Sorry, I've been having trouble editing. It wouldn't let me save changes easily. But here's the next chapter.

I hope this all isn't too confusing.

…

The sound of the shower running mirrored that of the rain outside. Caroline had turned it on already to make sure the water was a decent temperature. The old thing didn't always work so well and she didn't want to further traumatize Enzo with scalding hot water. She had managed to gently cajole him into following her into the bathroom to look at the gash on his face and maybe check on his arm and feet, but now he was just standing there, rooted to the spot, watching her.

She tried her best to act her usual chirpy self, to find something light to talk about, but this was not a very light moment, and soon they would have to address the elephant in the room again.

What had happened? Should they call someone? Or rather, should she?

"You know, I can call Damon if you want?" she suggested, rubbing a few stray water droplets off her arm. "Or your family? - I mean, if you give me their number; I don't think I've ever even heard you mention them…" Gosh, she was rambling again. Biting the inside of her lower lip, she forced herself to shut up, then walked slowly back to where he was still standing close by the door.

"I'll leave you to it. A warm shower will do you good after the cold." She smiled awkwardly, then pointed to the clothes she had found for him. Just a pair of dark pants and a light gray t-shirt. Nothing that screamed "Stefan" too overly obviously, she thought. "We might have to get this seen." She was standing so close to him that she could finally get a good look at his bleeding face. His eyebrow was sporting a deep laceration, and she was certain it needed stitches. "I could drive you over to the ER, or maybe Urgent Care."

With sudden ferocity, he turned away, covering the injury with his hand. "No."

His knuckles were bruised, too, his fingernails dirty and torn.

"Was this… did you and Damon have a fight?" The words were out before she could stop them. Her tone, incredulous and concerned, made her cringe. But Enzo merely stared at the water cascading down in the shower and didn't even seem to be listening.

"You know, my mom is the sheriff, maybe. . ."

There was no warning. He just banged his hand against the mirror to his side so hard it shattered into a million tiny pieces. Caroline stifled a whelping cry as she jumped out of the way, equal parts shocked and scared.

"I can't," he choked out, "This was a mistake, I shouldn't have come here, I shouldn't even be here anymore." It didn't make sense to her at all. Can't what? She wanted to ask, but knew better.

Can't shower? Can't stand in this foreign bathroom? Can't deal with whatever happened to him? Can't have the sheriff involved? Go to the hospital?

All of the above, probably. But why? What was so bad that it had messed him up this much? She had never seen someone so… disconnected.

"Enzo." Slowly, very slowly, she walked up to him, until her fingers found his, until she could touch him. Very carefully, she pried his hand away from the mirror, checking his hand for cuts as she did. When she saw fresh blood, she grimaced.

"The hospital isn't too far," she tried again, but he turned his gaze toward her and for the first time since he had knocked on her door that night, he really looked at her. Desperately.

"I'm fine," he breathed, she could barely hear him, it was so quiet. "I don't need the hospital."

"Your eyebrow needs stitches, at the very least some glue. You'll probably need a tetanus shot. And I don't even know what's going on with your feet or your arm, yet, but the way things look to me, all of it needs medical attention, and I'm not a doctor or even a nurse."

"I'm sorry. This was a stupid idea," he suddenly said, still barely above a whisper, and she would have gotten annoyed with him for being so… difficult, had she not seen tears start welling in his eyes. Throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed both his arms, making him whirl around violently, almost making her topple over and fall, but she didn't let go, didn't lose her ground.

Staring straight at him, all she could say was, "It wasn't. A stupid idea. I'm glad you came to me. I'm glad. Now please let me help you. If you don't want to go the the hospital, fine. We'll figure something else out. I'll take a look and see whether I can patch you up with our first aid supply. My mom keeps a big box of stuff in the medicine cabinet so I'm sure we can make do somehow. Just please stay. Don't run out again. Okay? Please…"

She looked up at him, worry and sorrow in her features, the mound between her eyebrows arched high. It was a strange feeling to worry about someone she barely knew, but she did. She really did.

And she didn't want him to go.

"Listen, why don't you take that shower now and I'll grab the medical supplies, okay?"

She half expected him to balk, to make a run for it after all, and was surprised when he didn't. When he nodded.

Only then did she notice how sticky her one hand had gotten again and she remembered the blood on his arm. Was it actually his? Could it be Damon's? She really needed to find out what had happened, whether anyone else had gotten hurt and might need help. But how, when everything she said could set Enzo off? Could make him run off and vanish into the night and the rain again?

She'd have to try and call her mom, ask for help.

Maybe once he was in the shower and couldn't overhear her...

…

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I know I said I'd be home to have dinner with you. . ." Liz Forbes had just gotten behind the steering wheel of her sheriff's car, when Caroline's name had popped up on her phone. Exhausted, she rubbed her forehead, then pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and index finger. Checking the time, she grimaced, then placed a hand on the gear shift. It was too late. Or, early.

The last few days had been so tiring. A bunch of AWOL teenagers and their more or less worried families. The guy from New Orleans had been especially obnoxious about trying to lead her investigation for her. And now the girl had shown up after all.

No explanation given.

Instead, her creepy fellow council member Guiseppe Salvatore had called out of nowhere telling her his son had been the victim of some attack or other, and when she had just started her engine to drive over there, her colleague had called her about an incident over at the Bennett home. Apparently Bonnie was home, and Sheila Bennett had requested her by name.

So she still had to go over to the Salvatores, then the Bennetts, and now her own poor abandoned daughter was calling, surely to complain about the fact that it was eight in the morning and her mother hadn't been home all night, not to mention the dinner Liz had promised to bring.

She was ready to repeat her apology. But Caroline wasn't actually complaining.

"Wait," she interrupted, when Caroline seemed to just be spewing out a torrent of words at her. "You. . . What? So he's a friend of Damon Salvatore? And he's at our house. . . No. No sweetheart, I'm not mad. I'm… Listen. Do you think he needs medical attention?"

She could barely get a word in sideways, Caroline's reply was all over the place. Panicked, worried. Something else. Clearly, her "guest" was in a bit of a state and didn't want to get seen by a doctor. Apparently he had been quite… adamant. Plus, Caroline was starting to connect dots that Liz herself had only just started to combine. Asking about Bonnie, and Damon...

"Okay okay okay okay," Liz said hurriedly, trying to get her daughter to calm down. No one benefitted from her having a panic attack, too. "It's fine. Just… Wait till I get home. Don't let him leave. . . I know. But try your best. I'll get home as soon as I can. I just need to…" She closed her eyes, pressing her palm against first one then the other eyelid. Too much going on. She could use the ability to split herself in half right about now. And she'd still be swamped.

Part of her - the mom, wanted to rush home where her daughter apparently let a battered looking young man and friend of Damon's into her house. There was something going on there, something that should have been obvious, she knew it, but it wasn't. This other kid hadn't even been declared missing.

So he had to wait, and with him, Caroline. Because Sheriff Liz Forbes still had to deal with a number of kids that had been reported missing and of which only a handful had reappeared so far. None of them in a very good state.

With a regretful sigh, she got ready to end the call. Of course she couldn't tell Caroline anything about her ongoing cases, but she had to tell her something. "You know I can't talk about work much, right? But I want you to know that Bonnie and Damon..." She shouldn't say it. But she couldn't do this to Caroline. "They're back. . . No, stop, sweetie. I can't tell you more. I'm sorry. Listen, I just need to finish up at work real quick, okay? I hope I can tell you more later, but… I'm sorry. I really gotta go. Just stay put, and don't engage too much, okay? We don't know what he's capable of or what exactly happened…"

Caroline tried to say something, but Liz had to go. Feeling like the worst mother ever, she disconnected the call, finally getting ready to start her car.

…

When Caroline Forbes moved to close the bathroom door, that gentle sympathetic smile still playing around her lips, his arm shot out to stop her.

It was like an instinct, a move of panic. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't be locked in there, in a room he didn't know. Not even here, when rationally, he knew this was merely the Forbes' master bathroom. It was just…

Concern marred her features when his gaze half met hers. He couldn't quite look her in the eyes. A big part of him still didn't understand why he had come here. It had simply happened. He hadn't been thinking.

"We can leave it open a bit?" It was a question, Caroline's voice so soft that he could pretend he hadn't heard her. Instead, he clenched his jaw and gave a small half nod. Just a short movement of his head, really.

"I'll be right outside." She pointed in the general direction of the hallway. "Looking for the first aid kit. Holler if you need anything."

They both knew he wouldn't.

Then she was gone and he was alone again. A shiver crept up his spine along with a feeling of panic. Closing his eyes briefly, he tried to breathe evenly.

It was over. It was over.

Except, it wasn't. Not really. And he didn't know if it ever would be. His breath hitched. His body started shaking, he couldn't stop it.

He wasn't functioning.

The shower. Steam had built up in the bathroom, and he finally remembered why Caroline had brought him in here. Eyeing the clothes she had placed on a small stool for him, he took a deep shuddering breath, then began to slowly undress.

Jacket, hoodie, shirt. The shirt was uncomfortable because it stuck so much to his arm, but his socks were worse. He had to pry them off, grimacing as he did, unable to quite recall how it had gotten so bad. It was as if his mind refused to allow any thoughts about what had happened, any real contemplations. It was fuzzy, and dark, and whenever he got close to some of what had happened, something zapped shut in his brain and the fog got worse.

When he was finally done, he gingerly stepped into the shower, welcoming the almost too hot pelt of the water on his skin. Closing his eyes, he braced himself against the tiled wall, then rested his forehead against it, too, zoning out.

…

Bonnie woke up with a panicked start. For a few horrible horrible seconds she thought she was back there, back in the pit. Back with…

"Damon," she breathed out, scrambling for him, until she remembered. Until Grams' arms came around her, warm, calming, reassuring.

"Oh Bonnie," the old woman said with sorrow and sadness, slowly moving to gather her grandchild up in her arms again. She obviously didn't want to spook her, but little did she know how much Bonnie craved the contact of a loving touch. In the arms of her Grams, she finally felt a modicum of safety once more, a feeling she had thought she had lost forever just mere hours earlier.

She had honestly thought she would never make it out of there alive. She hadn't been supposed to.

But she was here. She had survived.

While others hadn't. While…

A wail escaped her, unbidden, loud, almost feral. It was something she couldn't stop or control. It was all too much. Too much to deal with, too much to allow back in her brain. She wanted it to stop. The images, the thoughts and feelings. The dark pit of her memories.

She didn't want to be alone, yet she also didn't know how to handle being in the company of others. In the arms of her grandmother she could forget it all for a few blissful moments, before it all came washing back over her with a vengeance, smothering her.

…

They sat together, huddled on the bed, Bonnie clinging to the old woman as if she was a lifeboat or a parachute keeping her from certain death. They sat like that for hours, quiet, until Bonnie's shaking subsided eventually, and Grams felt it was safe to gently disentangle herself a little in order to look Bonnie in the eyes.

Bloodshot eyes, full of distress.

"Can you tell me what happened, child? The sheriff will be here later this morning, maybe you want to tell her. . ."

"I don't know how," Bonnie interrupted her, expression wild and haunted. "They'll lock me up and I can't be locked up," she added, cryptically, and her desperate tone and contorted face pained Grams.

"Why would anyone lock you up?" Bonnie didn't volunteer any information. Grams felt reminded of the times when her granddaughter had been a little girl that had been caught in a harmless lie and was unwilling to admit it. It was tiring, annoying in a way. But Bonnie was clearly severely traumatized so Sheila couldn't possibly be upset with her. No, all she felt was immense sadness and a brewing anger.

Who had hurt her baby? They were in for a bad surprise themselves if she got a hold of them. They didn't know who she was. Who she could be…

When Bonnie remained unsurprisingly quiet, Sheila tried to cajole her into talking a little more. She had to know… "If someone hurt you, Bonnie…" It was so hard to speak about it out loud, as if that would make it more real, but she had to. For Bonnie. "Did you… do we need to get you to the hospital? Do you need an emergency contraceptive?" It wasn't the most elegant way of bringing the topic up, but now the words were out, and Sheila felt she might as well call it by its name, especially with Bonnie being in the half stupor she was in. "Did someone rape you? Did… maybe Jeremy. ."

An appalled stare appeared on Bonnie's pale face. "No," she gasped. "Jeremy would never. . ." She broke out in tears again before she could finish her sentence. "He'd never. He is the sweetest. . . He was. . . He…" She choked up, unable to continue.

Sheila furrowed her brow, feeling physically ill. "Okay," she acknowledged. "Someone else? Bonnie, I know you don't want to talk about this, but we have to. If something happened, if. . ."

"Stop!" Bonnie blurted out with sudden vehemence, scrambling out of bed, slinging her arms around herself, her warm woolen sweater enveloping her like a blanket. She stood there, staring at her Grams with something akin to disgust, or revulsion perhaps. Sheila couldn't be sure. Slowly, she got up, too, but didn't encroach on the girl's space for fear of making her run away, or at the very least clam up again.

She raised her arms as if in surrender.

"Can I call someone for you?" she then asked, the thought having come to her out of nowhere. Maybe Bonnie would feel more comfortable with Jeremy, or one of her girlfriends.

But when Bonnie whispered just one name, it wasn't the one she had expected at all. "Damon."

"Salvatore?" Sheila couldn't hide her surprise. Elena Gilbert's obnoxious boyfriend? Guiseppe Salvatore's bad offspring? To this day, she hadn't understood what sweet Elena saw in him. And up until today, Bonnie had always mostly agreed with her, even though she had grown a little more lenient towards him lately, maybe because she spent so much more time over at the Gilbert house since dating Jeremy, and Damon was always there.

"What if I call Jeremy first," she suggested instead, but when she saw Bonnie's face fall, she dropped her hand before she had even reached her phone. "Bonnie?"

"You can't," she rasped, her expression changing yet again, more tears welling in her eyes.

Sheila didn't need to hear more. It was as if the puzzle pieces were falling into place, the picture becoming clearer. "He is dead, isn't he?"

"I killed him…"