, in less than a minute, Alaric was waking up, no worse for the wear.

"What the hell?" he mumbled as his eyes tried to focus. He saw the vampire standing over him. "Damon, what did you do that for?"

Damon looked down at him without answering; there was nothing human or kind in his gaze. "I just felt like hurting someone." His voice was in the calm tones of someone suppressing a great rage. Alaric gulped. He did not know why Damon was suddenly scary like this, but he did not have a good feeling about the situation. He had thought they had been becoming friends.

"Rough night?" he asked cautiously. Damon picked him up and threw him across the room and against the opposite wall hard enough to break three of Alaric's ribs. He heard them snap and feel to the floor breathing raggedly. He took that as a yes. He lay there for a while with Damon watching him, not knowing what the vampire was going to do next, but sincerely hoping that the ring healed injuries without you having to die first. He coughed, causing shard of fire to run across his rib cage and nearly choked on blood. He spat a mouthful on the floor. He was bleeding into his lungs. That meant he would probably die soon. Thank god.

"Why aren't you screaming?" Damon asked, with mingled curiosity and disappointment in his voice. There was definitely something wrong with him, Alaric had never seen him this ruthless before.

"Hurts too much to breathe," Alaric rasped. It was true. He was breathing as shallowly as possible. He barely had enough breath to talk and stay conscious. Screaming would hurt even more. It was probably a good thing he was not able to come up with a biting remark, it would probably get kicked in the ribs, or other places. Hopefully he would drown in his own blood and die soon. Not that he was suicidal, he just wanted to come back good as new. But Damon might kick him around some more. Shit. He weakly coughed up another large amount of his blood, his body shuddering with pain and shock.

"Why?" he asked. He wanted to know the reason that Damon, usually an annoying son-of-a-bitch, was going for the sadistic douche bag of the year award. I mean seriously, though he was in agony, his dying brain decided to focus on his annoyance, it hurt less. Also, if he squinted his eyes at the lights they flickered, and that was also nice. They were like candles. Birthdays had candles.

"Because I am sick and tired of everyone picking fucking Stefan!"

The lights were really like candles, and Alaric was having a hard time focusing on anything else. They glittered so nicely. Soon even the stars were fading. He was dying of blood loss, not suffocation, how nice.

Coming was not pleasant. He was physically alright, but he was lying in a pool of his own blood and now fully aware of the murderous vampire who would probably break more things. Like his bones. And if he remembered correctly, he was in a sick parody of East of Eden. Angry older brother, tired of being passed over for his younger brother, commits great violence.

Damon picked up a paper weight and made to throw it at him, and Alaric instinctive curled into a ball, looking at him in hurt, horror, and confusion. Something human flashed over Damon's eyes and he froze. For what seemed like an eternity he stood there, hand with a paper weight raised high, staring at Alaric, with Alaric staring back. He slowly lowered the paper weight. Damon looked, old, defeated, and tired.

"I have done too many things I'll regret tonight already," He said to himself. "I'm really sorry I hurt you, Rick."

He seemed to deflate before Alaric's astonished eyes as he sat down and examined the office supplies strewn across the teacher's desk that had miraculously been missed by the lockers. His fingers rested on some pencils.

"What is it like to die, by the way?" Damon asked.

Alaric was surprised at this question. "Surely you know, being dead and all."

Damon looked back at him with blank eyes. "I honestly don't quite remember." He looked at the pencil again. "I wonder if it hurts a lot."

Tentatively Alaric sat up. "Depends how you die, I guess." He noticed how Damon was holding the pencil. "And please don't kill yourself on my desk."

Damon looked at him mournfully. "It's not like anyone would care. All anyone cares about or wants is St. Stefan, the pure." He lay down on the desk and stared at the ceiling. "Why doesn't anyone want me?"

Alaric stared at him in shock and strongly resisted the urge to reply, 'because you are a sadistic, cocky bastard.' But Damon's swagger was gone. The hurt, suicidal figure in front of him was totally unrecognizable. He was crying.

"I am sure Elena would be sad if you died." Alaric was not sure why he was trying to comfort this insane killer. He had already killed him three times in the past couple of months, twice tonight. He just had a feeling that the world would change in a bad way if Damon were to die for real. It would definitely be less fun.

This elicited a sob, an actual sob from Damon. Alaric had no idea what was going on or what to do. This was worse than being tossed about like a ragdoll. He had no idea what to do with a Damon who was crying like a little girl. Should he give him a hug? Would he snap back to anger again?

"Elena hates me, I made her hate me." Damon said this so quietly that Alaric almost didn't hear him.

Alaric slowly walked across the room and put what he thought was a comforting hand on the older man's shoulder. He silently prayed Damon was out of the anger stage. "Elena would never hate you; she is too understanding and forgiving."

"I killed Jeremy."

Alaric was thrown off balance by this admission. If Damon had killed Jeremy then, he was probably right, Elena probably hated him. Alaric was sad but was finding it really hard to hate someone who was crying like a baby at the moment. He seemed too pathetic and venerable to be worthy of hatred. Alaric decided to put his psychology minor to work and try to get to the bottom of Damon's crazy mood swings and maybe help him get to a better place, if he wasn't killed in the process, again. He sat down next to him.

"Damon, what happened to you?"

"You don't care," Damon sniffed.

"I do," and Alaric was surprised to find that he meant it he actually did care. He wasn't sure why. Did he get off on pain or just feel bad for the guy? "But we should probably go, you set off the alarm by throwing the locker."

When Damon didn't respond, he pulled Damon to his feet, but the unresponsive man's arm over his shoulder, and headed toward the parking lot. Damon walked mechanically but seemed to need Alaric to hold him up. It was very bizarre.

"You don't own a mustang, do you?" Damon asked, breaking the silence as they walked out the doors.

"No, why?"

"I kinda destroyed the one that was sitting in the parking lot."

Alaric laughed despite himself. "That belongs to the vice principal; he's an ass."

Damon left out a tired "ha".

They got back to Alaric's house. There had been little conversation on the way over and that had given him a chance to consider what he was going to do. He wasn't sure whether to invite Damon into his house. He hoped that the guy would not attack him again, but he still didn't know if he wanted to take that chance. Damon looked incapable of doing anything at the moment, and for some reason Alaric wanted to comfort him and make it all better. They were standing on the porch looking at the door. They both seemed to consider the implications for a while.

"If I invite you in, will you promise not to kill me again?" Alaric asked. Damon nodded; he was still using Alaric to support most of his weight. "I guess you can come in then."

The house was pitch black, Alaric, relying on memory, dumped Damon on his bed before turning on some lights. Damon just lay there, limp as a ragdoll, examining the bedside lamp and not saying a word. Alaric lay down next to him. Damon didn't move.

"So what happened?" Alaric asked getting comfortable.

There was a long silence while Damon gathered the strength to speak. "Katherine came back."

Alaric listened patiently as Damon told him what had happened, put his arm around him when he was reduced to sobbing, and listened without judging to the entire tale. Damon started at the beginning when he had first met her. Alaric was sure he had never opened up to anyone like before. By the end of it, Alaric held Damon as his sobs subsided and he lapsed into a tired silence. After a while Alaric spoke.

"No offense, but Katherine sounds like a bitch of the highest order," he said quietly, absentmindedly stroking Damon's hair. "Forget that ho."

Damon giggled weakly. "I never thought I would hear you say 'ho'."

"Because teachers aren't allowed to use slang." Damon smiled weakly. Alaric continued. "But seriously, save yourself a world of pain, stop trying to cause Stefan misery, and don't be an idiot and get into a three-way with him again. I turned into a flaming pile of crap the first time, why could possibly gained by dating Elena? I mean she doesn't even seem like your type. And she and Stefan are good together."

Damon didn't speak for a long time and Alaric saw a tear slide down his face. "I just wanted to be loved."

"But you are, I mean Stefan loves you, why else would he have put up with all your crap all these years?" Damon sighed. His arm was lying across Alaric's waist.

"I guess, but that's not the love I mean."

Alaric sighed. "Yeah, well good luck. I thought I had found it, but then Isobel fucked you and decided to become a vampire. I think it's overrated."

Damon shifted a little in an uncomfortable way. "I am sorry about that, now."

"Apology accepted."

They lay there in silence for a while. Alaric found it odd to hold someone as cold as Damon who was as still as a statue most of the time. He was used to the gentle rise and fall of breath. His statuesque body was a little unsettling and scary, but nice when he was quiescent like his.

Damon propped himself up and looked down at Alaric. "You are covered in blood, by the way," he said in something much closer to his usual tone.

"And whose fault is that?" Alaric retorted.

"You should probably change and soak your clothes in cold water," Damon went on ignoring the question. "Blood gets nasty after a while." Damon rolled off Alaric and started to untie his shoes. Alaric got up, grabbed some pajamas and went into the bathroom.

"Are you going to stay here all night?" he called as he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked like a murder victim. Thank god for showers.

"Yep," Damon called back. "I think I will lie low here, I don't think anyone would think to look for me here. You would never invite a vampire into your house."

Alaric silently agreed as he stepped into the warm spray of the shower.

When he walked back into his bedroom Damon was still lying on the bed, though he had taken off his jacket and shoes. Alaric decided not to object to this incase it brought out psychotic Damon again and slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed. He could not remember the last time he had a sleepover. Damon propped himself on his side and looked at him.

"If you tell anyone I cried like a baby, I'll have to kill you," he said threateningly.

Alaric rolled his eyes. "Next time you need a hug, just ask. Murder is a terrible cry for help."

Damon growled. It was probably too early to needle him about killing Jeremy permanently and himself two times. Alaric stared unapologetically back at him none the less. Damon pounced on top of him pinning him to the bed. "Just because I had a minor breakdown does not mean I am some weakling to be trifled with."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone. Stop being stupid. I invited you into my house; I know you could kill me in my sleep if you wanted." He hated it when people pulled the tough guy act,

Damon's expression changed. "Why did you do that anyway?"

Alaric considered it for a moment and gave the honest answer. "Probably because I am insane, and against all reason I trust you."

This was obviously not the answer Damon was expecting. He examined Alaric's face for a while, and detecting no insincerity or guile, did something completely unexpected. He leaned in close to Alaric. It was barely a kiss, his lips brushed over the humans with feathery lightness and it was over in an instant, but hey both it knew it had happened. Alaric looked up at him with surprise, but he did not mind this new development. It was different though he wasn't sure if he liked it yet. When Damon leaned in for another kiss, Alaric kissed him back.

They kissed tenderly in a way that Alaric would have never expected from someone like Damon. They explored each other's mouths with a leisurely curiosity that suggested they had all the time in the world and were simply enjoying the new experience. Eventually Damon's lips moved down Alaric's chin and to his neck where, although still sucking in the most gentle and pleasurable way, they stayed as if drawn by a magnet. After a while Alaric grew a little concerned.

"Something wrong?" he asked quietly.

"I'm really hungry," Damon mumbled into his throat.

Of course, vampires, obsessed with blood. Alaric sighed in resignation. "Don't take too much, and don't get any on the sheets."

Damon briefly kissed Alaric on the lips again to show his appreciation, before carefully nipping his neck and sucking up the blood that trickled out. It wasn't the best sensation, but it wasn't bad either. It was just odd. Kind of like donating blood, but the pull on his veins and arteries was stronger. When Damon pulled away he looked content.

"Thanks," he said before licking the last of Alaric's blood off his lips.

"Do I need a bandage or something?" asked Alaric feeling his neck and fingering the bite.

"No, it's tiny and should stop bleeding in a moment; it will look like a faint hickey tomorrow." Alaric was relieved there would be no scar. He had been afraid he would have a bite mark for the rest of his life. He could hide a hickey with a collared shirt. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Damon asked quietly.

The question took Alaric aback. People usually just accepted kindness without questioning the motive. He was not sure of the reason himself. "I dunno, I think I might actually like you. I'm not sure."

Damon smiled back at him. "I might like you, too." He gave Alaric a quick peck before going back onto his side of the bed. "Night, night."

Alaric snuggled further under his sheets. He was exhausted, and loosing blood only made him sleepier. "Could you get the lights?"

Damon zipped around the house extinguishing all the lamps. When he got back to the bed he slipped under the covers next to Alaric, nuzzling his neck, and putting his arm around the other man's waist. "You're nice and warm."

"I wonder why the council doesn't use infrared cameras to catch you guys, you're freezing," Alaric mused.

"Because they are stupid," Damon replied unconcerned. He pulled Alaric closer. "Go to sleep, Rick." He didn't feel lonely anymore.