A/N: I meant to get this whole thing done within one document, but the end is giving me migraines. So, here's part two, and I'm hoping to have part three up tomorrow evening.

Fair warning, based on your feedback: These is really angsty. It's rated M mostly for the subject matter (a little bit of sexuality as well). Read at your own risk, but I'm standing behind this one.

It's a songfic based on the song Love The Way (Part II) by Rihanna feat. Eminem. I don't own the song.

Shameless self-promotion: Twitter - SweetWillowTree

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries.


Even angels have their wicked schemes, and you take that to new extremes.

When Stefan came back, he was changed. Damon had warned her, Stefan himself had warned her, but Elena, much as she knew that it would be different, hadn't known that it would be different. Damon had tried to help as much as he could, but in the end, it was only Elena and Stefan.

Their first night together, the night that Elena had broken Damon's heart to the point where he actually, finally, and, to a certain point, surprisingly, left Mystic Falls, was an awakening.

They were on the bed, Elena on top of Stefan, kissing him hard, trying to bring him home. When she paused for breath, he drew back, a pensive look on his face, hands cupping her cheeks and grazing his thumbs across her cheekbones. Despite the tenderness, there was still an undercurrent of danger that should have warned her off.

But when had she ever listened to that voice in her head that told her to run?

"You're an angel," he breathed, and she blushed, blood rising to colour the skin of her cheeks.

And suddenly, the undercurrent of danger roared to life, and Stefan moved fast, pinning Elena underneath him, eyes bloodshot, veins throbbing, fangs elongated.

Still, she was not afraid.

"I'll kill you," he hissed, part warning and part promise, but no matter what it was, it wasn't enough to scare her off.

"No you won't," she whispered back, but the typical love and trust wasn't there to back up her words; only a certainty and a twisted understanding that she had garnered somewhere along the way. "I'm not like all the other girls, Stefan, and you know it." She sounded bitter, even to her own ears, as she antagonized the already volatile beast on top of her. "If you killed me, the guilt would eat you alive, because you won't just forget me."

When she finished speaking, she did something that sealed her fate: she tilted her head back just a bit, but enough to make it clear that she was baring her throat to him.

"I love you," she growled, watching his eyes travel the length of her neck. "If you're hurting, I'm hurting, so you'd better make it count."

He struck fast and painfully, tearing screams from her throat as he tore into her neck, ripping cries from her lips as he ripped into her skin. And when he'd drunk his fill he kissed her, and forced his tongue into her mouth so she could taste her own blood.

She'd felt numb, but perhaps more alive. She didn't move as he undressed her, and it was only when he was naked as well that she pushed him onto his back once more, sinking onto him without any preamble, causing him to cry out this time. She grinned in satisfaction, but it wasn't enough. They moved together, but she needed to take it out on him as he had taken it out on her. She clawed at him, glad when he hissed in pain, but disappointed when the scratch marks disappeared almost as soon as she'd made them. She leaned in and bit him, on his throat, his jaw, his ear. She kissed him, and sucked on his bottom lip, clamping her teeth down on it so hard she drew blood.

As she sucked the blood down, Stefan gripped her hips, slamming her down onto him harder and harder until they were both screaming, panting, throbbing, coming and crying together.

They fell apart. Elena winced, her skin burning where it had been torn open, at her throat and where Stefan's nails had sliced open her back.

It had hurt, and it still hurt, but somehow, someway, it had become beautiful.


But you'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind.

Elena had changed drastically since Stefan had become the Ripper. She saw her friends less, Jeremy only when necessary, and spent most of her time at the boarding house. Graduation came and went, and still she and Stefan were locked together in an emotional chokehold, unable to move forward or away.

There was a day that cemented this for her. It was not long after she'd begun to consciously hide bruises and bitemarks under layers of clothing. An old creditor of Damon's had come to town searching for the elder Salvatore, and stumbled upon Elena as she wandered the streets late at night. He blurred to a stop in front of her, but she didn't move beyond cocking her head to the side as though she were perplexed by his presence. And as he bore his fangs and moved in, Stefan struck from out of nowhere. Slowly, his eyes never leaving Elena's, he tore the attacker to pieces, ripping him limb from limb as his screams echoed through the forest Stefan had dragged him into.

When it was finished, the couple was splattered with blood, but neither spoke. And Elena found that she felt neither afraid, nor protected; simply connected to the mindless creature that was sobbing at her feet, and strengthened by this power that she held over him.


Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? But that's all right because I like the way it hurts;

In the mornings, he watches her passively as she limps across the kitchen to the coffee machine. On this particular morning, it's worse than usual. Tears of pain fill her eyes, and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out loud. There's a chance her foot is broken, and she favours it, taking all of her weight on her heel as she walks. And still Stefan watches, eyes dim.

The guilt hasn't hit him yet.

Just gonna stand there and hear me cry? But that's all right because I love the way you lie.

As she shuffles back to the table, she trips into her chair, knocking her injured foot into the table leg. Her body goes numb, and her stomach turns. The tears spill and a loud shout escapes her. And now that she started, she can't seem to stop. She's sobbing uncontrollably.

Finally Stefan rises and kneels at her feet. It's a pattern now; the guilt is setting in, she can see it in his eyes. She falls over onto his shoulder, and he smooths out her hair, making comforting sounds in her ear. And it isn't until she's calmer that she hears how the lies roll off his tongue like silk.

"I'm sorry Elena; I won't hurt you again."


Now there's gravel in our voices; glass is shattered from the fight.

As time wears on, Elena changes from the passive collector of Stefan's transgressions to an active thief of them. She's able to read him, tell his moods and thoughts. She can tell when he's aching to destroy someone. At those times, she should want to be far away from him, but she can't be. She can't be without him anymore, she never could. She loves him too much, and has become addicted to blood and bruises, deep gashes and broken bones.

At first, she refused his blood, choosing instead to revel in the pain back when the injuries weren't so severe. But as his destructive urges focused more and more on her, and she took that role to a whole new level, the need to accept his magical cure became more urgent. He explained it to her, once, convincingly, during one of those times when he was almost human again.

"You're giving me everything, Elena," he says calmly when she rails against his proposition.

They rarely argue when he's mellow like this; instead, they save up the regular relationship resentments and frustrations for when they can truly express them, no-holds-barred.

"It's unconditional! I've told you that before!" she insists, and he rubs his eyes, seeming much older than he looks. "I love you, all of you, the good and the bad. I want all of you."

"Then you should want this," he whispers. She shakes her head so he stands, pulling her to him gently, aware that she's still sore. She's always sore. "You give me everything, so please, just let me give you this. You make me better when I go off the rails, stop me from killing simply by staying with me. Please, let me make you better too."

His pleading works, and even in his most clouded moments, he never says no to her when she asks him for that.


It starts, as it always does, with words. Elena goes into Damon's old room in search of a DVD that she had lent him years before, and that is where Stefan finds her. His jealousy, unfounded, since Elena's feelings for Damon had always paled in comparison to what she had with Stefan, always gets the better of him, and his transformation from calm to cruel is quick.

He makes lewd suggestions of how she and his brother had spent their time while he was gone with Klaus. Elena fights back, argues with him that he has no right to make such judgements, and that they aren't true in any case.

She slaps him, holds him close. He holds her hard, and fractures one of her ribs in the process. She'll have to get blood from him later. And as usual, her cry of pain taunts that uncontrollable demon within him, and he pushes her back. She grabs a book and throws it at him, and then another and another, until he approaches her, fingers wrapping around her too-thin arms, forcing a brutal kiss on her.

Her wrists bruise; her lips bleed. They fight, and they kiss. Elena gives as good as she gets, as good as she's able. He lifts her, hands gripping her already pained ribcage so hard she feels tears burning behind her eyes. He deposits her on a desk and his fists burst through the surface of the wood, leaving jagged pieces strewn about. She takes one without hesitation and stabs it into his side, payback for her own injury.

She should run while he's preoccupied.

She doesn't.

Instead she moves closer to where he's kneeling on the floor, grabs his hair in a tight grip, forces him to look up at her. He finally pulls the offending object out of his skin, and she pushes him down onto his back, straddling him, kissing him while still holding him by the hair.

"We shouldn't be here," he whispers hoarsely.

"It doesn't matter anymore," she replies. "He's gone."

Stefan's demeanour changes suddenly, and he grabs her by her upper arms and shakes her.

"Do you miss him? You want him back here?"

"Do you?" she shouts back right before he blurs them upright and throws her to the side, into a full-length mirror in the opposite corner of the room.

He disappears and she sits where she landed, picking glass out of her right arm before moving onto her leg. Through the open door, she hears a roar. He's angry this time, not remorseful. Yet.

She wonders how long it will be before he comes back for her.


In this tug of war, you'll always win even when I'm right.

There are days, weeks even, where Stefan's humanity shines through, and her bruises fade. They travel sometimes; never for very long in case his violent tendencies make an appearance. At those times, they retreat back to the safety of the boarding house, where no one can get caught in the crossfire.

During these periods of lucidity, before he naturally falls back into the monster for a while, there is only one thing that can force this change.

Damon.


"You need to control it, Stefan. At least for a little while. You can do this."

Elena strokes his face, pleading with him to keep calm. Damon had called to say that he would be visiting. It had been five years since he'd left.

"Why is he coming back here?" Stefan asks, his voice cracking with sadness and bitterness and anger. He sounds like a child, and Elena reaches for his t-shirt, handing it to him so he can get dressed.

"He misses you," she says softly, smiling, "He's your big brother; he wants to make sure you're okay."

"And am I okay?" he asks flatly.

Again, Elena smiles. "You haven't killed anyone in months, and it was months before that too. You're getting better."

Stefan's eyes narrow on an elaborate bruise running down the side of her body.

"I've hurt you," he points out. "I'm always hurting you."

She takes that as her cue to put on a shirt, and she does, flipping her hair before looking back at him happily.

"I can take it, Stefan. And we're fine." She takes his hand and kisses it. "I love you, no matter what. We can do this; we can keep doing this."

Stefan's eyes are darting around now, like a caged animal. She knows that her calm reassurances are battling against the burning that he feels knowing that his brother is coming to check up on them. She's beyond wondering which side will win, but this time, for the first time, she needs him to keep it together.

"Stefan..." she begins warningly when his eyes begin to shift. "You know what he'll do if he sees us like this. You're stronger than this, better than this. I'm not going anywhere, and you aren't going to do anything unreasonable until he's come and gone."

There's a moment where she thinks she may have won. But then he speaks, and disappointment overwhelms her.

"What does that even mean, 'unreasonable'?" he snaps, moving her back until they're against the wall next to the bedroom door. "Since when are we ever 'reasonable'?" he asks her, but she can't answer. "And why is he coming back here! Why do we need to hide from him! What would you do if he knew how I hurt you!"

"NOTHING!" she roars back, knowing full well that it's the truth. "I would do nothing! But he would try and kill you. Maybe he would. Maybe you would kill him first. But you wouldn't last long after that. You know it as well as I do; if you killed him, the second you came back to yourself, the guilt would kill you, no matter how many hits I take. That's the only thing that I know I can't pull you back from."

She wouldn't have said that if she'd won the argument already. But she knows that he's going to fly off the handle right now anyways, and this might at least limit the damage he's about to do to her, and her to him. And she succeeds, at least, in that.

There's a war being waged in their eyes, and he finally huffs, biting into his left wrist before slamming his hand into the wall next to her head. She smiles at him, glad to know that she's made a bit of progress, and turns her head to suck from the wound.

His fangs pierce her neck, but she doesn't even feel it anymore.


'Cause you feed me fables from your hand, with violent words and empty threats.

"What happens when I kill you?" Stefan asks cryptically one day, chin on her shoulder, arm wrapped loosely around her waist.

Elena is reading a book; he is reading her face.

"You won't kill me, Stefan," she answers distractedly. This comes up often enough, and she'd rather ignore the issue than come up with a solution. Or, rather, accept the only solution.

"You take my blood to heal, Elena. And I don't -"

She finally puts down her book, and turns to face him. They are curled together on the couch, and their lips brush accidentally.

"You don't what? You don't want me to turn? You don't want me around? You don't what?"

She speaks calmly, numbly. She's schooled herself to keep her voice quiet, to remain passive so long as he's controlled like this. There is no point in goading him to violence if he doesn't need the release.

His face tightens, like it's paining him to think his thought, and furthermore, to speak what he is about to say.

"I don't want you to hate me. You keep loving me, and loving me, and loving me, no matter what I need. But if you turn, Elena... That would be the end for you; I know it."

She kisses him lightly, then leans back into his arms. "Tell me a story," she demands, closing her eyes.

Neither of them acknowledge her now-racing heart. He's ignoring her fear; she's trying to forget it.


And it's sick that all these battles are what keeps me satisfied.

It's Elena's birthday. She is much too old to be comfortable with. Only in her early twenties, but she feels like she hasn't aged a day in years. Or maybe she only aged years in a day.

She arrives back at the boarding house in the afternoon. She had met Jeremy for lunch. They talked, tread lightly. His eyes lingered on her bruised collarbone a little too long for her to be okay with. She fidgeted under his scrutinizing gaze, and when he opened his mouth to say something, she cut him off. He had no right to judge her, she insisted. He had no way of understanding her life, what she was doing. He told her that he couldn't possibly be expected to understand, since he wasn't part of her life anymore. She made to leave before turning back to him with a serene smile.

"There's something bigger here, Jer. Just trust me on this."


Stefan hasn't hit Elena in forty three days. It's a new record for them. She's been keeping track, and cross-referencing with his old journals. His urges are curbing on schedule. She is proud.

But she can't help but feel... a little lost. For so long, her life has revolved around violence and destruction. Can she even live anymore if she doesn't have that in her life?

And so the roles are reversed. Elena paces on the back deck, a cigarette held tightly between two shaking fingers. She is aching to ache. She thinks there is something wrong with her; there must be. She hears Stefan approach, but she's too distracted by her distraction to be glad that he purposefully made noise with his shoes. This is something she should notice; he is trying to be more human.

He lightly places a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off. She isn't in the mood to deal with his lecture about her smoking, which she finds completely ridiculous in any case.

"Those are bad for you," he murmurs.

She turns on her heel, pent up aggression and frustration with the audacity of him to judge her fuelling her reaction.

"Fuck off, Stefan. Don't you get it by now? I'm self-destructive. Deal with it."

She tries to move past him, but he reaches down to grab her hand lightly.

"And don't you get it by now? I always want what's best for you."

And that's enough. That's enough for Elena to blink back tears of anger, pull back her fist and let it slam into the side of his face. It's the first time she's ever punched him, and it feels like she shattered her hand in the process. Good thing she's too far gone to care.

"What's best for me?" she exclaims, using both hands to push him back by his shoulders. "I don't know what's more unbelievable..." She pushes him again, and he stumbles back into the wall of the house. "The fact that you're judging me on my addiction..." He reaches for her, but she's learned a few tricks. Both hands wrap around his wrist, and she ducks under his arm, pushing him, face first, into the brick wall. "Or the fact that you think that the cigarettes will kill me before you will."

A roar finally escapes him, and he blurs around her. They're roles are reversed, and now she's the one up against the wall.

"The point of this, Elena," he hisses her name, like it's something dirty, "Is that I'm supposed to trust you. When you say that you're okay, or I'm okay, I'm supposed to trust what you say. You keep saying I won't kill you, and now you're saying that I will. Which is it! You can't use this," he shoves her a little harder, and a whimper escapes her lips, "To win an argument." He releases her, steps back, but she remains still, pressing her face against the brick as though for comfort. "I'M TRYING HERE!"

Finally, she turns. Her face has fallen, softened. They are back to normal now; he is frantic, out of his mind, while she is yearning to comfort him any way he needs it.

"I know you are," she whispers, approaching him. "I'm sorry. You're right; you're always right. There will come a day when you'll kill me, and I just don't want -"

She's cut off when he barrels into her, clutching her tightly to his body.

"Stefan," she rasps. He's holding her too tightly, and she can't breathe. "We should talk about this. Let me go and we'll talk about this."

She's never asked him to let her go before, and it seems to have an adverse effect. He holds her tighter, hurting her ribs, mouth dangerously close to her throat. She feels the prick of his fangs elongating, and stirs into action, bringing her head back a bit only to thrust it forwards, connecting with his nose and breaking it. In his split-second of distraction, he releases her, and she doesn't hesitate to jump over the stairs, off the deck, sprinting across the lawn.

He has her pinned to the ground seconds before she realizes that her face is in the grass. She feels a crunch in her torso, and a throbbing to match her ignored hand.

"Stefan," she whispers painfully as he hauls her up and flips her onto her back. "Stefan, I can't breathe."

She knows it's useless. She sees the hunger in his eyes, and her hopes disappear. He can't stop now.

But then he surprises her. His clouded eyes clear, and he leans back, tugging her shirt up to examine her now purple midsection. His hands ghost along her ribs, and she gasps, coughing. She feels like she's drowning, but it doesn't matter.

Because he stopped.


Just gonna stand there and watch me burn? But that's all right because I like the way it hurts;

They travel south for a few weeks. They rent a cabin on the beach, and bask in the heat. Elena tans, and they make love under the stars. It's one of those calms between storms that she loves in a strange way. She loves Stefan with everything that she has, and she isn't resentful for every sacrifice she's made to keep him sane. But it is nice, sometimes, to relax, to not feel that heavy pull that drags them mindlessly back to one another.

The night before they leave for home, Stefan slips out of bed while she pretends to sleep. When he's left the cabin, she pads over to the window, watching his back as he leisurely walks along the beach.

She knows what's about to happen. She could feel it in the way he was holding back for the past few days. And rather than cut their vacation short, she watched him try to battle back aggression within. It hurt him to do so, she knew it. But she needed him to push, needed him to try.

Just gonna stand there and hear me cry? But that's all right because I love the way you lie.

Not ten minutes later, he's reappeared within her eyeline, dragging something behind him. She knows what it is; a dismembered body. She sighs, but is a little proud. She doesn't know when she became this person that gauged only one corpse to be a good thing. But it is, for Stefan. All of the pent up energy that he's been holding in for the past few days, and he was able to restrain himself to a single bystander, rather than an entire village. Rather than her.

He stops at the edge of the water to pull off his clothes and then wades into the ocean, dragging the burlap-wrapped bundle behind him. Faster than humanly possible, he swims out against the current until she can't see him anymore. And then he surfaces again, without the bundle.

She hurries back into bed. He reenters the cabin, showers, and then climbs in next to her. She's learned how to feign sleep properly, deepening her breaths, slowing her heart rate. For hours, Stefan holds her with one arm, and strokes her face and hair with the other. She feels tears spill onto her shoulder.

She aches to open her eyes and hold him, but this time, he needs to do it alone.