Chapter 8: The Reckoning
POV: Sam Barton
The morning after the comet festival, Sam wakes to his clone's panicked mental alert cutting through sleep like a blade:
"Damon's outside the house. Just standing there. Staring at your bedroom window."
Sam's heart hammers as he rolls out of bed, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt with hands that only shake slightly. Through his clone's enhanced senses, he can see Damon Salvatore leaning against the estate's front gate like casual death incarnate—leather jacket, cocky posture, and an aura that screams apex predator.
"Options: run, hide, or confront."
Running is cowardly and ineffective against vampire speed. Hiding is temporary at best. That leaves confrontation—dangerous, but at least on Sam's terms.
"If he wanted me dead, I'd already be dead," Sam reasons, though his medical training notes his elevated pulse and stress response. "He's curious. Curious means I have leverage."
Sam heads downstairs and brews two cups of coffee—one normal, one laced with enough vervain to make a vampire uncomfortable. Let Damon choose which one he takes. The small act of preparation steadies his nerves.
He steps onto the porch, offering both mugs with a casualness he doesn't feel.
Damon pushes off from the gate, moving with liquid grace across the lawn. Up close, he's even more intimidating than Sam remembered from the show—pale skin that's never seen real sunlight, blue eyes like winter ice, and a smile that promises violence.
"Cute house," Damon says conversationally, accepting the normal coffee without hesitation. "Dead parents, trust fund, the mysterious loner act. Very Batman. Very brooding."
Sam sips his vervain-laced coffee, the bitter taste familiar after weeks of building tolerance.
"And you're what, the Joker? Too much eyeliner, terrible jokes?"
Damon laughs—a genuine sound that somehow makes him more dangerous, not less.
"I like you. Which is why I'm giving you a chance to explain: How did you know where Vicki was last night?"
"Here we go." Sam keeps his voice steady, casual.
"Lucky guess. Heard her mention the woods earlier."
Damon's eyes dilate—subtle but unmistakable. Compulsion attempt.
"Tell me the truth."
Sam feels the mental pressure slide off his consciousness like water off glass. The vervain in his system creates a barrier between his thoughts and vampire influence.
"I just did." Sam smiles innocently. "You got something in your eye? You're doing this weird staring thing."
Damon's charming facade drops like a discarded mask.
"You've been drinking vervain."
"No point denying it now."
"Daily tea. My parents were archaeologists—they studied local plants, including ones with... medicinal properties."
It's a half-truth, the most believable kind of lie.
Damon sets down his coffee mug with deliberate precision.
"Let's try this differently."
He blurs forward using vampire speed, hand closing around Sam's throat before human reflexes can respond. Sam's feet leave the porch as Damon lifts him effortlessly, crushing his windpipe with casual strength.
"What are you?"
Black spots dance in Sam's vision, but his clone materializes from the house's shadow like smoking darkness given form. Enhanced Speed activated—20% mastery translating to a blur of motion that slams into Damon's side.
It's not enough to hurt a vampire, but surprise makes Damon drop Sam and whirl toward this new threat.
"What the—there's two of you?"
Before the situation can escalate further, Stefan appears at the edge of the lawn—vampire speed from the woods, moving with concerned urgency.
"Damon, enough. Leave the kid alone."
Damon laughs darkly, but doesn't immediately attack the clone.
"The 'kid' has a doppelgänger and drinks vervain. That's not normal, even for Mystic Falls."
Stefan's green eyes narrow as he reassesses Sam, taking in the clone's identical appearance and the vervain revelation.
Sam makes a split-second decision. He's already revealed too much to maintain complete secrecy. Better to control the narrative.
"I'm psychic," he gasps, throat still aching from Damon's grip. "Clairvoyant. Whatever you want to call it. I see things before they happen sometimes. And last night, I knew Vicki was in danger, so I intervened. That's it."
It's the cover story he's been preparing since his first day in this world. Close enough to the truth to be believable, vague enough to explain irregularities.
Stefan's expression shifts to sympathy—classic Stefan Salvatore, empathy even for perceived outcasts.
"You're trying to help people."
"Yeah."
Damon just looks intrigued, head tilted like a predator studying unusual prey.
"A psychic. In Mystic Falls. How wonderfully inconvenient."
Stefan steps between them, diplomatic instincts taking over.
"Sam doesn't reveal what we are, and you don't kill him. He's clearly trying to protect people—that makes him an ally, not a threat."
Damon scoffs but doesn't argue, more amused than angry now.
"Fine. But Diet Nostradamus here better not interfere with my plans again."
"Diet Nostradamus?" Sam can't help asking.
"You predict things, but like, the budget version. Less epic prophecy, more neighborhood watch with mystical tendencies."
Despite everything, Sam almost smiles.
"Noted. I'll try to keep my cosmic interference to a minimum."
Before leaving, Damon leans close enough that Sam can see flecks of darker blue in his pale eyes.
"But if you're lying—if this psychic act is covering something else—I'll know. And then we'll have a very different conversation. Probably involving your intestines on the outside."
"Charming," Sam manages. "Try the coffee next time. It's good."
Damon's laughter follows him as he blur-speeds away, leaving Sam and Stefan alone on the porch.
"He won't hurt you," Stefan says quietly. "Not as long as you're helping people."
"And if I'm not?"
Stefan's expression grows serious.
"Then you should probably leave town."
After the Salvatores disappear, Sam collapses onto the porch swing, adrenaline crash leaving him shaky and exhausted. His clone settles beside him, identical exhaustion written across its features.
"That was insane," the clone says. "Also, 'Diet Nostradamus'?"
Sam laughs hysterically.
"We're alive. That's what matters."
But he knows this isn't over. Damon's curiosity is a ticking time bomb. The psychic cover story will only hold as long as Sam can make it believable. And somewhere in the back of his mind, the System chimes with updates:
[QUEST: DAMON'S INTEREST - STAGE 1 COMPLETE]
[CHOICE: HALF-TRUTH REVEAL (PRAGMATIC)]
[REWARD: +400 EXP, +5 CHA (SUCCESSFUL NEGOTIATION)]
[DAMON STATUS: AMUSED TOLERANCE UNLOCKED]
[STEFAN STATUS: CAUTIOUS ALLY UNLOCKED]
[NEW QUEST: THE PSYCHIC LIE - MAINTAIN COVER STORY]
[WARNING: DISCOVERY = SYSTEM EXPOSURE]
[CURRENT EXP: 1,750/1,050 TO LEVEL 4]
[LEVEL UP ACHIEVED!]
Sam allocates his stat points immediately: +3 VIT for survivability after nearly dying, +2 AGI for better dodging reflexes.
[UPDATED STATS:]
STR: 10 | AGI: 14 | VIT: 16
INT: 15 | WIS: 18 | PER: 12 | CHA: 16
HP: 520/520 | MP: 375/375
[APPROACHING LEVEL 5: SECOND CLONE SLOT UNLOCKS]
That afternoon, Caroline texts asking if he's okay: "You seemed weird after the festival. Everything alright?"
Sam stares at the message for a long moment, then types back: "Just tired. Comet was overwhelming."
She responds immediately with a heart emoji and a selfie of her smiling in what looks like her bedroom—sunshine streaming through windows, blonde hair perfect despite claiming she just woke up.
"Feel better! Movie night at mine tomorrow?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
Sam stares at the photo, this image of normalcy and joy and innocence. This is why he's lying to vampires and risking his life. For Caroline. For Matt and Tyler and Jeremy and Vicki. For all the people who don't know they're living in a supernatural war zone.
He opens the System interface and notes his progress toward Level 5. One more level until his second clone, one step closer to building the army he'll need to protect them all.
But as he watches his Enhanced Speed clone practice in the basement, moving in blurs of motion that would make human eyes weep, Sam wonders what he's becoming. Each level gained, each ability unlocked, each supernatural secret kept—they're changing him, piece by piece.
"The question is: will there be enough of Sam Barton left when this is over?"
Through the basement windows, afternoon light fades toward evening. Somewhere in town, Damon Salvatore is planning his next move. Stefan is brooding over Elena's safety. And the supernatural dominoes continue falling, one crisis at a time.
But tonight, Caroline Forbes expects him for movie night. Tonight, he gets to pretend to be a normal seventeen-year-old boy who hasn't stared death in the face and lied to creatures that could tear him apart without effort.
Tonight, he gets to just be human.
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