Prologue
These lines were here
Long before we came around
Sea Wolf, "Wicked Blood"
o-O-o-O-o
Klaus and Stefan never spoke of it later, but Chicago wasn't the first time they'd met. It was just one time of many.
o-O-o-O-o
November 1862
Mystic Falls, Virginia
At the beginning, there was blood. So much of it. On Stefan's face, in his eyes, running down his neck. His head was pounding and his shoulder hurt. Something was wrong, very wrong. He couldn't move his arm, and a bone was jutting out of his skin. And the pain…
He could hear Robert Lockwood's voice in the background, panicked and afraid, and then a man, telling Robert to go home, to forget. Then someone was holding him, shushing him as he shrieked in pain when his shoulder was jarred. Stefan felt something soft and wet on the wound and then something sharp, and he sucked in his breath through his teeth.
"Some birthday," he murmured. His first birthday without Damon, whom his father had sent to relatives in Charlottesville until some local trouble he'd caused had blown over, and now this.
The sharp sensation was suddenly gone and the stranger drew away. "It's your birthday?" His accent was funny, not one Stefan had ever heard before.
"Mmm, hmm." Stefan was barely conscious now, but he wondered why the stranger cared.
The stranger was silent for a moment, his hand on Stefan's face, his thumb idly stroking Stefan's cheekbone, and then he asked, "How old are you?"
"Six-sixteen."
"Very well then," the stranger said with a somewhat put-upon sigh. Stefan heard a strange crunching sound, and then something was pressed to his lips, and a bitter, metallic taste flooded his mouth, filling him with disgust. He whimpered and tried to move away, but the stranger held on tightly. The pain receded, and when the stranger leaned down to lick the remaining blood from the now smaller wound on his shoulder, Stefan just lay there and shivered at the touch until the stranger pulled away with obvious reluctance. Then blue eyes were staring into his, the stranger's melodic voice seeming to penetrate into his soul.
"Happy birthday, lad. Now, forget."
o-O-o-O-o
Months later, Katherine asked him about the faded scar on his shoulder one night in bed and he frowned slightly and then told her he fell out of a tree.