Bonnie burst into the abandoned building with an urgency that made her breath quicken abd her heart to pound against her ribs.
"Matt!" she cried the moment she saw him sprawled on the floor.
She rushed to his side, gently lifting his head and wincing when she saw the swelling at his temple. "Oh my God Matt, can you hear me?"
"Well," a voice drawled from the shadows, "that depends. Are we grading head trauma on a scale of oops to you're definitely concussed?"
Bonnie spun to look at where the voice came from. Michael stepped out of the corner, utterly relaxed, a bag of gummy bears in one hand as he casually popped a few into his mouth.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. "What did you do to him?"
Michael froze mid-chew. Slowly, slowly, he turned to look at her.
"…Why," he said carefully, "in the hell would you think I did anything to the bus boy?"
Bonnie folded her arms. "Because every time something insane happens, you're standing right next to it."
"Ok that's unfair and doesn't even make any sense," Michael replied with a look of confusion, then gestured toward Matt with the gummy bear bag. "And for the record, Vickie established a very intimate meeting between Matt's temple and a wrench."
Bonnie blinked. "…What?"
"In layman's terms," he added helpfully, "she smacked him…very hard for a ghost"
As if on cue, Matt gasped and jolted awake.
"Ah," Michael said brightly. "Speak of the concussed."
Matt groaned, lifting a hand to his head and immediately hissing in pain. "What, what happened?"
Bonnie leaned over him. "Matt, don't move. Your head was hit pretty bad."
Michael crouched beside them. "You performed a ritual to bring your sister back and partially, mind you. Most people can't see her, but she can absolutely interact with physical objects."
Matt's eyes widened. "Oh my God Vickie"
"Yes," Michael continued, tossing another gummy bear into his mouth, "and that ritual you did? Front-row ticket to a horror show."
Bonnie stiffened. "Michael—"
"Oh, I'm not done," he said lightly. "It would also seem Vickie is currently on a hunting mission, courtesy of a wicked witch from the Other Side. And Elena? She's the big red X on the map."
Bonnie's breath caught. "What? Why would anyone want to kill Elena?"
Michael looked at her slowly. Flatly. Like she'd just asked why water was wet.
"…Are you seriously asking that?"
He sighed. "Because Elena is a walking key ingredient to a whole lot of imbalance. But mainly because she's the key ingredient in hybrid creation and because the universe has decided her blood is a very popular commodity."
He pointed the gummy bear bag at Matt. "Gummy bears."
Matt stared. "What?"
"Nothing," Michael said. "Just felt right."
Elsewhere – The Salvatore House
Damon leaned against the counter while Alaric paced around, "So let me get this straight," Alaric said. "Bonnie says a ghost is after Elena, sent by a witch from the Other Side… and Matt somehow caused all of this?"
Damon shrugged. "Sounds about right."
Ric stopped. "That's not reassuring."
"One of my victims is out for Elena," Damon added casually. "Vickie Donovan. Brought back by Matt and apparently she's acting on orders."
Alaric blinked. "You're saying there's a supernatural hit out on Elena."
"Yup."
Just then, the front door opened, "We came as fast as we could," Stefan said, Elena right behind him.
"What's going on?" Stefan asked.
Damon turned. "Dead bartender working out the witchy hit job. Elena's the target and it's your regular Tuesday."
Elena frowned. "Why would Vickie come after me? I didn't do anything to her."
Before anyone could answer, another voice cut in.
"How ironic," Rebekah said from the doorway, arms crossed. "The girl you killed now wants revenge Damon."
Damon smirked. "Well thank you, for reminding me that I did kill her."
Rebekah tilted her head. "Then why isn't she coming after you?"
The question hung heavy in the room.
Rebekah scoffed and turned away. "Pathetic," she muttered, heading upstairs.
Alaric exhaled slowly. "She's not wrong you know, Damon did kill her so technically she should see him as a possible target."
Elena shook her head. "None of this makes sense."
Stefan took her hands. "We won't let anything happen to you."
Damon watched them for a moment then turned away.
"I'm out," he muttered, heading upstairs.
————————————————
Damon's Room
Damon stripped off his jacket and shirt, tossing them aside as he walked into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and leaned over the sink, splashing cold water onto his face.
He straightened and froze as the door creaked softly behind him. Damon slowly lifted his gaze as the mirror reflected over his shoulder and he could have sworn someone was standing there.
——————————————-
Damon stared at his reflection for a long second and…Nothing.
He shook it off, turning back to the sink. 'You're tired,' he told himself.
Then, he heard a soft sound. A whisper of movement away from him and towards outside.
Damon's jaw tightened up at that and straightened up slowly, then stepped out of the bathroom and back into his room. His eyes scanned the shadows, his senses stretching outward.
"Okay," he said into the silence, voice dry. "That wouldn't be you, would it, Vickie?"
No answer.
He snorted. "Right. Because talking would be too easy."
He turned just as a book slid off his shelf and thudded onto the floor.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Uh. Not creepy at all."
He raised his hands slightly, palms out, adopting a tone that was half sarcasm, half genuine attempt at diplomacy. "Look, I get it. I really do. You're mad. I turned you and then I killed you. It's my thing apparently I mean just ask Elena's mom, whole tragic vampire origin story, very compelling."
He paced slowly across the room, eyes flicking to every corner. "But this whole wandering-the-earth-hunting-the-living thing? Not healthy. You need to move on. Find peace. Rest. Preferably somewhere that doesn't involve stabbing."
Behind him, unseen, Vickie Donovan smiled.
She drifted closer to him, silent as a thought. Her hand passed through the air and through Damon's desk closing around a pencil.
She turned it once between her fingers, admiring it.
Damon stopped pacing. A frown creased his brow. "You know, when ghosts start redecorating, that's usually my cue to—"
Pain suddenly exploded through his back. Damon screamed as the pencil drove itself into him, burying deep between his spine. He staggered forward just then another sharp agony raced through his body
Then another.
And another.
Pens. Pencils. One after the other, slamming into him from behind, pinning him forward like some grotesque office-supply pen holder.
"SON OF A—!" Damon choked, crashing to one knee.
The door burst open.
"Damon!" Stefan shouted.
He skidded into the room and stopped dead.
Damon was slumped forward, blood streaming down his back and through his pants, multiple pens and pencils jutting out of his back and side like some porcupine.
"Oh my God," Stefan breathed.
He rushed forward, grabbing Damon under the arm and hauling him upright. Damon groaned, head falling back against Stefan's shoulder.
"I swear," Damon rasped, teeth clenched in pain, "I am really in the mood for murdering a ghost right now."
Stefan carefully snapped one of the pencils free, then another. "Don't talk. You're losing blood."
Damon let out a weak laugh that turned into a hiss. "Death by stationery. That's… that's new."
Stefan glanced around the room, heart pounding. Damon then asked "Where's Elena?"
"With Ric," Stefan said while still looking around. Damon then looked at him, "Safe. Which means she won't be for long."
Crash.
Glass shattered somewhere down the hall.
Both brothers went still.
"…That," Damon muttered, "can't be good."
Stefan tightened his grip on Damon and removed the extras sticking out his body. "We're moving. Now."