Devil's Angel ° {K.M}[Rewriting]

{040}

The Departed
———

"That night I lost you, I lost something inside me. Or perhaps several things. Something central to my existence, the very support for who I am as a person."
—Haruki Murakami
———

-

Two hours had passed since the group had left the school and an hour and a half had gone by of the others trying to reach Damon but ultimately failing. Considering the woman hadn't given him more instruction than to run, the vampire had had full control over where he'd go and, as it seemed, it was continuously west. In the time that had passed, the sun had grown dangerously close to the horizon. "Why wouldn't he just wake Klaus like we woke Mikael?" America sat hunched over in one of the dining room chairs in the Gilbert residence, barely listening to the conversation around her.

"Why should he? Klaus is better off in a coffin anyway. He can rot for all I care." Her eye twitched though her hands didn't fall away from her face as she tried concentrating on what little she could feel of Klaus. "Jer, could you. . . it's not that easy, okay?" America couldn't help but think defending the hybrid was pointless because Jeremy didn't know much of what they did, in and out of the loop depending on what Elena wished to involve him in which, most of the time, was none of it. She supposed the boy being in Denver for some weeks hadn't helped either. "And why the hell not? 

"He's done nothing but torment us since the moment he got into town. He killed Jenna and John and in a roundabout way, Alaric's dead because of him." The woman gritted her teeth in exasperation and as Klaus finally answered to her reaching out to him, faint but there, it did nothing to alleviate her annoyance. It meant Damon, despite the freedom he had in a vague demand, was choosing his own agenda. "Jeremy—" Stefan was cut off as a knock sounded at the door, the vampire frowning in confusion as America glanced up, giving attention to her surroundings after ignoring them for a time. 

Caroline, bundled in a blanket with a warm cup of blood, frowned. "Who. . ?" Wordlessly, the woman stood and made her way to the front door, opening it to spy Merrick and Elijah before a small figure slammed into her legs, arms wrapping around her waist as a face burrowed into her thigh. Bewildered, America glanced down at Rosie, catching a sniffle as the girl clung to her. Elijah slipped inside with a murmured greeting, a hand brushing her shoulder as he passed by. Merrick looked worse for wear as he waited to be invited in, dishevelled with. . . America peeled the dried slice of pepperoni off his sleeve with a fleeting frown.

The man barely batted an eye at it as he stepped past the threshold at her quiet murmur, running a tired hand down his face. "I was wondering where that went when she threw it." Her bewildered look deepened as she glanced down at Rosie, the girl tugging insistently at her shirt with red-rimmed eyes, tear tracks and what would make sense to be pizza sauce dried and sticky around her mouth. "Always forget how bad her tantrums are till you're not around," Merrick grumbled, the woman glanced at him with raised eyebrows as she picked the blonde up on her request, the little werewolf barely sparing a moment before burying her face in her neck.