he said: we were born with nothing and we sure as hell have nothing now

Her dreams are cloaked with blood, wrought with fire, and she is always struggling to draw breath from her choked lungs. Bonnie sees faces swim before her eyes as she runs-she is always running, in a wood with the crunch of leaves and sharp twigs clawing at her bare feet. Some nights she wakes up screaming, clawing at the bedding around her with slippery fingers for something, anything, to hold onto. Some nights she lies there awake, locked so tightly in her own body that she can't move; she can't do move than stare at the ceiling in front of her with wide eyes and pray that she will be able to move soon.

Bonnie has never felt so helpless as she feels those nights, unable to calm her own racing heart. So loud any werewolf or vampire miles away could hear it, she thinks.

"It's the guilt," Marin tells her. "The guilt that you, by all accounts, should not be feeling." She's right, it's the tendrils of doubt creeping into her very core in the form of over 50 voicemails asking her where she is. "You needed this," Marin says, and Bonnie chooses to believe her. She will be selfish for once in her life.

The woods shift around her as she walks home, and she listens for every whisper of the leaves as they brush the brown bark of weathered trees. Up ahead of her, the moon gleams yellow in the sky, a slice of silver just waiting to be snatched.

She feels him before he's behind her, moving through the woods too quietly for any normal human to detect. If she squints, she can see the shell of a burnt out mansion, silhouetted in the darkness. The telltale shiver in the back of her neck, the slow creeping up her spine she always gets when she is around a supernatural being, a side effect Mystic Falls has had on her.

"It's late," He says, and she turns to find the werewolf leaning against the nearest tree, the frown on his face alerting her to who it is.

Her mouth curls into her usual sneer, the one always adopted around Klaus, the- I can do things you can't even dream of- sneer, but she lets it slide off her face as quickly as it comes. The man looks at her with frostbitten eyes and she meets his gaze squarely on, because she is a fighter.

"And?" He won't notice the way her voice wobbles, she tells herself. He won't notice that she has been screaming for days, years, and she just wants to go home.

This werewolf looks dangerous, her mind whispers, he looks like he could snap her neck in an instant. He looks like leather jackets and hard hearts and icy eyes and cruelty.

She shivers.

"I'm Derek Hale," He offers, arms crossed over his chest as he stands there, half blended into the night, unmoving. She watches him, watching her, sees the little click in his eyes as he decides she is not worth his time.

"Bonnie."

"Just Bonnie?"

"Just Bonnie." Not a Bennett witch, no. Just Bonnie who still has a childhood sweetheart waiting for her at home, who used to cook her cinnamon spiced muffins and make her his special hot chocolate whenever she was feeling sad. She imagines her life if she was just Bonnie, and sees a little house in Mystic Falls, two children and a loving husband. Storybook stuff.

Her breath hitches in her throat and she feels her pulse speed up. He feels it too, she knows he must, but there is nothing in her that cares about him, so she leaves him standing there and walks away, trying to stem the intensity of the impending panic attack. Never for one moment does she think that she has intrigued him, Bonnie with the green eyes and the nonexistent back story.

Her apartment smells of spiced apple and cinammon and clove, candles burning away in their holders around her when she gets back. It reminds her of lazy days with Jeremy wrapped around her, days they spent in bed, discovering themselves and each other. She remembers words like- wow I love you,- little breathless giggles as they clung to each other because they had no one else.

This isn't fair, she thinks, and then, Bennett witches don't cry.

The wood burnished floors under her feet swim before her eyes, and she gulps the tsunami of tears back before they overwhelm her. The ring on her thumb is heavy, but it was his, and she stole it like a ghost in the night before Elena burned him and burned the house, eliminating even the slightest possibility of getting him back.

She will never forgive her for that, never as long as she lives. Now she will associate Jeremy with dark ash and cinders, mixed with wood and peppering the earth thousands of feet will walk on. He deserves better. She deserves better.

If she tries really hard, she can hear the sound of another heart beating, somewhere in the woods, so consumed by grief that it wants nothing more than to stop, to just stop forever. It's amazing what the human body will do in order to keep itself alive, they think.

Her hands turn white from clenching them into fists, and Bonnie tucks them into the pockets of her coat as the snowflakes begin to fall around her. Another walk through the woods after going to Marin's, and she's only been here for three days but already she feels as though she knows these woods, like they are imprinted in her brain.

The house she saw last night lies just ahead of her, and she contemplates it for a a few seconds, before moving forward, battling the undergrowth in an effort to reach it. She brushes aside the few twigs that snag in her hair impatiently, sucking air into her lungs as she looks at the house up close.

It's worse than she expected- she's heard stories of the burnt out Hale house, of the anger and the sorrow that surrounds the house and keeps everyone from drawing the slightest bit closer, but she never imagined this. Her eyelids flutter closed as she brushes her fingers over the destroyed wood of the front door, hesitating the slightest bit before she steps in.

Behind her eyes, she hears screams tear from throats in the dead of night, the scent of burning flesh filling her senses until she's choking under the smoke with them, she watches the oranges and reds of the flames rip through the house, leaving nothing but ash and corpses in their wake.

She gasps and her eyelids fly open, fingers jolting off the door as if burned. Her heart is beating like a hummingbird in a cage, the scent of shock and fear hanging in the stale air before her. A few upturned chairs lie in a pile of plaster, upholstery ripped beyond recognition, but it's the bloodstains that coat the walls that really catch her eye.

"What are you doing here?" someone snarls from behind her and she doesn't even bother screaming, too used to vampires creeping up on her to care.

His shadow dances on the wall in front of her, warped into something tall and looming that makes her catch her breath in her throat and if she steps back the slightest bit, even a centimeter, she'll collide with his front. A scent registers in her brain again, the same smell as yesterday, of rotting leaves and fire.

She turns around to face him, one hand on her hip. "Just looking."

His gaze drops to her free hand, and she realizes too late that her fingers are shaking. Bonnie slides them slowly into her jacket, the slightest blush coating her cheek with a dusting of pink.

"It's a free country, and the last time I checked, this isn't someone's house. It belongs to the county." Derek's jaw clenches, and this time, she's the one that watches his fingers, and the smallest lengthening of his nails. He's angry, she sees, and there is a chance this could escalate.

"You should leave." Her fingers reach for something in her coat pocket, fumbling over her keys and phone, sliding into the compartment to graps at the wolfs bane. She won't use it unless she has to, not when she knows how deeply he is connected to everything that has happened here. He doesn't need more pain, her mind flashes back to the scent of the flames as they danced across the wood of the house.

He steps forward, until they are toe to toe, like she remembers standing with Klaus, just a hair's distance in between them. I've battled far worse than you, she thinks with the smallest smile, throwing her hair back and raising her eyes to meet his. She remembers the brush of his fingers in his hair as he pushed it to the side, lingering on her as he lowered his lips to her ears- now be a good witch or Jeremy dies- and she thinks that everything she ever did was for nothing. Everything her Grams did was for nothing.

Blue eyes study her like she's a book, like he wants to rip her apart from the inside out and memorize her. He's noticed the change in her heart and attitude, she thinks frantically, she's lost any advantage her powers gave her over any vampire or werewolf because her thoughts will tear her down each time.

The wolfsbane falls from her fingers as they begin to shake, and she sucks in another breath, doing her best to calm herself down. Bonnie steps back and tries to focus on a single spell to make her heartbeat calm down, wading through the memories that are occupying every free space in her head.

"Are you okay?" He steps forward, hand on her arm, and she shakes it off, her own fingers fumbling for her jacket sleeve to find her pulse, racing as she presses her fingers to her wrist and tries to calm herself down-

Bonnie's failing, it's never been this severe before, and she feels the blood rush to her head and pound, steadily like a drumbeat. I'm going to die, she thinks, and sees a final burst of color before she crumples.

The sky is a pale blue when she comes to, filtering through the curtains in front of her and shining directly onto her face. It casts an eerie glow around the room and Bonnie sits up, noting the sparse decor of the room and that she is lying on a bed directly in the middle of the apartment, caged in on all sides by brown brick.

Derek's lying in front of her, passed out on a sofa, and her lips curl as she thinks about how he gave her the bed and took the sofa for himself. She's better now, the thoughts of last night burning a little embarrassment through her, but no more. It's the reminder of the house that sends the creep through her again, and she understands why she lost control in there.

This is not a walk of shame, she tells herself as she lets herself out of his loft, smoothing the flyaway wisps of her hair and hiding her smile in the sleeve of her jacket.

When she turns to look behind her once more, she sees his face at the window. His eyes widen as he ducks back into the room, and Bonnie lets the giggle escape from her lips this time.

"It'll be good for you," Marin promises, flinging the black dress at Bonnie and taking her by the shoulders and steering her to her dressing table. "When was the last time you had fun?"

Bonnie takes in the stranger staring back at her from the mirror, and practices quirking her lips at herself and chasing away the shadows that cloud her features. She gives Marin a nod and takes the straightener in hand.

She's pretty, she knows, she's heard it fall from the lips of countless vampires and werewolves, always slightly demeaning, the deadly chuckle and the-well at least you're nice to look at- as if the fact she has a nice face ranks above her ability to take on people with twice her power and fling them across rooms.

The Bonnie that walks into a club with an arm interlocked with Marin's is confident as a runway model, a tight black dress covering her from wrist to thigh, but sinfully sexy with her waterfall of glossy hair and smokey eyes. She feels fearless, powerful as she has ever felt with power in her palms and platform heels encasing her feet.

He's by the bar when she orders herself a drink, Marin already lost in the mass of moving bodies and stamping feet and she lets out a laugh when she sees him slumped into the stool next to her as if he'd rather be anywhere else.

She downs her drink in one gulp, used to the fiery alcohol burning through her throat and watching the features of everyone around her blur together. This, at least, will never change.

"Alcohol doesn't work on werewolves," She offers, spinning on her chair to face his curled form.

He lets out a drawn out sigh and she wants to say- am I irritating you?- but she doesn't care, so she waits for him to reply. "I know."

Her hair brushes the polished marble of the bar, and he turns to face her, fingers brushing hers as he pushes his glass forwards.

"What are you doing in Beacon Hills?" I'm here to escape the body of my dead ex boyfriend, I'm here before it suffocates all the life from me and I turn into a soul sucking monster like them, I'm here because my Grams is suffering because of me. She shuts down, turning away from him the slightest bit.

"Sorry," It's gruff, but it's there, and his hand comes out to rest on her forearm. Bonnie looks at him again, notes the breadth of his chest in his dark t-shirt, and the push of the muscles as they strain against the fabric. She quirks her lips the tiniest bit, and slides her fingers in between his.

"Let's get out of here," She says as she stands, tugging him along behind her.

They find themselves in the woods again, dead leaves crunching underfoot as they walk without any real direction. Bonnie catches him looking at their intertwined fingers as if he doesn't quite understand what happened there, and saves the memory to savor later.

"Where do you live?" He asks, and she recognizes the veiled invitation in his eyes, the tentative question.

"Do you want a drink?" She grips his hand the tiniest bit tighter, and steers him in the direction of her apartment, knowing just how much it is killing him to let her in, because it's hurting her just as much.

Take a step, she tells herself, and breaks from the figurative chains binding her in her brain.

They don't have sex that night. They talk about things that don't matter- the weather, the fucking economy, until they're hoarse and sunlight's slanting through her curtains.

Cups of coffee litter her breakfast bar and she lights the candles again in the morning, and it's when she has a match in her fingers that she catches his gaze and drops the match onto the carpet, recognizing the undisguised fear in his eyes.

"Shit," He cries, and she knows his heart must be hammering in his chest as he moves forward to where the daily newspaper is burning.

Bonnie puts it out easily with a spell she doesn't even need to say aloud, it's that easy, and reaches across the cinders of the newspaper to grip his shaking hand in both of his own.

"It's okay," She murmurs, and holds his hand until he stops trembling.

Bonnie spends the lead up to Christmas with her phone off, ignoring the tugs in her heart that tell her to go home, to where her family and friends will wait for her with open arms and minds, ready to welcome her again. Christmas, has, after all, always included roast dinner at Elena's with Caroline while their parents are working. She can smell the roast filling up the room, and hear the sound of those awful, awful, Christmas movies they always used to put on, while they stole sips of mulled wine from Elena's parents.

She drags Derek to drink caramel lattes with her because she doesn't want to think about what she left behind, and he comes willingly with her, hand reaching for hers like it always does. They anchor each other.

It's after, when they reach the apartment and her landline is ringing, shrill and irritating, that she picks it up and realizes something is wrong. It's Damon's voice that reaches back to her through the phone, and she presses the phone to her ear with sweaty fingers.

"You left us when we needed you most," He slurs, and she can smell the bourbon on his breath, "and everything's gone wrong. How could you just do that, Witchy?"

The phone drops through her fingers and shatters on the floor, and she doesn't even notice. He must be talking about Elena, or Caroline, Klaus was still there, he had to have done something to them, they were going to die-

No. If it was serious, they would have called her, she tells herself, threading her fingers through the waves of her hair, and tugging, trying to grasp at any sanity she had left. Someone other than a drunk Damon would have been on the end of that phone, she rationalizes.

"Are you okay?" His hand grips her shoulder so tightly it should be painful, but Bonnie leans into him, allowing his arms to slip around her waist and working on steadying her breathing.

"No. But I will be."

Derek nods, and tightens his grip on her. "Let's watch a movie," He says.

She curls up beside him and they watch Harry Potter because really- "They got so many things wrong with that, my god," She says, and he laughs and puts an arm around her and tells her to shh, because he's watching.

The sky turns inky blue outside her windows, and she realizes with a jolt that Christmas Eve is tomorrow. The film rolls to a stop and he traces patterns absentmindedly through the wool of her jumper, and speaks as if he doesn't understand what he's saying.

"I killed my family," spills from his mouth and she knows he's revealed the biggest secret of his life to her. His hand stills on her back.

"You didn't." She says firmly, because they are creatures surrounded by grief, and it clogs them and will consume them if they don't distract each other well enough.

Her arm curls around his waist like he's a giant teddy bear- Derek Hale, the werewolf who owns nothing but dark t-shirts and makes people quake in their shoes when he's around- and she tells him about Mystic Falls unreservedly, burying her face in his shirt with tearless eyes and inhaling the scent of smoke and blood.

They spend Christmas Eve together, and it's not something she planned, but she's going out of her mind inside, pacing back and forth and trying desperately not to think about anything. Her feet trace the steps to his loft because she knows it better than any other place in Beacon Hills, except maybe Marin's house, and he's her best escape.

He opens the door with a towel draped around his shoulders, shirtless aside from a pair of black jeans. She watches the trickles of water roll down his chest for a few seconds before raising an eyebrow and stepping into the loft.

"I feel overdressed," She jokes, shrugging off her jacket and smoothing down her skirt. He laughs and shuts the door, running a towel through his damp hair.

He stops in her tracks when he catches sight of what she's wearing, and Bonnie pretends she doesn't know what he's looking at. "Jesus," He breathes, "It's like -20 degrees outside."

She shrugs. "I wasn't cold." And it's only a skirt, for god's sake, and she is wearing tights underneath it. She slips her feet out of her boots and flops onto the sofa, waiting for him to join her.

He remains where he is, halfway across the room from her, and Bonnie rolls her eyes and gets up again. "Why are you being so dramatic?" She asks as she stops in front of him, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his face.

When he doesn't answer, she sighs and walks away from him to glare out of the window at the darkening sky. I wish for a snowfall, she thinks.

"Bonnie," She whirls around and he strides towards her, all agile grace and long legs. She unashamedly watches the play of his muscles underneath his skin, the sinews of corded muscle twisting as he walks. He could hurt me, she thinks, and then she smirks. I could hurt him so much more.

"God," She bites out when he stands before her, and she takes a breath and kisses him.

It's teeth and tongue and he tastes exactly the same as he smells, smoke and blood as her hands shove the towel to the side impatiently and she threads her fingers through his hair like something in her has wanted to do since she first laid eyes on him.

He grips her by the waist and lifts her as if she's nothing more than a rag doll, and jesus there's something so fucking hot about him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Eager fingers fumble with her cardigan as her removes it, tossing it aside and kissing her again, only breaking apart to draw breath and Bonnie feels like she's disintegrating under his fingers. She slips from his arms and he walks her to the bed, legs turning into jelly as her knees hit the end of it.

"Are you sure?" She asks him, rolling them over so she's on top of him, hair falling around their faces.

He only smiles, and she leans down to press a few kisses to the warm skin of his chest, smiling against him when she feels him hold his breath. He slides his hand up her t-shirt, and she pulls it off. His hand cups her jaw and he rolls them over, and she's kissing him like she'll break if she doesn't- Bonnie really thinks she might.

"I fucking hate tights," He growls as his fingers tangle with the wool between her legs and she laughs, breathless and giddy, until he gives up and rips them clean off her.

"You're lucky they weren't my good pair," Bonnie grins down at him and he kisses the smile clean off her face.

It's a dance she hasn't done in so long, but she wraps her legs around his waist and lets it flood back, the sweat clinging to their bodies as they move in sync and he presses his lips to her throat and inhales, breathing against her as she claws the length of his back with painted nails.

I need you to hold me, she thinks when it's over, or I might think about him, and I can't do that. He knows what she's thinking and his arms come for her, closing around her in a protective cocoon, and Bonnie Bennett thinks that it's nice to be protected for once.

The smell of pancakes awakes her and she thinks about how normal, how cliched this is with a smile and a stretch.

"Merry Christmas," He says when she pads into the kitchen, tank top askew, skirt rumpled.

Bonnie takes the mug of hot chocolate from him with a smile, aware that her lipstick was most probably smeared around her mouth. "Merry Christmas to you too," She replies, taking a seat at his table.

He sits down next to her and knocks her knees into his until she turns and gives him a kiss, allowing him to lift her into his lap. "Don't tell me I picked a needy one," She mock groans, fiddling with the ends of his hair.

Derek laughs and kisses her again.

a/n: okay sometimes crack!ships like this literally take over my mind and make me crazy. please review lovelies, it makes my day!

also bonnie and derek and PAIN and helping each other get over that pain like they've both been through so much they'd both understand each other, these two give me so many feels