Witchcraft and Shadows

Echoes from the Past

"Witch hunts are the tragic result of a society's inability to confront its own inner demons." 

— Anonymous

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The Salvatore Crypt

Stefan opened the heavy door of the crypt, its groan echoing in the cold, stone chamber. He stepped inside, eyes scanning the room filled with the remains of his family. His sigh was heavy, almost as if the weight of the centuries he'd lived was finally catching up to him. Clutching a bottle of bourbon, he chuckled bitterly.

"Yep... this is happening. I'm going to talk out loud to a crypt filled with my dead family." His voice was tinged with irony, but the pain cut through. He wandered deeper inside, his eyes trailing over the names on the plaques. "Everyone but you, Damon. Because wherever you are, it's not here."

Sitting down on a small bench, Stefan swirled the bourbon in the bottle. "I gotta say... I'm not doing so great without you. I keep trying to start over, but..." He paused, the sadness in his voice giving way to frustration. "I can't get anywhere. Because I'm lost, brother. I'm lost."

In a fit of anger, Stefan hurled the bottle of bourbon across the crypt. But before it could crash against the stone walls, a hand reached out and caught it effortlessly. Stefan's eyes widened in disbelief as the figure stepped out of the shadows.

"So what? Gone a couple of months, and you think it's okay to waste a perfectly good bottle of bourbon?"

Stefan froze, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared at the man before him.

"Damon?"

"Yep, in the flesh." Damon smiled, but his expression was serious, his eyes searching Stefan's face.

Stefan blinked, still in shock. "How am I seeing you right now?"

"Because I'm not dead, Stefan. I mean, this stuff's good, but it's not 'I see dead people' good."

Damon walked toward his brother, the seriousness in his gaze melting into something softer. Stefan's hands trembled as he reached out to touch Damon's shoulder, and when he felt the solid form beneath his fingers, the tears that had been threatening to spill finally escaped.

"It's a hell of a long story, brother, but... I'm back. I'm back," Damon reassured him.

Stefan pulled Damon into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around his brother in a way that said more than words ever could. Damon didn't resist; he hugged Stefan back just as tightly.

"I missed you too, buddy," Damon whispered.

When they finally pulled apart, Stefan's voice cracked with emotion. "I thought you were gone."

Damon smirked. "Well, you didn't think I was gone gone, right? I promised you an eternity of misery, remember?"

The humor in Damon's voice broke the tension, and Stefan couldn't help but laugh, albeit through a veil of tears.

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Whitmore Dorm Room

Back at Whitmore College, Elena paced the floor of her dorm room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she tried to make sense of the news Caroline had just delivered. Caroline sat on her bed, watching Elena with concern.

"He's back?" Elena asked, her voice filled with disbelief. Caroline nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah. Damon's back," Caroline confirmed. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around it."

Elena stopped pacing and turned toward Caroline, her face clouded with a mixture of emotions. "What about Bonnie?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Caroline hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. "He said... she wasn't over there. Or Cassidy—that they weren't over there. Wherever he was."

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Salvatore Mausoleum

In the mausoleum, Damon sighed as he leaned against the doorframe. The smile he had worn for Stefan was gone, replaced by a somber expression as he spoke.

"Bonnie sacrificed herself so I could come back," Damon admitted. "But I don't want anyone to know. No sense in making this harder than it already is."

Stefan furrowed his brow, the confusion clear on his face. "What are we going to tell people?"

Damon took a deep swig from the bourbon bottle, his eyes darkening as he remembered the prison world he had been trapped in. "Mystic Falls, 1994," he said, his tone dry. "If a bunch of witches were going to create some space-time purgatory, you'd think they'd pick a better year than the one Kurt Cobain killed himself in. The whole thing was just very depressing."

Stefan looked baffled. "How did you get back?"

Damon exhaled deeply, his voice tired. "Long story, big flash of light, two decades' worth of jet lag. I'll explain all my adventures in that flannel hellscape later. But first, there's someone I need to go see."

He turned toward the door, grasping Stefan's shoulders affectionately as he passed by.

Stefan takes a deep breath before he calls out to Damon, "Wait!".

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Whitmore College – Alaric's Office

Alaric stood in front of his desk, his arms crossed as he watched Elena. She stood there, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

"I don't want to see him," Elena said flatly, her voice tinged with a mixture of fear and resolve.

Alaric sighed, nodding in understanding. "I get it. But that's how you feel now, Elena. If you thought there was even a chance you'd see Damon again, you never would've asked me to compel away your memories of loving him."

Her expression softened, the guard she had built around herself faltering for a moment. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced with uncertainty. "What do you think will happen when I do see him?"

Alaric's gaze softened, the weight of the situation evident in his eyes. "I think you'll find the answers you're looking for. But you have to face him to do that."

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The Salvatore Crypt

Damon comes to a stop in front of the door to the mausoleum and turns to face Stefan, shocked and appalled from what he heard.

Damon looks at Stefan incredulously and in disbelief, "She did what?"

Stefan braces himself against the wall with a sad expression. He wish he didn't have to tell Damon this. "...She had Alaric do it."