Damon had never seen Elena look so peaceful. And he had some experience watching her sleep, after all. Normally, she tossed and turned, her eyelids fluttered, she cried out at nightmares. But not now. She lay curled on her side, chest rising and falling peacefully, one hand pillowing her smooth cheek.

Nothing like compulsion for a good night's rest.

It had all gotten out of control so fast. He'd just wanted her to stop crying, to stop hurting—was that so wrong? But once he'd compelled her, Damon couldn't stop. It wasn't as if he could just leave her there, unnaturally calm with her brother's corpse.

"You're going to come with me. Everything's going to be okay," he'd reassured her, grasping both her hands.

"Of course it will be. Where are we going?" Elena's eyes were focused only on him, not even glancing at Jeremy's crumpled body, his head twisted brutally to the side.

Damon didn't have an answer as he led her from the house and into the night. He threw some of Alaric's vampire hunting gear into the backseat and settled the compliant girl into the passenger's seat. They'd find Jeremy soon—either dead or undead—and they'd come for him. And he wasn't sure what would happen then.

So he drove without direction or purpose, the dark Virginia countryside sliding past. Damon spent as much time watching Elena as he did the road, hands clenched white on the wheel. There was a terrible blankness to her face. Sure, there was no pain or grief or fear, but there was no fire or laughter or light either. Not even that spark of anger she seemed to save just for him.

What the hell had he done?

Damon blinked out of the past as the microwave in the dingy hotel room chimed. He started to reach for Elena to stroke her cheek, weave his fingers into her hair, but stopped himself, clenching a fist. No.

He crossed the room to the beeping appliance, removing the steaming Styrofoam cup before returning to Elena's bedside. The scent of its contents made his stomach roil and his throat burn, but it didn't matter. This was the only way.

"Rise and shine, Elena."

Her brow furrowed for a moment, struggling to remain in her sweetly mindless sleep, but soon brown eyes fluttered open. "Damon? Where are we?" There was no hint of fear at waking in a strange place with the evil Salvatore brother, only a mild sense of confusion.

"Somewhere in North Carolina. But that doesn't matter. Look at me." Damon set the cup on the bedside table, reaching for her, one hand resting gently on either side of her face. He was going to regret this. Already did.

Catching her eyes with his, he held her there for a moment, some part of him relishing the complete control he held. All the things he could do—make her want him, make her fuck him, make her love him. They could run away and never look back.

No. Not like this. She wasn't a puppet, not like the rest. This wasn't Caroline, it was Elena. It wouldn't be this way with her.

"In a moment, you're going to take that cup on the nightstand and drink it all. And as soon as you swallow that last drop, you're going to remember everything that happened tonight. And you're going to feel—you're going to feel about it however the hell you want to feel." Swallowing hard, he broke contact and helped pull her into a sitting position, pressing the cup into her hands.

Elena took it, bringing it towards her mouth. She paused, looking over at Damon. "But this is—"

"I know. Bottoms up."

Without further comment, she drained the entire cup of pure Vervain extract.

The cup fell from suddenly nerveless fingers, and the screaming began.