The Ten-Year Travel (Vampire Diaries Fan-Fic)

Chapter 8 (The Switch)

The Salvatore house was quiet that evening, the kind of silence that only came when Damon wasn't wreaking havoc or Stefan wasn't brooding somewhere. But this calm wasn't meant to last.

Damon wandered into the kitchen, craving a drink after a long day. He opened the cabinet where he kept his best bourbon, only to find an unsettling sight: the nearly full bottle he'd stored yesterday was now empty, the cork lying haphazardly on the counter.

"What the—" Damon muttered, his sharp eyes narrowing.

A noise from outside caught his attention—muted giggles and the clink of glass. His jaw tightened as realization dawned.

He stepped onto the porch and scanned the yard. His gaze landed on the large oak tree at the edge of the property. There, in the moonlight, was Matilda, leaning back against the trunk with a glass in one hand and the remains of his prized bourbon in the other.

"Unbelievable," Damon growled under his breath.

Tilly didn't notice him at first, too busy swirling the amber liquid in the glass like she'd seen him do countless times. She tilted her head back, taking a long sip, and then made a face.

"Ugh," she muttered, her voice slurring slightly. "How does he drink this stuff?"

"Practice," Damon said, his voice cold as steel.

Tilly froze, the glass halfway to her lips. Slowly, she turned her head to see Damon standing a few feet away, arms crossed and a deadly expression on his face.

"Oh, hey, Damon," she said, trying to sound casual. "Didn't see you there."

"Clearly," he replied, stepping closer. "Care to explain why you're out here drinking my bourbon?"

She shrugged, her bravado failing to mask the nervous flicker in her eyes. "Just wanted to see what the hype is. You're always drinking it."

"And your brilliant idea was to steal it, sneak out here, and—what? Play grown-up?" Damon snatched the bottle from her hand, shaking it. "This isn't a game, Tilly."

"It's just alcohol," she snapped, her tone defensive. "Why are you freaking out?"

Damon's eyes darkened. "It's not just alcohol. You're a vampire. Your emotions are amplified, and your self-control is already hanging by a thread. What happens when you get drunk and lose it completely?"

Tilly rolled her eyes, the alcohol dulling her usual caution.

Damon's voice dangerously quiet. "You think this is funny? You're walking a fine line, Matilda. And tonight, you just crossed it.

Before she could respond, Damon grabbed her by the arm and marched her toward the backyard bench.

"Wait, Damon! Come on, I'm fine!" she protested, stumbling slightly as he dragged her along.

"You won't be in a minute," he shot back, his tone ice-cold.

Stefan appeared in the doorway, his expression shifting from confusion to disapproval as he took in the scene. "What's going on?"

"She's been out here drinking my bourbon," Damon said curtly, not slowing down. "Time for a lesson she won't forget."

"Damon—"

"No," Damon snapped, cutting Stefan off. "I've let her off the hook too many times. She thinks she's invincible, and I'm done letting her prove herself wrong the hard way."

Tilly's stomach twisted as Damon stopped near the tree line. He released her arm and plucked a thin, flexible branch from the tree, the sound of it snapping sending a chill down her spine.

"Damon, please," she begged, her bravado replaced by panic.

"Too late for that," he said grimly.

Damon guided her toward the bench and bent her over it, ignoring her frantic struggles.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, tears already streaming.

"You're not sorry," Damon said, his voice sharp. "But you will be."

The first strike of the switch made her yelp, the sting cutting through the fog of alcohol in her system.

"This is for stealing," Damon said, delivering another swat.

Tilly cried out, gripping the edge of the bench.

"This is for drinking," he continued, striking her again.

"Damon, stop!" she sobbed, but he wasn't finished.

"And this," he said, his tone heavy with anger and disappointment, "is for putting yourself—and everyone else—in danger."

The final swat left her trembling, her defiance completely shattered. Damon stepped back, tossing the branch aside.

"You're grounded," he said, his voice cold. "No going out, no phone, no nothing. And if I catch you pulling a stunt like this again, it'll be worse. Do you understand me?"

Tilly nodded weakly, unable to look at him.

Stefan finally stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Go to your room, Tilly," he said softly.

She didn't argue, stumbling back toward the house, her face streaked with tears.

Damon leaned against the tree, running a hand through his hair. "She doesn't get it, Stefan. She's going to get herself killed—or worse, she's going to hurt someone who doesn't deserve it."

"She's young," Stefan said. "She's still learning. But she'll figure it out."

"She'd better," Damon muttered. "Because I won't always be there to clean up her messes."

Inside, Tilly sat on her bed, clutching her knees to her chest. The sting of Damon's punishment lingered, but it was the weight of his disappointment that hurt the most.

For the first time, she realized just how close she was to losing the trust of the two people who cared about her most. And that was a mistake she wasn't sure she could afford to make again.