Author's Note: Okay, hi. I've been meaning to do the "Hi, I'm new here, my name is such-and-such, and I am addicted to" thing for a while. So, here goes.

Hi, I'm new here, my name is Daydreamblvr6 for all intents and purposes, and I am addicted to The Vampire Diaries (in addition to all things Superman, but that's for another forum).

This little piece of inspired genius (I swear it came to me and I followed it) became this afternoon. It's outta my known realm, so I'd really love to hear your thoughts.

I'm especially interested in what you think was happening during the scene in the second paragraph.

Now this is plenty long enough so I'll end with the requisite disclaimer and wish you happy—hopefully—reading. :)

Disclaimer: Totally not mine. Which is a bummer.

Stefan was killed.

By Katherine, of all people. Although, Elena didn't think Katherine had honestly meant to. It had been the blood, one of those "Jekyll and Hide" moments. The shock of Stefan dead had pounded Elena's soul, battered it in an instant. More surprising than anything else though was Damon's reaction. With veins twining his features, he'd assaulted the woman he'd been heartbeats away from rejoining in undead life. Elena had watched as he ripped her to shreds.

They left the pieces where they lay.

Elena ran to Matt. Or, she wanted to. But he had Caroline, and they were so perfect, and, really, how could she be with somebody who didn't know the darkness?

But how could she be with somebody who did?

Damon drank all the time now. His tastes were unparticular, bourbon, vodka, sorority girl, anything would do. Beer was flowing down his throat when she found him again. It had only taken her seven years and all the trust money her parents had left, burdened with hopes of college and never a whiff of education in the air. She felt no guilt.

She grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a swig. She was seven years bolder now; besides, death by hand of Damon didn't sound so bad. Blue eyes stuck themselves to her and a graceful hand motioned to the bartender. Damon didn't turn away until he had his replacement in his hand.

"What are you doing here, Elena?"

She considered giving him one night. One night to Damon's lust. One night to Damon's love. But then he wouldn't do what he wanted her to, he wouldn't follow along with her new plan. So she forsook the night.

"Finding you," she said. "And hopefully getting drunk somewhere along the way." She tilted the bottle to the side as she peered at it. Definitely not strong enough. Nodding, Damon dilated his pupils at the brokenhearted drunk next to him, and switched her beer for the still mostly full whiskey bottle the man had been nursing. She nodded back. Much better.

"I want to die, Damon," she told him. He'd always been good with blunt.

He gave her a half-hearted version of his old smirk. "Are we talking dead-but-not-really, or dead-dead?"

"Dead-dead."

He nodded again, hearing her resolution, respecting it. "So you came to me."

He understood instantaneously. Like he always had.

It had to be his hands on her last, his hands twisting her neck. It had to be her last similarity to Katherine, their last tie, their last connection.

It had to be his last rebellion. His last strike at Stefan, his last word. His last regret.

She knew that he would do anything for her.

She knew that she was his will to live.

She knew that asking this of him would result in two deaths, not one.

But she didn't care.

Elena followed him out of the bar as he stood. One last gulp was his fuel to the door, her desperation served beyond that. He took her to woods, as it seemed only fitting.

He faced her, sliding off his ring and gracefully slipping it on her right ring finger. Gently, he palmed her face. She wouldn't allow him the kiss he desired; it would be too different from Katherine, it would ruin everything. She would die wrongly. His pain would have to go unassuaged.

In the space of a breath, in the width between the thump and echo of a heartbeat, she died.

To be followed by him shortly after.