TVD: Beyond the pale moon

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While the people inside the bar were laughing, drinking, and dancing, the restroom told a very different story.

Tom, Olivia, and Vicki stood in grim silence in front of a stall, their eyes fixed on the man slumped on the toilet. His body was unnaturally still, his neck slick with blood that dripped slowly onto the floor.

"What the fuck?!" Olivia shouted, stepping back. Her voice echoed off the grimy tiles, panic rising with each word. She turned to Tom, wide-eyed, as if he had the answer to everything.

Tom exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing—at least, not to Olivia. Instead, his gaze flicked to Vicki. She shrank under his scrutiny, tears welling up in her eyes as she tried to choke out a response.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling.

Olivia's panic spilled over into anger. "Sorry? What the hell is going on? Who is that guy? Did you kill him?" She jabbed a finger toward the stall, her voice teetering on hysteria.

"Olivia," Tom said sharply, cutting through her rambling.

She flinched as his voice dropped, calm and dangerous.

"Forget everything you saw here," he said.

"What?!" Olivia snapped, her shock turning to disbelief.

Tom moved swiftly, stepping in front of her and gripping her shoulders. She thrashed against him, but his hands held firm. His voice softened, but the command in his tone was unshakable.

"Olivia, calm down," he whispered, leaning close. "Listen to me. You didn't see anything. We came to the bar, we had some fun, hooked up, and that's it. You left. Understand?"

Her breathing was shallow, her pulse racing beneath his grip, but as his words sank in, the fight drained out of her. She nodded slowly, her gaze vacant.

"Good," Tom said, releasing her. "Now go home. Get some sleep."

Without another word, Olivia turned and walked out of the restroom, her movements robotic, as if in a trance.

Tom waited until the door clicked shut, then turned to the stall. Pulling a stake from his coat, he jammed it into the bottom of the door, locking it. The room was theirs now.

"I'm sorry, Tom," Vicki whispered again, trembling. "I panicked."

Tom turned to her, his expression hard. "What were you doing here with him?"

Vicki looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I thought I taught you better," Tom said, his voice like a blade, sharp and cutting.

"I know," she whimpered, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor. "I did everything like you said, but he started bleeding, and it wouldn't stop, and—I didn't know what to do." Her words tumbled out in a panicked rush. Tears spilled down her face as she buried it in her hands. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I swear."

Tom sighed and crouched beside the man in the stall. He pressed two fingers to the man's neck, then leaned in closer, listening. A faint, irregular heartbeat.

"There's still time," he muttered.

Biting into his hand, Tom let his blood pool in his palm before pressing it to the man's mouth. The man groaned weakly, his wounds slowly knitting themselves closed. His breathing steadied. His eyes flickered open, wide with confusion and fear, but before he could make a sound, Tom's hand clamped over his mouth.

"Stay still," Tom ordered, his voice low and cold.

The man's chest heaved, but he nodded.

"Good," Tom said, releasing him. "Forget everything that happened here. Go home. Take the day off tomorrow. Understand?"

The man nodded frantically. "Y-yes."

Tom pulled the stake from the door, allowing the man to stumble out.

As the door swung shut, he turned back to Vicki, who was staring at him, her face pale and tear-streaked.

"I… I have no excuse," she said, her voice barely audible.

Tom folded his arms, his expression unreadable.

Vicki's voice broke as she continued. "It's true. I'm a fuck-up. I ruin everything." She stood, her shoulders slumping as she tried to leave, but Tom grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a firm embrace.

"It's okay," he said softly.

Those words broke her. She began to sob, clinging to him as if he were the only thing holding her together.

"I thought I could do it," she choked out between sobs. "I wanted to show you I could be better. I wanted to prove myself."

Tom stroked her hair, his voice steady and soothing. "It's all fine. I'm here. Whatever happens, I'll be here for you." He leaned back and gently touched her face, tilting her head so she was looking at him. "And don't you ever call yourself a fuck-up. You aren't."

"But I am," Vicki said weakly, her eyes glassy.

Tom's tone softened further. "If this had happened before, what would the old you have done?"

Vicki hesitated. "I… I would've run," she admitted.

"And what did you do today?"

"I stayed," she said. "I tried to fix it."

Tom nodded. "Exactly. You stayed. You tried. Yes, you panicked, but you didn't run. You called me, and we handled it together. That's progress, Vicki. That's strength."

Vicki's lip trembled, but some of the tension in her shoulders eased.

Tom smiled faintly. "We all screw up. Even me. That's why we have each other—to help when things get messy."

He pulled her into another hug, and for the first time that night, she let herself believe him.

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The restroom incident was handled, but the night was far from over.

Tom walked out of the bar with Vicki in tow, scanning the crowd for Damon and Elena. They were nowhere to be seen. Even Bree had disappeared.

Tom approached the bartender. "Where's Damon?"

"He went after Elena," the bartender replied with a shrug.

Tom's chest tightened. Something felt off. "Get in the car and wait for me," he told Vicki.

She hesitated, her lips parting as if to protest, but his tone left no room for argument. She nodded silently and headed toward the parking lot.

Tom stepped outside, his senses sharpening. The distant hum of the city buzzed in the background, but he focused on the subtle cues—shouts, running footsteps, the sharp clatter of something metal hitting the ground. Then he heard it: a scream, raw and desperate. Elena.

His instincts flared, and his body tensed. But instead of rushing in blind, Tom melted into the shadows, slipping silently through the maze of alleys behind the bar. He moved like a predator, every step calculated, every movement deliberate.

The scream rang out again, closer this time. He slowed, keeping to the edges of the alley, his figure blending with the darkness. Peering around a corner, he saw the scene unfold.

Damon was on his knees, bloodied and defiant, glaring up at a man who stood over him with a gas can in one hand. The man's other hand held a lighter, flicking it open and closed as if toying with the idea of turning Damon into a bonfire.

Elena stood nearby, her arms raised in a desperate plea. "Please, stop! You don't have to do this!"

Tom's eyes narrowed. The man, tall and broad-shouldered, had a feral look in his eyes. This wasn't a bluff. He was ready to kill.

Tom scanned the scene, noting the stake tucked into the man's belt and the way he kept glancing back at Elena, as if weighing whether she was a threat. Damon was holding his ground despite his injuries, but it wouldn't last.

Tom shifted his position, silent as a shadow, until he was directly behind the man. His movements were surgical, his footsteps making no sound as he approached.

"Put it down," Tom said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

The man froze, his body going rigid. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Tom stepping into the dim light of the alley.

"Who the hell are you?" the man growled, his voice low and gravelly.

Tom smiled faintly, his head tilting. "The guy who's about to ruin your night."

The man reached for the stake from behind, but Tom moved first, a blur of motion. His hand clamped around the man's wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency. The stake fell to the ground, and the man let out a pained grunt.

Damon saw his opening. He lashed out with a sharp kick, catching the man in the ribs. The man stumbled, gasping, but Tom didn't let him fall. He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him against the alley wall, pinning him there with one arm pressed to his throat.

"What's your name?" Tom demanded, his voice calm but cold.

The man spat blood onto the ground, glaring at him. "Harry."

Tom's lips twitched into a smirk. "Harry, huh? You've got a lot of nerve coming here, picking a fight you can't win."

"Let him go!" Elena pleaded, stepping closer. "Tom, stop! He's—he's Lexi's boyfriend."

Tom didn't take his eyes off Harry. "Lexi's boyfriend?" he repeated, his voice dripping with skepticism.

Elena hesitated, then clarified, "She left him. He's angry… looking for revenge. You know the whole shtick"

For a moment, Tom's grip tightened, his forearm pressing harder against Harry's throat. Then he eased up, just enough for Harry to speak.

Harry snarled, his voice hoarse. "You don't deserve to live."

Tom let out a low chuckle, his amusement more menacing than kind. "I see. So you decided to pour gasoline on my brother and hope for the best? Brilliant plan, Harry."

Harry bared his teeth, defiant even as he gasped for air.

"Tom," Elena said softly, her voice trembling. "Don't… he's just hurt. He doesn't know what he's doing."

Tom turned his head slightly, his eyes locking with hers. "Hurt or not, Elena, he came here to kill Damon. That's not something I'm letting slide."

He turned back to Harry, crouching slightly to meet his eye level. His tone dropped, low and threatening. "Here's the deal, Harry. You're going to leave. You're going to crawl back to Lexi, sort your shit out, and never come looking for us again. Got it?"

Harry stared at him, his silence defiant.

Tom sighed, his patience wearing thin. Without warning, he pulled a stake from his jacket and drove it into Harry's shoulder. The man howled, writhing against the wall.

"Got it?" Tom repeated, his voice steady as stone.

"Y-yes!" Harry choked out, the pain stealing the fight from him.

"Good." Tom withdrew the stake, his expression unreadable. Then, with one swift motion, he slammed the hilt of the stake into the side of Harry's head. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Tom stood, brushing the dust off his jacket, and turned to Elena.

"Take him home," he said simply.

"But—"

"Elena," Tom interrupted, his voice firm. "Take him home. Now."

Elena hesitated, her gaze darting between Tom and Damon. Finally, she nodded, moving to Damon's side and helping him to his feet.

Tom watched them leave, his expression unreadable. When they were out of sight, he turned his attention back to Harry.

"For your sake," he muttered to the unconscious man, "I hope you listen."

He sheathed his stake and melted back into the shadows, disappearing into the night.

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Tom made his way to the bar, only to find it empty. The only person there was Bree, who was drinking alone. "Came here to say goodbye?" she smiled.

Tom smiled back and sat down on the stool. "And to get my card back."

She handed him the card with a smile. "Hope I helped with the sales today?"

"You've done more than that…" Bree said, her grin widening. "I can pay my mortgage now."

Tom leaned in slightly, still watching her closely. "So, you thought about my offer?"

She poured two glasses of tequila. "I did," she said, offering one to him. He took it, his gaze never leaving her. The answer didn't satisfy him. "But no deal with a vampire has ever gone well," she added, holding her glass high. "Salute."

Tom nodded and cheered, "Salute." They both drank, but in the next moment, Tom's hand was inside her chest. She looked at him, her eyes widening in realization. "It's you."

Blood started to pour from her wound, and Tom smiled. "The one and only." He yanked her heart from her chest, tossing it onto the floor. He wiped his hand clean and looked at her. "It was great meeting you, Bree."

His ring glowed a faint crimson red as he looked down at it. He glanced back at her with a smirk. "You can call me Tommy now."