A/N: Wow, I didn't expect to get many reviews for this story. It was really just something that I wrote quickly to get over my writers block provided by A Million to One. But I want to thank Eddieizzie, ButterflyCry, and babyshan211 (whose review made me consider extending this story in the near future). However, for now, this story is just a three parter (I couldn't fit this into only two posts. It just wasn't possible). So this is part 2 of 3 chapters that could turn out to be a prologue for a longer story called His Heroine. By the way, the first chapter is unofficially titled "Holding Out for a Hero."

Disclaimer: Yeah, like I honestly own anything. As always, Read and Review! Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

HIS HEROINE

He was mystery in its most enigmatic form with an aura as murky and green as the light in his eyes, but the one thing that could be ascertained a mile away, was that this man was a hero: rugged exterior, gravelly voice, and all. His white horse came in the form of a black 1967 Chevy Impala, and where a cape should have been, he wore a faded denim jacket upon his back. But make no mistake about it: he was every bit as courageous as the man of steel himself.

We met during one of his hunts, back when he insisted upon calling himself Alec Hanniger, but I knew from the moment his black boots cast their shadows upon my welcome mat that asking him to come inside was welcoming more than just a friendly chat from a travelling newspaper columnist—lies rolled off his lips as easily as if they were made of thin air— It was agreeing to find a soul even more damaged than the one he'd set out for. I could see it in the way that he asked certain questions that he was more than he appeared to be. "So, uh, what can you tell me about vampire lore in this town?"

"What do you want to know?" The question was as simple as that. No, "How did you get my address?" or "What made you pick my door out of the many on this street to knock upon?" necessary, because this was just a dream. I knew that much even in my sleep.

"Have you ever seen one? Because something tells me that all these animal attacks aren't just made up bullshit told by thirteen year old girls at summer camp."

"Do you really believe in that sort of thing? Or are you just looking for something to write in your column?"

He choked on his last piece of vanilla ice cream-topped peach cobbler and grimaced as if the question had brought back bad memories that I instantly wished I could take away. "Trust me, sister. What I'm looking for ain't nothing to write home about." Silence swelled around us in the small kitchen, bringing about a tension that threatened to suffocate the both of us. What was worse was that he looked as if he were used to drowning.

"You look like you could use another piece of pie," I mumbled to myself while grabbing his empty plate. All it took was one grin. One grin that hadn't crossed his face in what seemed like months, and I knew that Elena wasn't the only one who'd be fighting for a life.

The next dream I had about him was meant for Klaus. I remember the day as if it were yesterday: street lamps spilled yellow light onto the nighttime blue, rain-soaked pavement that lined Grams's street. Inside the house, I sat underneath her tattered pink and white—now browning along the edges due to age—afghan and rocked her fluffy brown chair back and forth. The house remained in the exact shape that she had left it, and I could smell her in the old furniture, like White Diamonds perfume mixed with something earthy. The smell cleared my head enough to think. Why can't we get a lead on Elijah? My mind mulled over the question that I had tried to answer just hours ago with the Gilbert/Salvatore clan. Why can't I see him for what he really is? A cup of chamomile and Vervain tea chilled from lack of consumption in a white porcelain cup beside me on the night stand. The woman on the cup stared back at me from underneath red, cat-eyed bifocals, breasts sagging as if they were just as defeated as the look on her face, a look that was emphasized by words above her wild, blue-grey hair that read: "What can you do about it?" My sentiments exactly! You can start by wiping that pitiful look off of your face and use the skills I taught you. Gram's voice was practically in my ear, urging me to cast away the negative vibes that were blocking both my sense of perception and sleep. Swallowing the tea, I felt my bitter self-pity wash away, and when I closed my eyes, I could feel Klaus close by, beckoning the presence of two men with his evil brown eyes.

At first glance, the vacant warehouse looked innocent. No one would have suspected the place to be a prison for the undead, complete with vampire-friendly lighting and a large wooden cell stacked in the middle of an empty room. The man sitting within the cell, scraped at his metal constraints with long, angry nails. Constraints wired to electrocute him at the pull of a hasty arm. He seemed perfectly comfortable this way. He seemed to enjoy confinement as much as he enjoyed the looks on his visitors' faces.

"Come on out, boys." His voice was rich and deep, commanding attention without even having to raise itself in decibels. A tall man with shoulder length brown hair strolled confidently up to the cage followed by the wooden steps of a slightly shorter man that had once taken up so much space on my doorstep. The three tiptoed around each other, talking of missing souls, empty shells, and vampires creation. He made it known that just as the more jaded of the two had once been his child, he too was born from another. "Everyone has their mother, Dean," Klaus, spoke clearly before taking another sniff of the air. My hand nervously shot out over my heart, sending a pile of wooden planks crashing around my feet. Instantly, his eyes broke into familiar red veins that told of hunger and as he tore away from his prison, I knew that it was my blood that he craved. The larger of the two men went after the vampire, chasing him in the other direction. Dean stayed behind, grabbed a sharp wooden splint that had broken off the cage in Klaus's hasty departure, cradled it in his hand, and jogged in my direction.

"You working for him?" All I could do was stammer and stare, because in reality I had never dealt with anything like him. Vampires, witches, and werewolves, I could understand. They were tangible. They were things that I could wrap my head around and prepare for. But the man in front of me was different. From what I could feel on his cobbler plate, he was alive, a close friend of death, but as alive as ever he could be. Yet, the way he held the self-made stake in his experienced hands as if he had built his life around turning nightmares into the urban legends that most believed them to be was something short of amazing. Dare I say irresistible?

"No, but…but I think that we were sent to each other to fight Klaus."

He squinted at me through suspicious eyes, "You one of those New-Agey chicks, or something?"

My eyes fell upon the stake in his hands, not wanting his vampire slaying to turn into an impromptu witch hunt, "Or something." The edges of this scene curled around my vision, signifying the breaking of dawn and the end of yet another dream. "So I take it you're not really a folklore columnist, are you?" He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, and I'm taking it your grandmother's name didn't just end up on my dad's contact list because he'd helped the old broad out once."

I didn't dream about him for another month, but the next time I did, we were both knee deep in disaster and looking for solace.

"Back for more vampire stories?" Those black boots shifted their weight from foot to foot as if they were weighing their owner's options.

"I can't believe I'm actually about to do this, but…" the words died on his tongue, but I could feel them there, lying right on the surface of his skin where they'd melted: "I need you to do your little witchy mojo thing and get my brother's soul back." That's what he wanted to say, what he would have said, had the thought of working with the supernatural, instead of against it, not clawed him up inside. And it would have been so much easier for the both of us if I had never answered my door. Let some other witch be the source of both his salvation and his scorn, just as he was for the woman he had unintentionally wronged. Lisa. Her name filled every inch of his mind. Lay right next to the knot in his stomach tied by a brother who walked amongst the living but was imprisoned inside the damned. But if there was one thing that I had learned from being a witch was that where there was power, there was an obligation to protect the haunted. Even if doing so began to haunt you as well. "Ah, shit, kid," he finished, "Why are you even home? Shouldn't you be out watching some lame ass vampire movie or whatever you and your friends do in this dead ass town?"

Something about his tone scraped away at my remorse over his situation, and I tried to tell myself that it had nothing to do with his use of the word "kid." Why did it bother me so much that some stranger deemed me just another immature teenager planted so thickly in the roots of popular culture that she could be easily swayed with overly emotional vampire-wannabes with an appetite for spineless brunettes just because he deemed himself authoritative enough to tell her that that's what she should be into? After all, I could feel my heart strings being tugged away by someone in my waking life. But as my lips parted, I knew that I couldn't let the remark die between an ear-splitting door slam. Because I, unlike some vampire movie victim, was not one of those spineless brunettes.

"And miss out on the crowd of cocky assholes just waiting to line up and pretend not to need my help?" He didn't seem to see this remark coming, but thankfully, unlike Damon, he didn't revel in hearing himself being referred to this way. Instead, he leveled his foot upon the threshold and crossed his arms. "Not a chance!"

"I'm just trying to keep you from ruining your damn life, so don't be such a smartass okay?"

Now it was my turn to be surprised. Ever since this mess with Katherine started, my role in Mystic Falls became that of Elena's protector. Wasn't that everyone's job now? To watch Elena and make sure that she still had breath in her lungs? That she wasn't in danger, or hungry, or even bored for long periods of time? And I loved her as if she were the sister that I had never been blessed with, but I wanted my life to count for something more than just protecting hers. I wanted to experiment with mixing beer and vodka instead of experimenting with the combination of ginger root and candle light. That's what this man was offering. A chance for me to be eighteen.

"Only if you let me find your brother." Seeing him stare at me with those brilliant green eyes that looked lighter underneath my porch light than they had in the dingy lighting of my kitchen a month ago, I knew that I didn't want to be a normal eighteen year old. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to be the heroine of the story for a change. And for some strange reason that even I couldn't understand, I wanted to be his heroine.