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Jeremy Gilbert shouldn't have been here.
The Lockwood cellar had always felt haunted, like the walls held secrets older than anyone living in Mystic Falls. Stone blocks weathered by decades of Virginia humidity seemed to pulse with their own malevolent energy, and the air itself felt thick with the weight of hidden truths. But tonight, it wasn't ghosts he was chasing—it was a rumour. A whisper he wasn't supposed to hear, caught in fragments between hushed conversations at the Grill. Something about chains, growling, and a Lockwood secret that ran deeper than anyone imagined.
So here he was, standing at the edge of the darkness with nothing but a flashlight and his own reckless curiosity, heart pounding in his chest like it was trying to escape his ribcage. The beam of light trembled in his grip as he descended the worn stone steps, each footfall echoing in the oppressive silence. He could already hear the sounds—wet, animalistic, unnatural. Something shifting in the shadows ahead. Someone was suffering.
The metallic scent of blood hit him first, followed by something else—something wild and primal that made every instinct scream at him to run. But Jeremy had learned long ago that running rarely solved anything in Mystic Falls.
He gripped the handle of the flashlight tighter, knuckles white with tension, and then he saw him. Tyler Lockwood.
Shirtless, bloodied, and shackled to the stone walls by heavy iron chains that looked like they'd been forged in another century. The metal had worn grooves into his wrists where he'd struggled against them, fresh blood mixing with older stains that told the story of previous transformations. His muscles twisted unnaturally beneath sweat-slicked skin, bones shifting beneath the flesh like they were trying to break free from the confines of his human form. His jaw was clenched so tight Jeremy could see the veins standing out in his neck and forehead, he could hear the grinding of teeth that were no longer entirely human.
Jeremy froze, his breath catching in his throat.
He'd seen a lot since getting pulled into the supernatural mess that was Mystic Falls. Vampires with their predatory grace and ancient grudges. Witches who could bend reality with a whispered incantation. Death and resurrection had become as common as sunrise in his world. Loss after loss after loss until he'd built walls around his heart just to keep functioning. But this—this was different. This was pain. Pure, raw, and utterly real in a way that cut through all his carefully constructed defence.
Tyler's back arched as another sickening crack echoed through the cellar, the sound of bones breaking and reforming. A low, strangled growl tore from his throat, barely human but not yet fully animal. His eyes flashed yellow, then gold, then something not-quite-human but not-quite-wolf either… something caught between two worlds and belonging to neither.
Jeremy remembered hating Tyler in high school with the burning intensity that only teenagers could muster. Arrogant and entitled, with his perfect hair and his perfect car and his perfect life handed to him on a silver platter. The kind of guy who made your life hell just because he could, who used his popularity like a weapon against anyone who dared to exist in his orbit. Tyler had been everything Jeremy despised about the social hierarchy of small-town high school politics.
But this wasn't the same Tyler. This broken and bleeding thing chained to the wall bore such little resemblance to the cocky football player who'd once shoved Jeremy against the lockers for sport. And somehow, despite everything, Jeremy couldn't bring himself to look away.
"Tyler..." he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper but seeming to echo in the confined space.
The sound of his voice hit like a physical blow. Tyler's head jerked up, those inhuman eyes locking onto Jeremy with equal parts fear and fury. For a moment, Jeremy saw something flicker across his face—shame, maybe , or just the terror of being seen at his most vulnerable.
"Jeremy?" His voice was barely recognisable, like it had been shredded by screams and rebuilt from broken glass. "Get the fuck out of here."
Jeremy should have. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to climb those stone steps and never look back, to pretend he'd never seen this moment of raw vulnerability. But instead, he took a step forward, his sneakers silent on the damp stone floor.
"You're turning," Jeremy said, more to himself than anything, the words falling into the space between them like stones into still water. "It's real."
Tyler laughed—a short, broken sound that held no humour. Blood flecked his lips as he spoke. "No shit, Sherlock. Congratulations. You figured it out. Now, get out before you become collateral damage."
"I didn't know it was like this," Jeremy whispered, unable to hide the awe and horror in his voice. He'd imagined werewolf transformations as something quick and clean, like in the movies—not this prolonged agony that seemed to tear Tyler apart from the inside out. He hadn't expected to see a human body bend into such unnatural positions, contorting to please the demands of the full moon hanging heavy in the sky above them.
Tyler's body convulsed again, more violently this time. Every muscle seized at once, and he bit down hard on what would have been a scream, his head dropping forward as sweat poured down his face. The chains rattled against the stone walls as his arms jerked involuntarily, and Jeremy heard another bone snap beneath his skin.
"Please," Tyler growled through gritted teeth, his voice raw with desperation. "Get out before I lose control. I don't want to hurt you."
But Jeremy stepped closer instead, drawn by something he couldn't name. "I'm not leaving you."
Tyler barked another laugh—hoarse and furious and tinged with hysteria. "What the hell do you care, Gilbert? You hate me. You've always hated me."
"I used to," Jeremy admitted quietly, his voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. "Then I saw what this world really is. What it does to people. How it breaks them down and rebuilds them into something else entirely."
Tyler was shaking now, his whole body trembling like he was caught in an earthquake that only he could feel. He was breathing like he was drowning, each inhalation a struggle against the changes wracking his system. His fingernails had turned black and jagged, tearing at his palms as his hands clenched into fists. His teeth were longer than they should be, canines extending past his lower lip. The change was crawling over him inch by inch, like it was trying to consume him alive from the inside out.
Jeremy knelt beside him, movements slow and deliberate to avoid startling him. The stone was cold and damp beneath his knees, and he could feel the chill seeping through his jeans. Tyler flinched at his proximity, every instinct telling him to lash out, to protect himself. "Don't—"
"I'm not going to let you go through this alone," Jeremy said with quiet conviction, his voice cutting through Tyler's protests. "No one should have to face this kind of pain by themselves."
A pause filled the cellar, broken only by the sound of laboured breathing, creaking bones and the soft rattle of chains. Then, barely audible over the symphony of Tyler's transformation, came a whisper. "I don't want to hurt you, Jer."
The nickname hit Jeremy like a physical blow, so soft and vulnerable that it seemed to strip away years of hatred in a single breath. He didn't move away, even as Tyler's body temperature spiked "You won't," he said, though he wasn't entirely sure if that was a lie or not. “I know you won’t.”
Slowly and carefully, Jeremy reached out and placed his hand on Tyler's arm. The skin was burning hot beneath his palm, muscles twitching and jumping like they wanted to crawl away from his touch. Jeremy stayed for hours that felt like days, time losing all meaning in the windowless cellar.
He didn't speak unless Tyler needed him to, learning to read the subtle signs that preceded each wave of agony. When the spasms came, Jeremy held him as steady as the chains would allow, his hands gentle but firm against Tyler's overheated skin. When the pain hit its peak, he whispered calm things—nonsense things, fragments of memories from before the world had gone to hell, stories about his art class and his sister, Elena and the way Mystic Falls used to feel safe.
When Tyler screamed, Jeremy didn't flinch. He just stayed, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of Tyler's transformation. It wasn't until the first pale light of morning began to filter through the narrow windows set high in the cellar walls, that the change finally began to subside.
Tyler laid on his side, chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath, his body soaked in sweat and blood. He was human again—barely, fragile as glass and twice as likely to shatter. His skin had returned to its normal temperature, though angry red marks remained where the chains had cut into his wrists.
Jeremy sat beside him, his own hands stained with Tyler's blood and trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline. He didn't know what had changed between them during those long hours of shared agony—only that something fundamental had shifted. The silence stretched between them, until Tyler finally broke it.
"I didn't think you'd stay," he said, his voice hoarse but blessedly human again.
Jeremy looked down at him, taking in the vulnerable curve of his shoulders and the way his dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. "I didn't think you'd let me."
Tyler laughed again, and this time it was softer, real—the first genuine sound of happiness that Jeremy had heard from him all night. "Guess we were both wrong about a lot of things."
Jeremy leaned back against the stone wall, his shoulder brushing Tyler's in the narrow space between the chains. Neither of them moved away from the contact, both too exhausted and too raw to maintain the distance. The silence settled around them again, but it felt different now—comfortable rather than tense.
"You saved me," Tyler said quietly, his eyes fixed on some point across the cellar.
Jeremy shook his head, exhaustion making him honest. "I didn't do anything special. I just... stayed."
Tyler turned to look at him, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. His eyes were brown again, warm and human, filled with something Jeremy couldn't quite name. "That's what saving someone is," he whispered. "Being there when they need you most."
Jeremy swallowed hard, his throat dry from the long night. "Then I guess you owe me."
Tyler's mouth curved in the faintest hint of a smirk, the first glimpse of his old self Jeremy had seen since entering the cellar. "I owe you more than I can ever repay."
"Start by not punching me in the face the next time we argue," Jeremy said, managing a tired smile.
Tyler's expression grew thoughtful, and when he spoke again, his voice held a note of something new—hope, maybe, or possibility. "What if I kissed you instead?"
The words hung in the air between them like a challenge, like a question that could change everything. Jeremy blinked, processing the offer, but he didn't flinch or pull away. The idea should have shocked him more than it did. Instead, he found himself tilting his head slightly, considering. "Depends on if I kiss you back."
Tyler studied his face, searching for any sign of rejection or disgust. Something new and vulnerable flickered in his gaze, raw as the wounds on his wrists. "Would you?"
Jeremy's answer was simple, honest, and completely true. "I stayed, didn't I?"
Another pause, heavy with possibility. Then Tyler reached out, his fingers curling softly around Jeremy's wrist. It was a strange touch—rough from the calluses and cuts, but careful, like he wasn't used to being so gentle with another person.
Jeremy didn't pull away when Tyler leaned in, didn't resist when their lips met in a kiss that tasted of salt and copper and something they may possibly regret. It was tentative at first, a question more than a statement, but when Jeremy didn't retreat, Tyler deepened it, one hand sliding up to cup the back of Jeremy's neck.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard as Tyler rested his forehead against Jeremy's. "Thank you, Jer. For everything."
Tyler's arm wrapped around Jeremy's waist, pulling him closer until the warmth of their bodies canceled out the chill of the stone cellar. Jeremy settled against him, feeling the steady rhythm of Tyler's heartbeat beneath his cheek. "Anytime, Ty."
As the morning light grew stronger, painting golden squares on the cellar floor, Jeremy realised that sometimes salvation came in the simplest form—not through grand gestures or heroic acts, but through the quiet decision to stay when everything else told you to run. In choosing to witness Tyler's pain rather than flee from it, he'd found something he hadn't even known he was looking for. In the circle of Tyler's arms, surrounded by the evidence of his transformation, Jeremy finally understood that some bonds were forged not in joy but in shared suffering—and that those bonds, tested by fire and blood, were often the strongest of all.