Chapter Text
Bonnie Bennett died the day she was born.
She screamed her way into the world, unseeing eyes wide and tiny fingers clenched at the injustice of it all while magic that was bigger than her little body tore her soul apart. After all, no matter how chaotic, the universe was built on rules.
To have a child this powerful exist went against every rule in the book. So it snuffed her out, quietening her cries until the only sound was the broken wails of grief that echoed from her parents.
They left her body to grow cold on a metal slab.
There was no one there to see the way her fingers twitched or the pursing of her little lips, but her shriek of displeasure brought the staff running.
By the time the hospital called the number on her record, her parents were gone. The bonds of love shattered under the weight of loss, but there was one person who wasn't gone, who would never leave.
#
Sheila Bennett swept into the hospital like an oncoming storm, her magic roiling beneath her skin, already reaching out for that spark that had torn her from her restless sleep.
She barely heard the explanations from the doctor as the man apologized. All she could focus on was the little girl they placed in her arms.
Her little Bonnie.
The baby quieted as Sheila tucked her close, weaving as many protection spells as she could remember around a body that had already proven itself too fragile.
Bonnie whimpered, and Sheila rocked her gently, "Shh, baby. Grandma's here. I'm going to take care of you, you hear me? It's you and me until the end."
At barely a day old, Bonnie was too young to understand the words, or she should have been, but the words drew a soft coo from her nonetheless. And for Sheila, it was enough.
Bonnie was enough.
#
Bonnie's parents didn't make a miraculous return, and Sheila was grateful for that even as disappointment tore a hole in her chest.
They wouldn't have known what to do with Bonnie. Hell, sometimes Sheila didn't know what to do with Bonnie, and she'd been there every step of the way.
Her granddaughter's eyes were too old. As if she'd seen the world before and still found it wanting.
She'd been a quiet baby and an even calmer toddler.
She was content to cling to Sheila's dress, watching as she created charms and spells.
She interacted with other children with patience beyond her years, but the doctors claimed that she was just advanced. Even though Bonnie had yet to utter a single world at three years old, there was nothing to worry about.
Sheila hadn't been worried. She'd just wanted to make sure.
And her questions were answered one autumn afternoon.
#
Bonnie glanced up from her book, her brows furrowed. "Nana Sheila."
The words made Sheila's heart stutter because this was the very first time she'd heard her baby speak.
"Yes, Bonnie?" she managed to choke out around the tears clogging her throat.
"Nana Emily says I'm goin' to school. Don't want to go."
Sheila blinked, "Nana Emily?" she asked, and Bonnie sighed like the weight of the world was on her tiny shoulders.
"She's dead," she explained, and it was only years of practice that kept Sheila's expression blank.
"Do you talk to Nana Emily a lot?" Sheila asked, drawing Bonnie onto her lap, smoothing down her curls as her eyes darted around the room.
Bonnie nodded. "Nana Emily and Nana Cleo and Papa Josiah," she listed, beaming up at Sheila. "There's loads of them. Lots and lots."
"Lots and lots," Sheila echoed in disbelief because those names were names of Bonnie's ancestors, witches, and warlocks long dead. Sheila had never mentioned any of them in her presence, and yet, Bonnie knew them by name.
It looked like she would have to summon some spirits as soon as she put Bonnie to bed, but first…
"And why don't you want to go to school?"
"Cause I gots to keep Nana Sheila safe," Bonnie explained, staring up at her with big green eyes. "Can't do it from school," she muttered, and Sheila laughed. The sound was a broken, wet thing, but she couldn't have stopped it if she'd wanted to.
She was so very grateful that her daughter and son-in-law had never returned because otherwise, she didn't want to think about what would have happened to her precocious grandbaby.
#
Zach Salvatore wasn't a big fan of children.
They were messy and loud, and he didn't know what he would do when he had his own, truth be told.
He didn't like kids, but he didn't dislike little Bonnie Bennett.
He'd seen her through his window a couple of times, lingering at the gates.
She wasn't loud and didn't react to his presence if she saw him. Zach avoided her most of the time because at twenty he was a grown man, and hanging around with little kids wasn't something that grown men did.
But he was curious.
Most kids considered the boarding house creepy, daring each other to run up and ring the doorbell, but Bonnie had never passed the gate.
Sucking up his courage, he decided to find out why.
Bonnie didn't run off when he approached her. She just offered him a little wiggle of her fingers as a greeting.
"Good afternoon, Miss Bennett," he greeted, muffling a snicker at the disgruntled look on her face.
"My name's Bonnie," she groused.
Zach didn't roll his eyes at her petulance because she was about seven if he guessed right. That was the prime age for angst and sass.
"And might I ask what you're doing?"
"I'm waiting for someone," she replied, her gaze darting back to the house.
"One of your friends?" Zach inquired, and she shrugged.
"Not yet, but he will be," she explained with a sigh. "He probably won't be here today, though," she mused as she turned away, heading back the way she'd come without a farewell.
"What's your friend's name?" Zach called after her.
“Damon,” she responded without turning around. “Damon Salvatore.”
The words rooted Zach in place, cold sweat washing his skin as he watched her until she vanished from his line of sight.
He really hated kids.