Because I have feels about the finale. A LOT of feels. So prepare to be spammed with loads of little ficlets :3

Elena Gilbert. Saviour of the cursed and the damned. That's what they called you, but they were wrong. You know they were wrong, don't you? 'Not everyone is your responsibility! Not everyone can be saved!' But you tried. You tried your damnedest.

Your damnedest wasn't enough.

Because too many people are dead now, too many friends lost, too many hearts broken. Too many tears. Too much resentment.

You can't have both. You can't have it all. You can't have everything, which is ironic, really, because pretty much everything you ever loved is gone or dead or something. And there's a little voice telling you you're selfish and you're hurting them, but there's a louder one telling it to shut the fuck up because haven't you been through enough? Haven't you lost enough?

But no.

You haven't.

You have to lose one more.

So you choose.

*o*o*

"Hey," you say, and to you it sounds like 'I love you' and 'I miss you' and 'I'm sorry' all at once.

To him it just sounds like 'Hey'.

"How's the new Mrs Salvatore?" and he spits the words like he can't wait to get the taste off his tongue. They're sharp and bitter and that could have been him.
"I'm doing good. We're doing good." You try to stop your voice from shaking. You can't.
"Why are you here?" Somehow you see through the pain and the hate and you see hope. Just a flash of it, somewhere in the corner of his eye.

Your heart breaks for him.

"No, I'm just … picking up a few of his things. From his room. We're … we're moving to Michigan. I'm going to go to school, he's going to get a job-"
"I'm happy for you." You can't read the emotion behind that one.
"Really?" And you sound earnest and anxious and sweet.
"The two people I love are happy. What more could I ask for?"
"Are- are you happy?"

He just blinks at you. Dares you to assume.

"I still love you, Elena. I won't ever stop." You blush a pretty shade of pink. "So I hope you know that I'll be in agony as long as you're alive. I'll still hear your heartbeat no matter how far you go, and each of those beats will whisper she could've been mine."

You leave.

*o*o*

You go to Michigan. He gets a job waiting tables. He says he doesn't mind – it's only for a little while. You go to school. He gets you discount meals at the restaurant. You fall in love a little more every day.

He lays his head on your chest, says he can hear your heartbeat. Says he could hear your heartbeat from Alaska. You wince. You try not to think.

You could've been his.

*o*o*

You get old. He doesn't. He insists he still loves you, but there's something in his eyes. Something like we could've had forever together. Something like I'm so glad you're mine.

He traces the wrinkles on the back of your hand with his smooth, smooth fingers. Says he can feel your pulse. Says he could feel it from Washington (because you're in Georgia now, and it seems the USA's his limit). You wince. You try not to think.

You could've been his.

*o*o*

You die.

You're old now. Not just old, but bone-achingly old in a way that he never could understand. It's time, and you're peaceful. It's summer, and you can see him through the shimmering heat. He's still beautiful. Even when he cries.

"You're beautiful," you say, one last time, voice dusty, cracking. He opens his mouth to reply. You shake your head.

He lays his hand over your heart, for old times' sake.
"I can feel your heartbeat." His voice cracks too. "I'll hear it no matter how far you go."

You hope he doesn't. You hope they can be brothers again. You hope they haven't lost too much, even when you know they have.

You wince.

You try not to think.

You could've been his.

Thoughts?
xx