Author's Note: Elena has the worst hangover. Or so she thinks. Post season 3.
Denial Is Just a River In Egypt
1
Oh, good God in Heaven, Elena thinks as she twists around for the umpteenth time, trying to find just a small stretch of her bed sheets that aren't all hot and clammy. What on earth did we do last night?
She, for one, has absolutely no memory of it.
…which might explain the ultimate hangover she's having.
This is truly of nuclear proportions – the shivers, sweaty palms, thirst, headache… Lord, what a ruler of all headaches she has; sick in the stomach, every single sound seems to be magnified by a thousand… need she say more?
When she finally can't take it anymore, she throws aside the covers and drags her limp body out of bed.
The world is too bright. Elena has to narrow her eyes because it feels like the light would otherwise pierce through her head like a laser beam.
She hobbles to the window to pry it open. She needs fresh air. Now. But of course it won't yield to her weak, trembling fingers. The world has a love-hate relationship with drunkards. Matt used to say it.
"Jeremy?" she yells hoarsely and prays he is somewhere around. "Please, oh, please bring me water and aspirin!"
Not a sound. Dammit.
Elena stumbles down the stairs and into the kitchen. The house looks empty. She pours herself a glass of what tastes like the best liquid in the universe and falls into one of the vacant chairs around the table.
Where is everyone?
She tries to recall last night. She remembers Elijah coming to the house to make a deal, she remembers waking up and discovering herself inside a car, driving out of Mystic Falls with Matt and after that… blank.
Well, since she is home, they obviously came back. And had one hell of a bender?
The front door clicks and a moment later Stefan and Damon come into the kitchen. They look about as glum as if they'd just attended a funeral (minus the black clothes).
"How are you?" Stefan asks at length, all soft and careful like he's waiting for her to have a meltdown or something.
"As good as could be expected after a night like the last," she answers wryly and gets up to refill her glass.
The look they give her is pitying. She frowns slightly. Her state is unpleasant, sure, but not that bad. She's had nasty hangovers before.
"So how was your morning?" she says with a more positive voice (which takes quite a bit of work to manage). "And why so grim?"
In an instant their expressions turn into something akin to shocked and they exchange a meaningful glimpse she can't decipher.
"What do you remember about last night, exactly?" Damon asks and for once there is no sarcastic smirk accompanying his query, just a suspicious little frown.
Suddenly Elena feels self-conscious. "Not much," she admits, embarrassedly averting her eyes. "But I have a killer hangover to act as a clue."
Again, their eyes widen and their shoulders roll back uncomfortably.
"We brought you this," Damon says as he lays a bag of blood onto the kitchen table.
Her face turns sour. "Ew! Why would you bring me blood?" she glances at both of them like they'd gone crazy. Again, the looks of shock on their faces make her want to laugh for some weird reason. "I'd rather have a Bloody Mary, if you don't mind."
"Elena," Stefan starts and now his tone is so gentle that his words come out almost in a whisper. "You need blood to complete your transition."
She shakes her head, eyes disbelieving. "What on earth are you talking about? The only transition I need to complete is one from a poisonous hangover to good, clear sobriety."
"Elena," Damon tries and his tone is very different from his brother's, precise and devoid of any emotion. "You died."
"No, I didn't," she argues, her voice growing high-pitched. What they say is ludicrous, after all. She didn't die last night. She'd remember a "little" thing like that.
"I'm so sorry, Elena," Stefan mutters.
"Don't apologize!" She's getting angry. "I'm not dead." She gives them a small burst of laughter just to illustrate the ridiculousness of their implications.
Both of their mouths open in unison, although they seem to be in a bit of a trouble with coming up with what to say to her. So for a while they just glance between each other and Elena, lips pursed like fish. Just when she senses one of them is about to start, she jumps up preventively and announces that she needs to get properly dressed.
They don't argue, instead looking rather relieved that they'd have a little extra time with putting together whatever they want her to understand. What they don't know is that she isn't interested in understanding anything.
"You have got to be kidding me," Damon says through gritted teeth, gripping the windowsill as he leans over the edge to look down from the window in Jeremy's room.
Stefan runs his hand through his hair. "Yeah, didn't expect that…"
"Told you nobody showers for that long," Damon adds, not nearly as satisfied with his deduction as he would like to be.
Stefan joins him at the window and pulls up the rope made out of bed sheets. "I still can't believe it worked, though," he says contemplatively.
Damon shoots him a cheerless smirk.
"So she's lost it," he concludes. "Happens to the best of us."
Stefan moves across the room and tinkers with one of Jeremy's drawers as if something has caught his eye. "More than you think," he says finally. "I could have sworn there was a bag with Jeremy's stash here like two days ago."
"Been smoking, brother?" Damon sneers.
Stefan raises an eyebrow and presses his lips together. "No, but I'm pretty sure I know who's about to."
"Maybe that's a good thing?" Damon muses. "If getting stoned helps Elena to come to terms with what's happened to her, then I'm all for it."
"I guess," Stefan agrees. "Only I'm not sure she should be left unsupervised."
"Yea, not a chance at that," Damon says. After one last glance out of the window, he turns around on his heels, heading for the door. "I can do a food run if she gets the munchies or carry her upstairs if she falls asleep and drools all over the couch as long as we can insert the truth somewhere in the middle and feed her some blood."
Stefan gives his brother a measuring gaze before he follows him out. "Admit it though, you want a drag."
Damon turns his head to look at him. A lazy grin spreads across his face. "So you have been smoking…"