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In the last fifty years, the Salvatore boarding house hasn’t changed. It still smells of dust, old books and Vervain. It still smells of Damon and Stefan and of sex and hatred. It still smells of Elena and death, even after so many years. Caroline takes a moment to mourn the loss of her friend. The choice to stay human had been Elena’s alone but she knows what it does to the brothers. She only wishes that Damon had a thought for her own humanity or that Stefan would have fought harder for her.
She stands in front of the boarding house, clutching her (real Prada purse, thank you very much) and stares at the door. She does not need an invitation but that does not stop her hesitation. Forty years is a long time to abandon the very people who claimed you as family.
Caroline knows she should have come home sooner or maybe begged Damon to come with her. All these years, and she can’t forgive him completely yet. Can’t understand why everybody else had such an easy time of it. Except, listening to the way he and Stefan lounge on the couch in the living room, sharing a glass of whisky as they mourn the loss of their mutual love, she can kind of understand it. Damon, for all his big-boy talk and arrogance, has a desperate kind of need to him. Like all he needs is a second chance but its one that she doesn’t want to give him.
Forcing a mask of courage, Caroline straightens as she strides into the boarding house like she belongs there. Her heels click against the familiar wood and she spots them almost immediately. Her smile is sardonic but she can’t find the heart to leave it mean.
“You know,” she says brightly, “If you get drunk every time a human dies, you’re going to be wallowing the rest of your life.” They’re not her words, not originally and Damon twists to give her a smirk.
“Blondie,” He greets, “About time you showed up.”
“I was in Paris.” She waves away whatever insult he’s about to shoot at her. “Living the dream.” She frowns at Stefan’s silence but she doesn’t say anything about it. Elena was the love of his life. Caroline understands how that feels.
Heels click against the ground and she sits herself between the brothers, pouring herself a glass of whisky. There was already a third cup and their lack of protest tells her it’d been waiting. Apart of her is touched by the thought, the other wonders how they knew she was coming. She hadn’t been there for Bonnie or Matt. Elena wouldn’t have been any different except its Elena and she was family. Besides, if Damon cares enough to ask she can always blame it on Stefan because they all know that drunk enough, he might try to pull an Edward.
Damon refills his glass as she sets the bottle of whisky down. He reaches past her to pour Stefan another drink. He lifts his drink and says, “To Elena.” Three glasses clink together and the liquid is gone in a gulp. Another glass, and it’s like this is a routine the three of them have done since forever.
Caroline swirls the third glass in her hand, using her fingers in her free hand to push away curls in her hair. It’s going to be a night of drinking and possibly sex if the looks Damon gives her is any indication and Caroline can’t help but wonder if the death of Elena isn’t a good thing.
“You know,” she muses, “If Elena had been turned, I don’t think she’d survive it.”
Stefan peers at her and she blushes under his gaze. He breaks his silence and apart of her is relieved and yet, she worries that she might have said the wrong thing. “I know.” He says, “But I can’t help but think that we’d be happy.” He adds thoughtfully.
“Sure.” Damon chirps before she can say anything. “And then she’d go off and do something stupid like kill herself for seeing Little Brother as food.”
Caroline rolls her eyes but she knows Damon is right. She had a hard enough time with it herself. It was why she left, why she never stayed anywhere long. She didn’t go the Anne Rice route but she was far enough away that the hunger didn’t bother her much.
Stefan doesn’t say anything and that worries her. She touches his arm. “We would have taken care of her.” She told him, “Damon’s just being an ass.”
“If being truthful makes me an ass … “ Damons voice trails and he stares into his glass. Stefan doesn’t look at her, instead staring at the floor. Though he does shift closer, until they’re inches apart.
Still touching his arm, she slides her hand down until it pats Stefan’s leg. “You did the right thing, Stefan.”
“You’re such a masochist.” Damon mutters, “You always do the right thing.”
“Yeah well, at least we know where your standards side.” Caroline snaps, shooting her maker an irritated glance.
“I’m not the one who left her family in the dust.”
Caroline scoffs. “She didn’t want me around.” She reminds Damon and the hurt still lingers in her voice as she says it. Even so, she lifts her chin and narrows her eyes at the vampire. “And anyway, staying wouldn’t have done any good for anybody.”
Now, Damon frowns at her and she shifts, unable to keep her angry stare. Instead, she turns her gaze to where her hand rests on Stefan’s leg. The house is silent for a minute, empty of all life except for the raising of three glasses.
“He didn’t mean Liz.” Stefan says softly.
Damon scoffs. “If she didn’t figure that out on her own, she’s not worth the title.”
Caroline turns to glare at him but it doesn’t hold the heat from before. She’s still trying to figure out what Stefan means. Elena? There was no way it could be the two brothers – she never fooled herself into thinking that she was a part of the trio. A friend, maybe but never family.
“You could have come with me.” She says, while giving her brain a chance to catch up. “I mean, I get why you stayed. Its Elena – they always stay – but we were past our limits anyway. I don’t even know how you guys managed it for so long.”
Stefan shakes his head. “You wanted some time to figure things out.” He murmurs.
Damon snorts ironically and takes another big gulp. Looking between him and Stefan, Caroline frowns. “So what – you claimed me or whatever? Is this a weird vampire thing?”
Stefan smiles a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not exactly, Caroline.”
Damon pats her leg and lets it rest at her thigh. “Sure it is. You’re blood, blondie. Our blood. Therefore, you’re family. “
“We’re not the Cullens, Damon.” Caroline shakes her head, but she doesn’t know what to add to that.
“So? I’m going to burn that stupid piece of crap your generation passes for literature. Just because we’re not all shiny sparkles and animal-happy eaters, doesn’t mean we can’t have family of our own. You’re ours, Caroline. Get used to it.”