Once Upon A Dream...
Damon Salvatore was sure he was in a dream, for it was sunny and he could smell the fresh scent of coffee and a good breakfast in the morning. He didn't drink coffee, and he certainly didn't eat bacon and eggs. Slowly, he sat up to look around the room. It wasn't his room. The room was white, the sheets were white, and there was an egg shaped stone on the dresser. Suddenly, he stood and sped to the dresser, grabbing the stone tightly between his hands and staring at it as it glistened with the sunlight that came through the window.
He heard the sound of laughter coming from somewhere around him, and it made him confused. Slowly, he moved towards the open door of the bedroom and looked around the hallway. There were pictures, a table right at the end with a vase full of bright flowers and a few other pictures. He didn't mind that and instead moved the other way, the one that lead to stairs. With naked feet, he let them glide against the carpeted, causing friction when he touched the banister. He let out a soft hiss when electricity ran through his fingers and up his arm, making a face.
And once again, laughter ran around him, followed by some cooing. Damon followed the noise down the stairs, and stopped at the final step. To his right was a living room, to his left was the front door and another room being the dining room. He went through the dining room, through a doorway with no door and found himself in the kitchen. There was a figure standing in front of the window, the sun making her appear dark and with a halo around her. She hummed, soft and in a gentle melody that made Damon just stared.
"The sun's too bright this morning," she softly said, closing the blinds.
"Fre..." Damon stopped himself and just stared at the figure as she closed the blinds, entranced that she was standing right in front of him. "Freya?"
She turned around and smiled at him widely. "Good morning, baby," she lovingly said, walking over to him. She laid her hands on his cheeks and pulled him to her, laying a kiss on his lips. "You're lucky you don't have work today, Damon, because you overslept." She turned and moved to the stove, where she plated an omelette besides two pieces of buttered toast.
All while, Damon just stared at her. How could she be standing in front of him, so happy and bright, as if nothing had happened-as if she hadn't died. He didn't know what to do, but he just wanted to go up to her and hug her. So, he did. He wrapped his arm around her waist and hid his face on the crook of her neck. She let out a chuckle and glanced back at him, laying a kiss on his temple.
"What's wrong?"
"I love you," he immediately answered. "Freya, I love you."
She chuckled again. "I love you, too, Damon." She turned around and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, grinning up at him. For that moment, Damon sucked in a breath as he was entranced by her once again. How could she be standing in front of him, so happy, so alive? She suddenly turned away from him and pulled away, grabbing the plate and laying it on the table. "By the way, Stefan's dropping by today. Something about town business, as he likes to put it." She leaned against the counter and looked at him. "He knows I know about the Council, right?"
"What?" Damon asked, confused.
"Damon!" she groaned. "Don't act as if you haven't told me about the Council."
"Yeah... Yeah, sorry," he muttered, following her every movement. "Sorry."
"By the way, it's your turn to take the kids to school," Freya said, turning to him. "Lily has the science fair, so tell her not to forget her project. Oh, you need to meet with Robert's teacher today at ten, he's forgetting to do his homework. Again. And..." She picked up a toddler that was sitting on a high chair and handed it to him, giving him another big grin. "Since you don't have work, it's your turn to look after Ric." She laid a kiss on the toddler's cheek, making him chuckle, then pecked Damon on the lips. "I'll see you at Robert's baseball game, okay?" Without another word, she left.
Damon Salvatore stood in the centre of the kitchen, a toddler in his arm and confusion filling him up more than the delicious meal he smelt. He was confused, worried, and felt as if he could only throw up. But, at the sound of the toddler in his arms crying, he immediately began to rock him. A hand behind his head, soft mumbles telling the child that it was all okay, all while he wondered what the hell was happening.
"Dad!" a soft voice yelled from upstairs. "Robert keeps pulling my hair!"
"Am not!" another voice joined.
"Are to!"
"Am not!"
"Hurry up!" Damon yelled back. He surprised himself with his sudden words, as if he had done that so many times before. "We're gonna by late!" Had he done that before?
"Dad!" the same soft voice yelled, small steps echoing down the stairs. "Dad! Dad! Robert keeps pulling my-ouch!"
"I didn't do anything!" the boy defended. "Dad, she's making it up."
The girl appeared first, a large piece of cardboard in her hands, painted black with silver dots representing stars. In big fluffy letters on top, it read: "HOW OLD IS THE UNIVERSE?" From the cardboard, Damon looked at the little girl. Her hair was dark, gentle ringlets held up in two ponytails and blue eyes that resembled the sky. He was entranced by her, the little girl that was named Lily and called him dad. He then turned to the boy, who had a big pout and his arms crossed. The boy had dark hair and striking green eyes, just like Freya. Then, he turned to the toddler in his arms. Dark hair and green eyes cast down at the chain around his neck.
Damon was a father, and it was something that surprised him to the point where he almost dropped the child in his arms. He quickly grabbed the kid with both arms and began to gently sway him, his arms shaking at the sudden thought. He was a father. He was a father. He was a father. He was a father, and he hoped he was a goddamn good one.
"To the car," Damon said, knowingly grabbing the baby's bag and helping the kids with their things. It was as if he had done it so many times. "Come on. We can't be late."
"But, I want to see Uncle Stefan!" Robert whined, following his sister out of the house. "Mom said he was coming over."
"He's going to your game after school," Damon told him. Each word that escaped his mouth surprised him, as if it was all natural and meant to be there. "He told you yesterday, when you called for the tenth time."
"He owes me a birthday present," Robert mumbled, climbing into his car. Damon noticed that the boy sported a Spider-Man backpack and lunch bag. Lily, on the other hand, sported a simple blue backpack with spaceships all over it. She had a same lunch bag, personalised in red with her full name: Lillian S. He couldn't believe he had named his child after his mother, but it also made him smile.
"Robert, you know Stefan couldn't be here for your birthday," Damon told the child, glancing back at him from the rear-view mirror. He was pouting, arms crossed and lips slightly arched to the left in anger. The boy reminded him a lot of himself. "He had to work, and you know how it's not easy working at the hospital." He wondered if the words he was saying were true, if his brother was really working at a hospital. It made him laugh.
Damon didn't know how, but he knew where their elementary school was located. He parked in a spot, helped the kids get out and have everything in their hands, and was stopped by other parents commenting about the latest PTO meeting and how Freya's white chocolate chip and raspberry cookies were to die for. He answered with a nod, a smile, and a, "I know. They're my favourites." It all came so natural to him, as if he knew what to do, as if he was so perfectly placed in that life.
He kept a tight hold of Ric, the toddler, in his arms as he walked towards the teacher's room at exactly ten. It felt as if he had been there so many times, and it surprised him to remember the exact room number and the exact face. Mrs. Jane Grunewald was a young woman who was leaving next Friday due to being induced and finally having Baby Cooper, which she had nicknamed ever since she found out she was pregnant. She was good friends with Freya outside of the school, but while school was inside the building she was only known as Robert's first grade teacher.
"Damon," she smiled. She signalled to the desk in front of hers with her hand. "Please, take a seat." She began to rummage through the papers in front of hers, mumbling to herself. "Okay, so, um, Robert hasn't been doing so well in class."
"What do you mean?" Damon asked, arching a brow.
"I mean that he hasn't been turning in his homework," she said. "I've called Freya and she said he does it at home, but he just isn't turning it in. Do you know why? Is there something going on at home?"
Damon shrugged his shoulders. "There's nothing going on at home," he told her with a stern voice. "Maybe there's something going on here?"
Mrs. Grunewald let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "No, no. There's nothing going on here. We have made sure that the children are taken care of perfectly, Damon. You know that."
He nodded and leaned back, glancing down at the kid in his arms. With his other hand, he lightly brushed it behind his head, almost as if he were admiring the softness of the baby's ringlets. He glanced at the teacher with an arched brow. "Are you sure about that, Mrs. Grunewald? A few days ago, Robert came home crying with a cut on his cheek because some George Archer decided to throw rocks at him." He gently put Ric in the stroller and crossed his arms. "What's the name of the parents?"
"Damon-"
"If you can't do anything about it, Jane, than I'm going to take care of it," he defended. "The boy is hurting my kid, probably bullying him, and you're looking over it as if it were just them playing. I mean, what kind of kid throw rocks at another kid and calls it a game?" He was surprised that he called Robert his kid, but it felt so prideful and well. As if it just was the perfect piece of the puzzle.
Jane Grunewald stared at him for several seconds, then glanced towards the door before leaning over the desk towards him. "George Archer's parents are coming in a few minutes," she told him. "Stay until 10:30, we'll fix it then. I thought that it was an accident, and George promised not to do it again. I didn't know it keeps happening. Damon, I'm so sorry."
At exactly 10:30, two well dressed people walked in with their heads held high and sweaters tied around their necks. They introduced themselves as Johanna and Andrew Archer, proud parents of George Archer. At that moment, Damon stood and glared, hands by his waist and lips slightly pursed as he thought about how ridiculous the Archer family was.
Andrew went towards him and extended his arm. "Andrew Archer." The man introduced himself with pride, as if he wanted everyone to see how rich and perfect he was. He had a gold watch around his wrist, foreign, followed by a simply gold ring around his finger that also looked expensive.
"Damon Salvatore," he said, grabbing the man's hand tightly and giving it a sturdy shake. "Yeah, I'm Robert's father. You know, the kid that your kid likes to throw rocks at."
"No, no, no, no!" Johanna Archer stepped besides her husband. She shook both her head and her hands, then placed a hand over her chest. "You must be mistaken, Damon. Our little George doesn't do things like that. It must be your child inventing lies to get him in trouble."
"Yes, yes," Andrew Archer nodded. "George wouldn't do any of that."
Damon scoffed. "So, my kid decided to throw a rock at his face just because?" he asked, crossing his arms. He stepped closer and gave them a sarcastic smile. "Listen, just tell your kid not to touch mine. I have a daughter who's pretty good at judo, and she might kick his ass by accident." He turned to look at Andrew and patted him on the shoulder. "And then I'll kick your ass for raising a little shit like him."
Damon turned and grabbed the stroller, pushing his sleeping son between the two people and out the door. He felt proud, like a father was supposed to feel for his child.
There was something that made him smile more than anything in the world at that moment, and it was the many photo books that rested so perfectly in the living room wall. There was one photo book for each child, all big and carefully decorated with care. The first photo book Damon picked up was of him and Freya. There were pictures of them together in New York, the big house Great Aunt Madeline had gifted them for Christmas, The Ground, Robert Belcher's salvage yard. There were pictures of friends, of family, and just of the two of them. The ones with the two of them were intimate, with kisses and happiness filled in the four corners of a single frame.
Then, it was a wedding. He was dressed to the nines, a black suit with a tie and a red flower on his chest, right over his heart. His best man was Stefan, which surprised him quite a bit. Frederick Beauchene was part of his party, along with Thomas Howell, Logan, and Jacob. The five posed in a few pictures, all smiles, sometimes serious, and sometimes just out of the moment. His favourite one, though, was the picture where it was just him and Stefan, his arm draped over his brother's shoulder.
The pictures progressed into those with Freya and her party, which was made up of Rohan, and surprisingly, Bonnie Bennett. There were two other bridesmaids, but the one that surprised Damon the most was Bonnie Bennett standing with a smile next to his wife. He didn't mind seeing his best friend there, but he did, in fact, find it very surprising.
There were pictures of the wedding, of him seeing her for the first time and tearing up at the beauty that Freya was. Her dress was simple, made of silk with flower patterns and flowed gently against her. Just like Rohan's wedding, she had a crown of flowers around her head, accompanying the wide grin on her lips. He remembered the wedding perfectly, the first kiss as a wedded couple, their first dance, the quiet exchange of love between them as they danced to David Bowie.
The second photo album belonged to Lily, and the first picture he saw was him holding her just a few hours after she was born. He was leaning back on chair, staring lovingly down at his first child as she grasped his pointer finger. And just like that, he remembered that moment. He remembered staring down at her closed eyes, admiring her. She was his first child, the second girl to have ever stolen his heart. And when she opened her eyes for the first time, he was entranced by the blue colour that collided with his. A blue that was filled with love, with happiness and every bit of merriment that existed in his world was placed in those two blue eyes that were held by Lillian Salvatore, his daughter.
There were three knocks on the front door, causing Damon to quickly wipe away the tears that had fallen and close the photo book. He stood and made his way to the door, but stopped in front of the mirror in the dining room. He looked the same as always, leather and black and the scent of bourbon coming from him. He shook his head and continued to the front door, opening it.
"Surprise!" Stefan Salvatore called, a wide grin on his lips.
Damon slightly leaned back and stared at his brother. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "I thought this was my dream."
"It is," Stefan nodded. "I just helped you get it started. You're welcome, by the way." He glanced around and raised his brows. "Can I come in?"
Damon sighed, but moved to the side to allow his brother to walk past. Stefan walked in and began to nod as he glanced around, admiring the house. He hummed every now and then, stopped to stare at a picture, then continue on his tour around the first floor of the house. Once he was back in the living room, he turned to his brother.
"So, how is it?"
"How's what?" Damon asked, crossing his arms.
Stefan chuckled and spread his arms. "The dream, Damon. How is it?" When he didn't get a response, he nodded and walked towards the mantle over the fireplace and grabbed a picture. "You know, you never showed me a picture of Freya. This is the first time I've ever seen her." He smiled and laid the picture back. He pointed at another picture. "One niece and two nephews. Anymore to come? I need to spoil them like any good uncle would do."
"Stefan, stop." Damon shook his head and a hand, glancing over at his brother with distaste. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Stefan's smile dropped. "I wanted to see how you're doing..."
"I'm fine."
Stefan shook his head. "Do you know what happened?"
Damon scrunched up his face and shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"That's a no," Stefan muttered. He took a deep breath and laid his hands on his waist. "Damon, you've been in and out of consciousness for a week. You've been in and out of this dream for a week. When you wake up, you scream and beg to return, saying something about needing to save them." He took in a deep breath. "I thought that if I came to see what happened, maybe we can stop it and see why the hell don't you want to leave." His eyes went back to the fireplace, a ghost of a smile playing around his lips. "Although, I can already see why."
Stefan took a seat on the couch and took another deep breath, as if he were preparing himself. "That's Freya, huh?"
Damon nodded. "That's her..."
"You know, you never told me about her," Stefan said. "Well, you did mention her name a few times, but that was the only thing about her that you would say."
"The Nineties," Damon mentioned, letting out a short hum and taking a look out the window. "I said her name then, when you had me locked up in the cellar."
Stefan nodded. "And the first time you got bitten by a werewolf," he continued. "I think you had a hallucination of her."
"I dream about her," Damon quietly divulged, the tips of his fingers playing on his bottom lip. "A lot. For someone who's dead, I sure let her control my life."
"Do you want to talk about her?" the youngest Salvatore suddenly asked. "You've kept her a secret for so long, Damon, it might help if you do."
"What can I say about..." The eldest Salvatore's ears perked up at the sound of a baby crying. He stood from his seat and hurried up the stairs, to the bedroom that belonged to the youngest of his children. The small baby was sitting up in his crib, a big pout on his lips as his small hands held tightly to the wood. He raised a hand and pointed it towards his father, opening it and closing it, the small pout still there. At that moment, Damon immediately moved towards him and lift him up, cradling the child to his chest and gently swaying to the sides as his hand moved gently on the back of his head.
"Ric," Damon said, turning to the doorway. His brother stood there, hands in his pockets. "His name is Ric. He's ten months old and likes to be held. His favourite foods are small cubes of fresh mozzarella and avocado." He glanced down at the baby and let out a small scoff. "I shouldn't even know all that, Stefan. This is just a dream."
"Maybe," Stefan hummed with a shrug of his shoulders, "but it looks like something more to you."
Damon looked at his brother. "The woman I love is alive, and I have three children with her. One of them is named after our mother, Stefan, and she is the smartest kid I know. When she grows up, she wants to study physical cosmology." The eldest let out a scoff and shook his head, glancing up at the ceiling to force back the tears that threatened to fall. "Today, I threatened a parent at my kid's school. I told him that Lillian would kick his kid's ass, and then I would kick his."
Stefan let out a laugh. "You would do that."
"This morning, I woke up to the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee," Damon continued. He looked down at the sleeping child in his arms, letting his small head rest in his large hand. The baby's hand was tightly holding on to his shirt, as if he were afraid to let go. At that moment, Damon was also afraid of putting him down and having him disappear. "I woke up to Freya being my wife, to memories I didn't recognise, and three wonderful children that I would give everything for. Stefan, this is..." He sniffed and shook his head. "When I wake up, all of this will be gone."
Stefan walked up to his brother and laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's only a dream," he said. "None of this is real, Damon. You have to wake up; you can't continue living in this lie. Wake up."
Damon shook his head. "I can't," he said, his voice cracking. "Just give me a few hours, okay? Until nightfall, after I tuck my children to bed and kiss Freya for the last time."
Stefan Salvatore stared at his brother with something Damon recognised perfectly-pity. The oldest could clearly see it in his brother's eyes, the pity that appeared whenever he looked at him. It was fresh, but then it disappeared as the youngest nodded.
"Until nightfall," he nodded. "Do you mind if I stay? I'd like to meet her."
Damon stayed in his perfect dream until nightfall. He picked up his kids with a smile and surprised them with Uncle Stefan. He helped them with their homework when they got home, the five of them on the dining room with snacks and their books spread open as they tried to figure out how difficult first grade maths had gotten. And then a phone call from Freya, asking him if he could begin dinner because traffic was horrible. Like the great husband and father that he was, he told her not to worry.
Stefan decided to continue and help the kids while he made the meal. As he cooked, he stopped and turned back to the table. Damon Salvatore saw the perfect image: his little brother helping his kids with their homework. It was strange at first, but then it felt absolutely perfect, as if it were supposed to happen.
Freya arrived just as the food was about to finish. She greeted him with a hug and a kiss to the lips, a big grin on her lips as she looked up at him. "How was your day?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Perfect," Damon responded with a smile. He leaned down once again and pecked her lips. "Right, guys?" He glanced back at the table.
Freya chuckled and nodded. "Well, I'm glad it was perfect." She pecked his lips and pulled away, pulling off her purse and walking to the table. First, she greeted her children with a big grin, a kiss on their cheeks and a tight hug. She picked up Ric from his highchair and kissed his chubby cheeks, cooing at him as he laughed and giggled. Then, she noticed there was someone else with them. "Oh, Stefan, hi! I thought you would be coming by earlier."
Stefan stared at her in awe. He glanced at his brother and nodded, as if giving him a sign of approval. Then, he turned back to Freya. "Yeah, um, I decided to come by later to see the kids." He ruffled Robert's head with a grin. "And Damon's cooking, so I had to be here. Uh, how are you, Freya?"
"Good," she smiled. "Hey, could you tell Damon that the yard needs cutting? I've been telling him for the past week but he keeps saying it doesn't."
Stefan chuckled and nodded, glancing back at his brother. "You heard her, Damon. The yard needs cutting."
As the brothers laughed, Freya rolled her eyes and put Ric back in his highchair. "I swear, you two are the same," she said as she glanced at them. "It's irritating."
"You should have known that when you married me," Damon said as he moved to her with two plates of food. He pecked her lips first, then laid the plates on the table. "Alright, guys, food is ready! Put up your books and get ready to savour the best thing in your life."
"That's what you said last time, Dad," Lillian giggled, covering her mouth as he laid a plate in front of her. "Robert ended up throwing it up."
Stefan chocked on his water as he tried to hold back his laughter. Damon playfully glared at her daughter, surprised at her sudden words. He smacked his brother in the back of the head and gave a tight smile to his daughter. "Okay, well, Robert had a stomach bug when that happen," he said.
"Suuuuure," Robert said, looking at his sister with a playful grin.
"You know what? You two can just starve," he playfully said. He grabbed the plates from in front of them, then laid them back when they began to shout no's.
Dinner was strange but perfect for Damon Salvatore. He sat at the head of table, Freya to one side and Stefan to the other. Little Ric sat in his high chair by Freya, playing with the few squares of cheese and avocado they had given him to snack on while they ate. Robert and Lillian sat by Stefan, the three giggling every now and then as they joked and made fun of Damon's cooking. It was perfect for him, and that's why he realised it was all just a dream. There was no way that life for him would have been so damn wonderful, because he was Damon Salvatore, and Damon Salvatore always screwed up.
After dinner, he cleaned the dishes with a sullen look. He scrubbed a bit too hard and stared out the kitchen window, his throat itching with the want of a forever in that house. He didn't mind the house; it was perfect for him and his family. Not so small, big enough for his children to run around and have fun as kids and for them to hang out with their friends as teenagers. As he heard them play and laugh, he couldn't help but smile sadly. Damon felt that large bump in his throat, the one that told him that he was about to cry.
There had been a handful of times where Damon had cried so hard. The first time he cried as hard was when his family received the letter that his mother had died. It was the first time he broke down, the first time he wished he could turn off his emotions. The second time was when his brother preferred blood to their friendship. The third and last time he had ever broken down as the moment he caught Freya Beauchene hanging on a tree. It was at the moment where he broke the most, more than when he read about his mother's death and more than when his brother chose blood over him. It was the moment that defined him for the rest of his life, the moment that he decided to drink bourbon just because she introduced him to the taste of burnt toast and liquid smoke and molasses.
"Okay, so I got Robert and Ric to bed," Freya said as she walked to the bedroom with a slight tired look. "Lily is reading a book, but she promised she would go to sleep as soon as she finished the chapter."
"What's she reading?" Damon asked, staring at his wife as she moved around the room.
"The Call of The Wild," she chuckled as she glanced back at him. "Do you remember when you used to read it to her when she was just a few hours old? She was just born, I was sleeping, and you brought a book because you thought you would be bored while I was giving birth." She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. "After she was born, you picked her up and held her for what seemed hours, even when the nurses asked to take her you said no. She was asleep, but you began to read the book to her quietly."
"And now it's her favourite," he finished for her, a small smile growing on his lips.
"She doesn't put it down," Freya nodded. She stopped moving and let out another small laugh as she shook her head. "She's so much like you, Damon."
He swallowed and raised a brow. "Is that bad?"
"No!" she immediately said. "Of course not! I'm glad Lily is like you. She's a wonderful person, Damon; caring, nice, lovable, will destroy anything or anyone that hurts her family." She let out a laugh and nodded. "I'm glad she's like you."
Damon laid his hand on her cheek and pulled Freya to him, immediately laying a rough kiss on her lips. They were just like he remembered, gentle and soft and tasted of mint. He kept kissing her roughly, enjoying the simple merriment the movement of her lips against his brought him. He couldn't get enough of them. He had missed them for so long that he wouldn't mind drowning in them; he was afraid to pull away to take an intake of breath. Like a swimmer, he only took breaths when their lips parted, gently and fast and then continued to stroke lips against lips.
He pulled away after he ended up pressed against her, his eyes scanning hers for the beautiful watercolour green eyes. It surprised him that they were the same shade as he last saw when she was a live; like watercolour green with too much water. From her eyes, he looked down at her nose. It wasn't perfectly shapes, small and slightly crooked to the left. Then, her lips. They were small, but now plump from the kissing they had done. Gently, he passed his finger across her bottom lip. They were slightly chapped, yet they were smooth on his thumb. They felt so real, so soft and gentle, as if Freya was actually under him instead of six feet of dirt.
"This is a dream," he uttered, glancing back at her eyes. "I don't want it to end."
Freya smiled and brought her hand from behind his head to his cheek. Her thumb moved up and down, gently and softly as if she were being careful. "You have to wake up," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "Damon, you have to wake up."
"What?" He stared at her with curiosity, surprised at her sudden words.
She gave him a wider smile, yet it was still small. "You have to wake up, Damon. You can't dwell on dreams forever." She pecked his lips once, twice, multiple times till tears decorated her cheeks as a smile decorated her lips. And she kissed him, and as she kissed him she repeated those two dreadful words, "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."
When Damon Salvatore opened his eyes, he was no longer in that calm bedroom with the love of his life beneath him and her lips on his. Instead, he was laying back in an uncomfortable bed with dimly lit lights, the sound of rain hitting the roof, and thunder. He could hear the electricity running through the walls, the electricity from the lightning that lit the room a horrendous hue of bone white. Slowly, he sat up and took a glance around the room.
"You're awake," Stefan said, standing from the corner where he sat. "I thought it would have been longer."
"How long..." Damon began to ask, but he trailed off and glanced around the room. It was a shitty motel room, second floor from what he could see out the window. "How long have I been out?"
"A week and a half," someone else answered. The vampire's eyes moved to the woman that stood at the end of the bed with her arms crossed. "Welcome back, Damon."
"Bonnie?" He raised a brow. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Stefan called," she said as she glanced at the younger Salvatore. "He said there were a few witches here that got you under a spell."
Damon scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. "Uh, yeah, they were trying to look into my memories?" He shrugged his shoulders once again and looked at the witch. "Can witches do that?"
Bonnie nodded. "If they have immense power they can," she said as she crossed her arms. "While you were out, we decided to search for them. It's a coven, a big one. When witches are together and share their powers, they are unstoppable."
"Okay," Damon nodded as he raised a brow. "What does that have to do with me?"
"Not you." Bonnie bit her bottom lip and glanced at Stefan.
"Who?" Damon asked as he glanced between his brother and the witch. "Who is it about?"
Stefan sighed and stepped forward. "Damon, it's about Freya."
The vampire stiffened at the mention of her name. As fast as it happened, he shook his head and let out a huff. "She's dead," he reminded him. "How the hell is it about her?"
"Well..." Bonnie scratched her head. "Damon, the witches did something. Freya's not so dead anymore."