Last Resort
Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries.
Note: Writing chapter eleven of Redemption made me realize the total lack of actual planning on the part of Damon and Elena when they set out to cure Stefan cold-turkey. So here it is, at least in my head.
From the moment they'd met, Elena had known that relying on Damon wasn't the safest course of action she could take, in any given situation. Relying on Damon actually wasn't really safe at all. Fine, there was Georgia, but who had saved whom again? Of course revelling in this small victory did almost nothing. When they arrived home, there had been the grimoire. And then Anna. And then the tomb. Too many variables and too many actions that proved to Elena that Damon really did only care for himself.
Right?
They have an understanding. They're even her words. Elena, as much as the idea still sends a shiver of something up her spine, can empathize with Damon, despite his (in her opinion) unnecessary need for gory, angsty, vampire overkill. I mean really. Turning a hormonal teenage druggie with low self-esteem? Not really up there on the list of Totally Vital for Survival. Then again, when did Damon ever listen to his conscience?
No, Elena had always hoped she'd never have to depend on Damon, what with his almost PMS-like mood swings and general air of anger and bloodlust and unpredictability. But it was probably naïve of her to believe that Stefan could never reach that point. They were too similar, those two. Brothers. Blood. Vampires. Their roles were now temporarily reversed; Damon calm and steady and (dare she say it) chivalrous. It was Stefan who worried her. Stefan who was angry and careless.
Stefan who was dangerous.
Damon is all she has left.
She has to trust him, now.
.x.
Elena curses her shaking hand as she attempts to smooth back a stray piece of hair that had fallen into her face. She kills the ignition and sits there; staring up at the Salvatore Boarding House and trying not to think about how afraid she is of stepping inside. The thought is squashed. Elena is not afraid. At least, this is what she tries to assert in herself. No matter how long she sits there (ten minutes) coaching herself, the image of Stefan and his lips rimmed red won't leave her.
Tap, tap
She jerks up, nearly slamming her head against the roof of the car. A less-but-still dishevelled-looking Damon looks back at her, obviously amused. He taps on the window again, and she rolls it down while simultaneously trying to control her heartbeat.
"God Damon! What are you doing?"
He smirks in that effortless way of his, before it gives way to that 'Stefan-threw me into a tree and therefore must be subdued' mindset. "I figured you'd be somewhat used to it by now, Elena."
She makes a noise of discontent, not warning him before she opens the door and steps out. He has that intense, serious look on his face that sends a furious worry fluttering in Elena's stomach.
"Are you…are you alright?"
He's (really) tempted to smirk again. He doesn't, and something in Elena is unnerved. "I'm fine."
She just nods. There's a long pause in which they just look at each other, and in which Elena begins to realize exactly what this means. Maybe Damon does care after all. So maybe the following outburst is justified in its' practically full-blown, high-pitched panic.
"What do we do, Damon? He was going to kill Amber. He—"
"Elena."
It's the rain-drenched forest all over again. It's the hysteria and the fear and the worry that's overriding his senses and his calm and his reason. With that disconcerting, lightning fast vampire speed, Damon grasps Elena's chin in his hand and tilts his face to hers.
"Elena. It's going to be okay."
She stares up at him with wide eyes, clearly off-guard and confused (like him) at this attempt to console her. He wonders if it worked. A heartbeat later, she's released and he's stepped away, purposefully putting space between them.
"I have an idea."
Her head snaps up so fast it's a wonder her neck doesn't snap. The worry is being prickled with a twist. Hope. "What is it?"
He doesn't reply straight away, realizing a moment too late that Elena could possibly be unable to execute this idea of his. That she wouldn't want to. That he'd have to find another way, or do it himself, which of course would probably end in a ridiculous (and unnecessary) Salvatore Brother Brawl. Unless…
"We have to weaken him. Keep him isolated. Cure him…cold turkey, if you will."
"But how…"
She trails off at the sight of the dart in his hand. The tranquilizer dart filled with vervain. Her eyes catch his with twisted, morbidly quick understanding. "Okay."
That's it. No questioning, no hesitation, no fear. Damon's more than a little surprised. Then he remembers that it's Stefan we're talking about here. And he comes to the grim conclusion that Elena would do this—poison the boy she loved—even if she had to drink vervain and offer him her blood again.
As he sends her up the stairs to an unaware Stefan, Damon finds himself wondering if she'd ever do that for him.
He doubts it.
Author's Note: Another break from Redemption, which will be updated in the near future. Promise. Thoughts?
Annie