A/N: So, I know I need to update my other story, which is why this isn't a new one. This is so I can keep writing, even when I'm having trouble getting my thoughts about Awaken onto paper. So, these will just be little oneshots, most of them probably inspired by hitting Shuffle on my iPod. This one is prompted by Shut Your Eyes by Snow Patrol. Let me know what you think!
She's standing in his room, pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Here eyes are bouncing all over the room that is even messier than usual, trying to see something they might have missed. In the four times they went through it. She's running her hand through her hair, and briefly imagines going bald soon from pulling at it so often.
She's staring at the stacks of journals strewn across the floor- one side of the room has the ones that are from when he was under control, and the other with the ones from his days where he... wasn't. That surprised her- when she finally joined Damon in looking through his journals- giving up her argument about his privacy- she wasn't expecting there to be anything from when he was on human blood. But he wrote just as often- possibly even more, though not the same way he wrote when he was himself. It was lazy, arrogant; telling of people he met, people he killed, reminding himself not to go for the girls that were hanging all over- apparently it was 'less fun'. His grammar wasn't so great, either. It took a lot of focus to sort through all of the useless things he wrote to find any hints of where he was, or could be, and focus was exactly what Elena didn't want when she was reading it. It couldn't have been Stefan who wrote these words, who dripped other peoples' blood on the pages. That was during a particularly aggressive part of the 20s, and Damon yanked that journal from her grasp.
The ones on the left side of the room, that have the real-Stefan notebooks, are lying open, with a million multi-colored post-its marking various pages; they obviously had the most information. On the other side, most of them are stacked off to the side, with a chosen few sitting together, also with sticky notes in them, though few and far in between. He didn't write much about where he was or who he talked to during those days, other than those he killed. He talked a lot about those.
She shakes her head. How could there be nothing? He must have somewhere he liked to go when he was off the rails, and there were some reoccurrences throughout the pages, mentioning a bar more than once, or a person, but most of it was useless. At least, that's what she has been told, seeing as Damon refused to ever let her go on these trips. He's such a pain in the ass. Which he proves, when she spins around on her heel and nearly has a heart attack when she sees him watching her, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Give the rug a break, why don't you? It's already ancient and musty, you don't need to come and make it's afterlife hell, too."
She rolls her eyes. "Don't you have something to do other than complain at me?"
He strolls into the room. "Yes, reading. Which I was trying to do, while you were up here, doing your best to wear a hole in the floor."
She gives up on the conversation, and turns from him, running her hand through her hair again, looking at all the leather-bound pages. "How is there nothing here? There has to be. We have to find him." She feels like crying, but doesn't, because there's no point. It won't help, and she's got to stay focused.
"We will." His voice is gentler now, the way it does with her. It makes her feel guilty, even though there is no reason for it to. Except for that kiss, her mind reminds her.
Thinking about it makes her feel worse. While he was off giving himself away to the enemy for Damon, she was lying in his bed, kissing him. And now she's alone with him nearly 24/7.
Damon comes up behind her, taking her hands and uncrossing them. In doing so, he breathes on her neck, making her shiver, and feel... things she should not be feeling.
She jerks away from his grasp, flying across the room, stumbling over journals and trinkets and her feet in her hurry to get away from him, and all the emotions that come with him.
"This can't be happening, how is this happening? This wasn't supposed to happen. It was supposed to be okay. It's not okay," she rambles, looking at the pictures of her and Stefan sitting on various surfaces throughout the room, haunting her.
"Elena-" Damon tries to start, but she won't let him.
"What is this? It's not- it can't- it's too- too- too much!" She shakes her head. "Everything, it's all so everything, and I just can't deal with it. I can't deal with this! And I don't want- I mean, I can't just stop, I don't know what to do, it's everywhere, it's everywhere-"
"Elena," he says it at the same volume, but sharper, bringing her speech to a stop. "Shut your eyes."
"What?" She furrows her brow, still staring at the pages, now at one particular journal marked with a pink sticky- she remembers that one, it mention a bar, in Denver, she recalls, but did they check there? She can't remember-
"Shut. Your. Eyes." His tone, soft but strong, makes her finally look up at him. He looks strong, and comforting, and everything she needs. The look in his eye is intense and overpowering. She gazes at him for a moment longer, trust passing between them, then does as he says and closing her eyes.
"Take a breath." She hesitates. "Elena." She breathes in and out.
"Slower."
She resolves to go again. She breathes in deep, into her lungs, filling them to the top, and then slowly releases it, feeling her mind and body slow down ever-so-slightly.
"Think of somewhere." Into her mind pops the forest, with the fire rings, Jules' heart dripping into the bowl, Jenna's eyes growing wide in realization, Elena fighting, trying to save her- "Somewhere else." she hears, as if he can read her mind. She's always wondered if that was something vampires could do that they never told her.
"Somewhere cold. Covered in snow." He apparently has decided to guide her. "There's a fire, inside." She pictures a log cabin, similar to the lake house. "You're sitting on the couch, reading the Hunger Games for the millionth time. You have a hot mug of cocoa sitting beside you, and you can hear Jeremy in the background outside with Matt and Tyler, throwing snow." She pictures the window beside her, where she can she soft balls of ice flying back and forth. She smiles a bit about the book, because she knows he hates it, insisting it isn't real literature, but loves that he knows it's her favorite. She can see herself curled into the corner of the couch, with the plaid blanket that her father got that her mother despised, but was always caught wrapped in it. She waits for him to say more.
His voice lowers again. "Bonnie and Caroline are in the kitchen, and Stefan went out for a walk." Her breath hitches at the mention of Stefan, but he smoothly moves on. "Jenna and your parents are on there way. There are board games sitting on the dining table, and soup cooking. You're just relaxing, slowly reading. Everyone is there with you." She frowns slightly at that. "But what about you?"
She hears a beat of silence, as if he's surprised. He continues, though. "I, am there." She waits for him to go on, but realizes he doesn't plan to. "What are you doing?" she prompts softly.
He lets out a small, almost silent chuckle like he does when he can't believe how much she cares. "Standing in front of the fire, holding my bourbon. Your feet are resting on top of my leather jacket on the couch, and I'm complaining about you wrinkling it." She snorts at that. "I sit down beside you instead, pulling your feet into my lap, and covering them with the blanket."
His voice is even more gentle. She hears footsteps. Good. She wants him closer. "You turn, putting your feet the other way and your head by me, and we're sitting together, as you continue to read." He's closer, but not close enough.
"You lean your back against me, and I move my arm to put it around you." He's right in front of her now, and his voice drops to a whisper.
"You curl closer, and drape the blanket across both of us, and take my hand." His face is right by hers now, she can feel her breath on his cheek as he holds her hands in his. "It's warm, and comforting." She smiles softly.
"And then you're parents arrive through the door with the boys, announcing dinner time, and it's over, like it never happened." And when she opens her eyes, he's gone.
For being so against his brother's journaling, he certainly does have a way with words, she thinks, as she walks out of the room, having exactly what she didn't know she came for.