A/N: Hi!

I had someone on Tumblr point this out for me the other day and I would just like to point this out: There are some Dabby [Damon+Abby] moments. Not exactly romantic, but not totally platonic either. The reason for these moments—which will be shown in flashbacks throughout the first or entire story— is to give some background on the plot. Also, please leave a review! Would be greatly appreciated.

PRESENT DAY: Bonnie's POV

"Bonnie! Hurry up!"

The sound of her roommate yelling did nothing but cause Bonnie to slow down the process of putting her mascara on. Although it would piss Caroline—said roommate's name—off, it only made her smirk. Her shoulder length black hair was blown dry from the wet tangled mess the shower had created, then brushed through, straightened, and finally, curled at the ends to give it some volume.

Usually, out of the two of them, she was the one who got ready the fastest, being that she grew up a tomboy, but as she grew up had discovered the power of curling iron, make-up, and what good set of heels could do for her self-confidence. Then, you had Caroline—you're stereotypical over cheery and full of hope blonde, who had been a cheerleader in high school and prom queen. But the blonde also had a knack of spreading her legs open and getting into trouble with the wrong people, but that was another story for another day.

"I'm coming!" she yells back, setting down the tube of mascara and actually, although she had been standing in front of it for the past thirty minutes, for the first time, looked at herself in the mirror. As stated before, she usually only took about ten to fifteen minutes to get ready on a good day, but today was different. Today was the day she had been dreading for the past two weeks since she had gotten the news.

Today was her grams funeral. And tomboy or not, she was going to put on her best dress, hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall and keep her head high. Because as Shelia Bennett had always told her, Bonnie had to stay strong.

When she finally exited the bathroom, donning a black dress that went down two inches past her knee caps, a light red shale, and a pair of heels, she instantly came face-to-face with her roommate slash best friend, Caroline. The blonde was wearing something similar, except her dress was mid-thigh high, sleeveless, and lacy. The only thing missing was a set of heels, but were replaced by gray flats.

Caroline stared at her friend, giving her a small smile as she grabbed Bonnie's hand and squeezed it tightly. It gave Bonnie a sense of comfort and caused her chin to quiver as her vision began to blur, but before the tears that threatened to fall could do any real damage to the make-up she had spent an hour doing, she wipes them away with a quick swipe of her thumb. Her grip on Caroline's hand tightens, knowing that if she let go, she might fall and break. Because if she weren't there, and she wasn't holding her hand, Bonnie probably would've lost all sense of reality.

"You ready to go?" Caroline asks, raising a filled in eyebrow.

Bonnie only shrugs. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Let's get this over with.

As soon as Bonnie had entered the church, she was ambushed by a flock of people, each one with tears in their eyes and tissue in hand. They all had something to tell her, but the most common sayings she heard were:

"I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Shelia was an amazing woman."

She appreciated it, really. And had thanked everyone, forcing a smile onto her lips and shaking hands before she had grabbed onto Caroline's arm and practically begged while whispering in her ear, "Get me the hell out of here." Bonnie had meant that they should leave the building, but it seemed that Caroline had gotten the wrong message and ordered for the people surrounding her to move out of the way and dragged Bonnie to sit down at one of the benches. She wanted to yell, to scream that they should turn back, her anxiety eating her alive.

A painful headache was forming, causing pressure to build behind her eyes and she knew, sooner or later, that not eating anything for breakfast except for an apple would catch up to her; she just hadn't known it would in the form of a migraine that was piercing her skull. Bonnie didn't know what it was, she had never had a migraine this bad, but the closer Caroline dragged her—being that next of kin had to sit up at the front near the stage where the choir would stand and sing—to her grams' coffin, the more her head hurt.

At some point, without even noticing, a nose bleed had begun forming. It was an a middle aged lady that was sitting behind her—hair the exact same color of carrots, eyes a dark green, and skin pale—that had noticed the trail of blood leaking from her nose. She had offered Bonnie a tissue from a small packet of kleenex that she had kept in her purse, an overly concerned look on her face. Taking the tissue and thanking the woman, she had turned back around and wiped the blood away, a small part of her wondering why the woman had looked so worried about her, but she shrugged it off.

Before going to the graveyard where she'd have to see her the casket her grams was lying in—the casket Bonnie had spent hours trying to decide which one she liked before she had grown tired of staring at the magazine and closed her eyes, twirled her finger and whatever casket her finger landed on she'd go with—there had been a reception at the church to honor all that Shelia did for the community of Mystic Falls.

Which left Mayor Lockwood standing up behind the podium at the front of the church with everyone facing the older man.

He had a list of things that he talked about, namely all the good that Shelia had done for her fellow townsfolk, and a speech to finish it all off before everyone headed to their cars—"I didn't know her all that well, but she taught me a lot. She was a great mentor and an inspiration to those she met. It's a shame to have lost such a kind, beautiful soul and she will be missed."

It was no surprise to Bonnie to see some of the college students her grandmother had taught at Whitmore University—she actually knew most of them by name—but what came as a shock is when her eyes land on a mysterious man she didn't recognize at the burial.

As everyone is standing around the Oak casket an hour later, her surrogate Uncle, Alaric Saltzman, starts reciting some of the words he had written down on a piece of paper, his niece, and nephew standing a few feet away from as his wife, Jenna, had her arm linked through with his. When Alaric couldn't get the rest of what was written down out in words, Jenna took over, grabbing the paper out of her husband's hands and finishing what he had to say for him. Bonnie didn't know what it was, but something about the family gave her bad feeling. And somehow, she had found herself at one point or another consoling Jenna's niece, Elena Gilbert, as she cried hysteria. They were what one might call 'acquaintances'. But it was actually Caroline who knew Elena best, seeing as the two had been on the same cheer squad together back in high school.

It's only when somebody asks if she wants to say something before the casket is to be lowered, does Bonnie pay any attention to what is going on around her.

Her head snaps upward, her eyes scanning the large crowd of people surrounding her and suddenly, she felt like she was back in school and the teacher had called on her. Her heart starts to beat a little faster, anxiety rushing over her like a tidal wave. She could feel her stomach begin to churn at just the thought of having to open her mouth because she knew if she did, the only thing that would come out of it would be vomit. And nobody wanted to see that.

Blinking rapidly, she tries to come up with something—fucking anything—to say, but her mind draws a blank.

Shit, shit, shit!

Bonnie knew she was screwed by the way everyone was looking at her, all eyes falling in her specific direction, eyebrows raised in curiosity and the air filled with anticipation as everyone waited for her to talk. The word 'terrified' was the only thing that came to mind with everyone staring at her, and she knew they were getting annoyed that this girl had the nerve to freeze up when they all had things to do and didn't have all day to do them.

She knew she was holding everyone up (she never had been one for crowds). It was true she had written something in preparation for her grams' funeral, but when she tried to write down how she felt, the words became jumbled and turned in squiggly lines instead of actual senteces—and one time, the paper she had been writing on lit on fire, something Bonnie couldn't explain and was going to blame on the candle she had knocked over a second later.

Why? You might ask. Well...blaming it on the candle seemed like a better explanation, than trying to explain to her therapist that she had somehow made paper light on fire. That and Bonnie didn't feel like being locked up in a nut-house for the rest of her life.

And just as she goes to open her mouth to say something, someone cuts her to it. Bonnie's eyes dart from the casket to where the voice had come from, and standing there, behind everyone, was a man dressed in not a tux like he should've been, but a pair of black denim jeans, a black Henley, and a black leather jacket that went perfectly with his black boots.

Who is he? She asked herself, silently and in her head as she stared at the man in wonder, listening to his every word.

"...You could say Shelia and I we're...friends, but in a way, she had also been family."

Damon's POV

Damon hated funerals.

He hated how much everyone was crying and that these occasions were always so sad. But what he hated more was the fact that Shelia Bennett was being lowered into the ground, body in the coffin that her granddaughter, Bonnie, had picked. It made him angry, that something so little as cancer had taken down the almighty witch. It was ironic in a way—even made Damon laugh when he thought about all the monsters Shelia had fought and won against, but was, in the end, it was some disease that had her lying dead in a casket. He had been standing

He had been standing off to the side, behind everyone, not wanting to attract too much attention as he stood leaning against an Evergreen tree, listening to the most pathetic speech he's ever heard come from a man that reeked of alcohol. Damon could smell the whiskey on him even from ten feet away. It filled the air, along with the scent of pine trees, death, and depression (that is if you can smell depression?). Although, he couldn't be one to judge. There was flask full of Bourbon in his back pocket, half full because he had been drinking it throughout the reception back at the church where he hid near the doors, keeping on eye on things.

The only reason he had come out from hiding was because he respected Shelia enough and, believe it or not, she had been his...friend. Sort've. Kind of. Maybe. Actually, Damon had no fucking clue what the woman was supposed to be to him, seeing as she had spent most of her time when he'd drop by in the middle of the night or call lecturing him about something that was completely irrelevant to the topic at hand—okay, even that last bit had his eyes rolling and he could just imagine Shelia rolling over in her grave. Damon knew why she lectured him, smack him over the head one-too-many times when he said something stupid. He just didn't want to believe it.

...He didn't want to believe that Shelia had...cared about him.

It made it harder to accept the fact that she was dead and besides her daughter, Abby, the only friend he's ever had was her. It made it harder for him when he thought about when he said goodbye a little too late after she had taken her last breath. He had been there, in her house, sitting on a chair by her bedside holding her hand. Shelia had always yelled at him to leave her alone and never come back. She had questioned him numerous times about why he was still there after she had told him to go.

She hated his odd friendship with her daughter and how Abby might've been the only thing, the only person, they'd ever been on the same page about. In the end, Shelia didn't want to believe the blood sucking vampire actually had a heart—a still would-never-beat-again and cold heart, but still a heart never-the-less—and that he cared about her, either.

And admittedly, other than coming here for Shelia, Damon couldn't give a damn about the funeral. He'd been sipping from his flask when the drunk's wife—he was pretty sure, from what he had overheard from the whispering of other's back at the church, that the red haired woman's name was Jenny...No, Jenna and her husband name (a.k.a the stumbling drunk) was Alaric—was done finishing off her speech does Damon put his attention on something else.

Or rather, somebody else.

When somebody—a bulky guy ('boy' would be the better the term) with short, choppy brown hair that hung in his eyes—suddenly asks if Shelia's grandmother wanted to add something before they lowered the casket. Only one word enters Damon's mind.

Bonnie.

Damon's eyes dart up and over to where the short girl stood. She was dressed in a black attire much like everyone else, but with her shoulder-length black hair curled at the ends and minimal make-up on. Her forest green eyes didn't hold that certain brightness to them like they usually did. No. Instead, the only thing they sparkled with was sadness and tears—both of which she was holding back from showing to the rest of the world. After watching over her for so many years, Damon could almost read her like a book, except some chapters hadn't been written yet and other's had been torn out. But there was one other thing he had noticed when had walked by her twenty minutes ago upon entering the cemetery.

...It was that was subtle buzzing energy that her body was emitting. He didn't understand it at first, what the buzzing was, but it hadn't taken him long to figure it out. And when Damon had, it sent a surge of panic through him, heading straight for his dead heart. He knew this buzzing all too well—because, this 'buzzing' wasn't buzzing at all. It was actually Bonnie's magic slowly rising to the surface, coming alive after so many years of being dormant. He knew what would happen if she doesn't find out the truth.

From personal experience and a front row seat, Damon had only witnessed it once, but if a witch's magic—something that's so pure and raw and full of life—is forced down for too long it will build like a volcano...and well, as volcano's do when too much pressure builds, they explode. And he could feel that energy again, but slightly stronger than last time. It attracted his attention, made it almost impossible for him to take his eyes off of her. The part of him that was made up of magic, the piece of him that made it so he was able to live an immortal life for eternity, was drawn to Bonnie—more specifically, her magic.

It took him a minute to figure out why she was buzzing with magic and then it came to him. The only explanation for why she reeked of anxiety and looked like she was ready to puke.

Shelia.

After realizing that the pressure to say something was practically eating her alive, Damon—relucantly—slips his flask back into his back pocket and steps forward, opening his mouth—and regretting it the second the words, the pathetic eulogy he had been writing his head since the moment he found out about Shelia's condition, came pouring off his tongue.

"...You could say Shelia and I we're...friends, but in a way, she had also been family." He began, feeling more than a few pairs of eyes on him, burning a hole into the side of his skull. Damon didn't dare look around, feeling nervous all of sudden (and he rarely ever gets nervous) and just kept his eyes on the closed casket in the ground. "None of you know me, and honestly, the only reason I'm here is because Shelia was one of those rare few who has—sorry, I mean had—my respect. Although she was a giant pain in my ass, I would do anything to have just one more phone call with her, even if she was lecturing me about not doing anything stupid...or reckless...basically, just yelling at me not to do what my instincts are telling me. She...was a hell raiser that woman, and I wouldn't doubt for a second that every time she got out of bed, the Devil would be scared shit less—and if I've learned anything from Shelia it's that A) you never want to get on her bad side, and B) there's always a choice...a good one or a bad one. The thing is, you'll never know which one is which until you're staring the consequences of your actions dead in the eye. So, before I say my final goodbye to her, I only have one thing to share with you all: she wouldn't want you standing around here and crying."

He would've just left it there, but before taking it off, Damon grabs the flask from him back pocket, unscrews the top and holds it up in the air and then bring it down to his lips, taking a long swig, the Bourbon burning the back of his throat. "To Shelia! You'll be missed, old friend."

The last thing he sees before zooming away is a tearful Bonnie Bennett and the confused expression that has taken over her facial features.

...Until next time.

A/N: Hello! Please leave a review if you enjoyed this chapter!