( sam is swept up in the memories, and damon isn't doing much better. they're not sequential or coherent, more impressions than true memories, but it's not the sequence or the veracity that matter. it's the feelings they elicit, the helplessness that damon hasn't felt in fifty years, the hopelessness. it's hard to remember that he isn't there anymore — and even when he does, it's harder still to pull himself out of it.
it's hands in his guts, tearing out parts of his stomach and bleeding stomach acid everywhere. it's blurry vision, and the inability to tell if it's because of the missing slices or tears. it's enzo's screams ringing in his ears even at night.
it's the slowly dwindling certainty that stefan would come, and the numbing realization that no, he won't.
if these were memories he'd bothered to consider now that he's capable of caring about them, with his humanity on in full force, they might not hit as hard. he'd have a framework for how to deal with them, even if that framework was anger or violence or any number of the other terrible coping strategies damon's picked up over the years. he'd have something to do that would help pull himself and sam out of this tangle of misery. he hasn't, though, hasn't thought about any of it for a decade, and longer before that. it's all just as fresh as it was when it was actually happening, and he doesn't know how to drag himself out, only knows how to not be here.
damon's shields are forgotten entirely in the onslaught of these memories. he doesn't know what to do, or how to get away from them — it feels like drowning, like he needs to swim up but doesn't know which way up is. for long moments all he can do is experience it all again, stuck in a repeating loop, and then, it... changes. he breathes. in to a count of seven, out to a count of eleven. sam's breathing bleeds through, and damon latches onto it, his only point of normalcy in the chaos that is his head. he doesn't know how long they stay like that, breathing in tandem, but eventually damon opens his eyes and he's back in the station, augustine decades behind him and sam wilson breathing in front of him. )
What the fuck was that, ( he says, voice low and dangerous. thankfully, it doesn't quiver at all on the words, shaky as damon himself feels. )
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it's hands in his guts, tearing out parts of his stomach and bleeding stomach acid everywhere. it's blurry vision, and the inability to tell if it's because of the missing slices or tears. it's enzo's screams ringing in his ears even at night.
it's the slowly dwindling certainty that stefan would come, and the numbing realization that no, he won't.
if these were memories he'd bothered to consider now that he's capable of caring about them, with his humanity on in full force, they might not hit as hard. he'd have a framework for how to deal with them, even if that framework was anger or violence or any number of the other terrible coping strategies damon's picked up over the years. he'd have something to do that would help pull himself and sam out of this tangle of misery. he hasn't, though, hasn't thought about any of it for a decade, and longer before that. it's all just as fresh as it was when it was actually happening, and he doesn't know how to drag himself out, only knows how to not be here.
damon's shields are forgotten entirely in the onslaught of these memories. he doesn't know what to do, or how to get away from them — it feels like drowning, like he needs to swim up but doesn't know which way up is. for long moments all he can do is experience it all again, stuck in a repeating loop, and then, it... changes. he breathes. in to a count of seven, out to a count of eleven. sam's breathing bleeds through, and damon latches onto it, his only point of normalcy in the chaos that is his head. he doesn't know how long they stay like that, breathing in tandem, but eventually damon opens his eyes and he's back in the station, augustine decades behind him and sam wilson breathing in front of him. )
What the fuck was that, ( he says, voice low and dangerous. thankfully, it doesn't quiver at all on the words, shaky as damon himself feels. )