Stefan's eyes popped open, and he gasped out loudly. Why was he standing up? Baffled, he looked around, quickly identifying the location as his room. When had he gotten here? Who brought him here? Had he walked here himself?

Quickly, he reached for the back of his head, feeling a gentle throb. When had that happened? Nothing was making sense. Every thought seemed so heavy, so separated, so—

"Hello, Stefan." He jumped, and quickly turned around, searching for the source of the voice. When he did, his eyes came in swift contact with Elena's, and he sighed in relief, instinctually stepping a little closer.

"Elena," he sighed out, swallowing thickly. Now, his heart felt heavy. Wasn't he supposed to be mad at her? He couldn't remember. "What happened to me?"

She smiled brightly at him, and his eyebrows knitted together. "You're dead, Stefan," she said simply, matter-of-factly. "You're dead. Just like you wanted." Gently, with a look that almost resembled pride, she placed a soft hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations," she smiled.

He froze. "Dead? What do you mean?" He didn't understand. He felt alive enough. "What are you talking—"

"It's okay, Stefan," she said. "You just have to drink human blood, and you'll live forever. You can turn it off. That's what you wanted, right? You don't have to care about me." Once again, she grinned.

Nothing was making sense, and he could hardly think, but what she was saying felt kind of right, because it was Elena and he loved her and she was always kind of right… and she was human, so he slowly reached for her wrist. "How do I… get to it? The blood?" he asked nervously, hesitantly staring into her shimmering brown eyes.

"Oh!" She started laughing then, as if she had just remembered a joke that he was not in on. "It's not my blood you're supposed to drink." Then where was he going to get human blood from? Eyes full of puzzlement, he shrugged at her, and Elena, still laughing, pulled him closer and kissed his lips. Hers were cold and sort of sweet, and when he pulled away and opened his eyes, they were in an office, lit by candles and gasoline lamps. "It's his." Face blank, he looked to the ground, his gaze immediately falling on the man who was struggling on the ground. There was a piece of wood coming out of his stomach. Instantly, Stefan's entire body filled with remorse, regret, guilt.

So much guilt.

But then, he was too distracted by the scent that seemed to emanate from this man's wound, and his eyes were unable to leave the red, potent liquid that was beginning to pool on the floor. He needed it; this incredible potion was oxygen, and he'd been holding his breath his entire life. It held a power over him, a deep, dark lure that he did not want to fight. He should have wanted to fight this desire; he knew that… but he didn't. He didn't want to fight it at all. He just wanted it.

So, entranced, Stefan grabbed the piece of wood, running his fingers along it, admiring the way the blood seemed to stain his fingers and shine just like that when the light hit it a certain way. It was art. Morbid art. Not morbid to him. Maybe it should have been. It wasn't at all.

So, he closed his eyes and brought it to his lips, immediately feeling his senses explode. It was… ambrosia.

And so, he went back for more, despite the man's disgusted groans. Stefan cried out when he felt a sharp pain at his gums, but it did not stop him for more than a moment, and before he could even comprehend what was going on, he dug his fangs into the man's neck. Soon, he was dead, and with a content sigh, Stefan looked down and analyzed his victim.

He knew that man. That man, the man he'd brutally killed… was his father.

And just like that, the dried blood on the floor and the walls was no longer so beautiful. Stefan's stomach twisted as he released an agonized cry, pushing himself away. He hit the door, pulling his knees to his chest.

His father. He'd murdered his father.

Quickly, disgusted, he ran his hand along his mouth and cried. He began to rock back and forth, his eyes flooding with tears. He'd never felt this terrible in his life; the guilt and grief wracked through his entire body, making him physically feel heavier and darker. He hated it. He hated himself. He wanted to die.

And then, he heard a noise and looked up. Elena stood at his feet, still smiling. "This is the part where you turn it off," she explained.

And so he did.

And in a brief moment, he was somewhere else; he was everywhere, witnessing everything. There was a dead girl at his feet. Then, he was somewhere else, killing another victim. There was blood on his face, and he didn't care; he kind of liked it. Then, he was writing a name on a wall, then, a second, and a third… and a hundredth. The kills kept piling up. He'd black out some nights and wake up in a pile of blood… and he didn't care. He didn't care one bit. Nothing could stop him.

The killings, the victims… they began to blur together. Girl after girl after girl after girl… the memories were flooding into his mind, until time seemed to suddenly come to a stop as he pulled his fangs away from another girl, his most previous victim.

She fell to the floor of the school gym with a loud thud and with a smirk, he looked down.

Elena Gilbert.

He'd bitten Elena Gilbert. There was a man there, too –Klaus-, but he didn't really acknowledge him. Because he'd just attacked her… and then he started to laugh.

Stefan was laughing. Because he just didn't care.

He liked not caring about her.

Emitting a loud gasp, Stefan sat up in his bed, his eyes opening wide, his mind reeling from the dream –no, the memories-, the ruthless kills and- Oh, god… he was going to be sick. Quickly, he rushed out of the bed, immediately feeling his head spin. He felt like he was going to pass out before he even got two feet. As soon as he felt the tiles of his bathroom floor at his feet, he fell and began to cough into the shower.

When he looked down, he saw red, and instantly panicked. Blood. He was coughing up blood, and he had the dreaded feeling that it was not his.

What had he done now? Panicking and unable to pick himself up, Stefan weakly scooted away from the shower and rested against the floor. The tiles were cool against his hot cheek, and he instantly began to weep.

He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts and sickness that he had not even realized that someone else had been in his room and was now kneeling beside him in the bathroom. "Damon! Caroline!" she practically shrieked, and he winced. Then, he felt gentle fingers running through the hair above his forehead, and the voice became gentler. "Stefan, shhhh," she tried, and he instantly recognized Elena's voice. He was too tired to turn around and look at her, but he wanted to calm himself down for her. He couldn't though. His heart wrenched with guilt and his head was throbbing, and he never wanted to get up again. He couldn't look at Elena right now.

But within a second, there were strong hands forcing him up so he was sitting against the wall. A sharp jolt of pain hit him in the back of his head again, and he brought his hand up to see what was wrong, but the same hands that pushed him up grabbed them and threw them at his sides. "Do not touch it!" the man hissed, and Stefan's vision cleared. Damon, of course.

"How are you feeling?" A third voice asked hesitantly, and Stefan looked over to see Caroline, worried and pensive.

How was he supposed to answer that?

Terrible, he almost said. I feel terrible, and I want to die. Please just let me die.

Instead, he said nothing.

Now, Elena was the one to speak, although it came out as a whisper directed to Damon. "Why is he crying?" Her voice was laced with concern, and she was crying too, and he couldn't help but wonder why she cared about him. He'd bitten her, he'd hurt her…

Damon shrugged, and everyone seemed to be staring at Stefan like he was a science experiment. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "He's in transition… It's understandable."

Transition?

Stefan's stomach fell again. Transition… into what? That monster from his memories, the monster he'd been before he had woken up in his own tomb? He hated that man, feared him; that Stefan was a demon, a creature that should have been destroyed before it was created. He never wanted to become that again, and the mere possibility was enough to— he was going to be sick again.

He shook his head and pushed past the three of them, crawling to the shower again where he heaved up even more blood. It was so red… had he already killed someone? The sight only made him feel sicker, and he coughed and coughed until there was nothing left.

"I told you giving him the extra blood was going to do nothing," Caroline said simply, quietly.

Rushed, Elena reached for a towel and pulled Stefan back, running the cloth along his chin, wiping the blood off of his mouth. He cringed once again. Why was she helping him? This would have been so much easier if she hated him; it would have been easier to hate himself. "Why isn't he talking?" she asked.

Stefan shook his head and pushed himself away from her embrace, scrambling to his feet. Instantly, the room began to spin, and he reached for the wall. Damn, his head was killing him! "I'm fine," he finally said, needing to escape the room, needing to escape Elena's suffocating air.

He sat on the bed, his hands covering his face. Couldn't they just leave? He needed to process all of this, to process the fact that he –the real Stefan Salvatore—was nothing but a heartless creature that needed to be wiped off of the planet. Damon was the one to follow him out though, and when Stefan felt his brother's hands pushing his own away from his face, he weakly obliged. "Stefan," Damon said simply, as if speaking to a child. "How do you feel?"

He swallowed, hoping that the sooner he explained the pain, the sooner everyone would leave. "My head hurts," he answered simply, flatly. "My head hurts and I can hardly think. What happened?"

Damon furrowed his brows, but said nothing. "What about the hunger? Are you hungry, Stef?"

Stefan shrugged. "No more than usual."

Damon, clearly confused, turned his head to the bathroom, where Elena and Caroline were eagerly lingering. "Give me the blood bag that you brought up for him," he demanded.

Elena and Caroline exchanged worried glances, and Elena was the one to speak. "But he hasn't chosen to—"

Damon sent her a deadly glare. "Give me the blood bag," he said again, rougher, his patience wearing thin.

Caroline, who had been silent for a few minutes, looked at Damon, more confused than ever. "Guys," she started, trying to puzzle everything together, "If Stefan was in transition, wouldn't his head be completely healed?"

Elena paused, afraid to get her hopes up. "Maybe it's because—"

"Give. Me. The. Blood. Bag."

Nodding, Caroline reached down on the floor and tossed it to him. Concentrated, Damon waved the bag in front of Stefan as if he were a dog and it were a bone. "Does this look good at all?"

Stefan shook his head, and Damon glanced back at the girls with a shrug of his shoulders. "Alright, Stefan, we're going to try something." Biting his lip, Damon ripped the sealing off of the bag, his eyes never leaving his brother's. Stefan quickly looked down at a rogue drop that began to fall from the side, and he quickly remembered the way it had made him feel in the memory, the way it made him drunk on power. Now, the mere thought was enough to make the back of his eyes sting. But he knew what Damon was asking of him, so, despite the hollow, deep feeling in his stomach, Stefan aimed to ease both his curiosity and his brother's. With a shaking hand, he ran the tip of his finger along the drop that had fallen from the bag. Closing his eyes, Stefan brought it to his lips, preparing to feel possessed once again by that addictive, terrifying rush.

But nothing happened.

It tasted terrible, a salty, vile syrup that made him tremble in disgust.

Everyone in the room released the breath they had been holding. But Caroline, always one to solve mysteries, acknowledged the elephant in the room. "But he was dead. No pulse, cold body, dead. He wasn't just sleeping!"

Elena was now chewing on her fingernails. "Katherine's blood must have cured him."

"Really?" Damon replied sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "It just doesn't make sense…"

Stefan gritted his teeth. He was beginning to get annoyed with the way that no one was acknowledging his existence. "I'm alive. I'm not becoming a vampire. Let's just be thankful."

Everyone turned to face him, and he sighed. He just wished that everyone would leave him be.

Damon continued to think, finally coming to a conclusion. "We have to leave town. We have to leave town before the other vampires get to him. If they hear about this…"

Caroline seemed to be the only one who was catching on to Stefan's aggravation, so she slowly approached Damon and said, "Okay, we can think this through downstairs. Let's give Stefan some rest, okay?"

Damon was a little reluctant, but Caroline practically yanked him away, smiling and mouthing a subtle "You're welcome" to Stefan. He forced himself to smile in return although his entire body felt heavy with pain—not physically.

Elena lingered behind.

He suddenly found it a little harder to breathe.

"Hey," she said after a long silence, wiping the lingering tears off of her cheeks. He closed his eyes and looked at the ground. Great. Just great. He'd hurt her again. He seemed to be very good at that.

"Hi," he said back flatly.

Elena took a tiny step closer, twiddling her thumbs. "I was so worried about you," she tried, her eyes filled with love and hope, some sort of hope that they could patch things up, and it made him hate himself all the more. How could she even look at him after all of the cruel things he had once done to her?

"Well," he breathed out, tired. "I'm okay. You shouldn't have worried."

She tilted her head to the side, rolling her top lip against her bottom for a quick moment. "You couldn't have expected me not to." She looked at the floor for a second, trying to gain her courage. "Look, Stefan, I know that I should have told you that you died for me… and I should have told you that I was the girl from—"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "I understand." Damn it, he was a terrible person for even making her feel bad about that! Who could blame her for not telling him that they were once together when he'd… abused her in such a horrific way. It made sense to him. He didn't need for her to explain it. Whether he'd once loved her or not, he had hurt her, and he had laughed at it. Laughed at her pain. He felt dirty, lower than any criminal he could ever come across in his pointless existence. There was no way they could ever get past something like this. Of course they had been on bad terms when he died! He had been absolutely horrible to her. Hell, he had been absolutely horrible to so many people that he lost count.

Maybe he died for her as an act of redemption. Maybe she had forgiven him because of that.

He didn't know, but he sure didn't forgive himself.

It made no sense to him, why Caroline and everyone had told him to find "the old Stefan" again, for he never wanted to be further away from the heartless person he used to be.

Elena stopped. "You… understand?"

He just nodded. She came so close to him, a smile playing on her lips. She sat beside him and faced him. "I know this is all so crazy," She reached for his hand, and Stefan wanted to curl up and die, "but you just have to know, Stefan, please. That I love—"

"Elena," he said quickly, closing his eyes and removing his hand from her hold. He couldn't do this right now. He wouldn't let himself enjoy the privilege of hearing her say three words he did not deserve. "Don't. Please."

And, just like that, the mood in the room completely changed. A look of rejection spread across Elena's face, and she nodded, as if she understood why he was doing this. "Okay," she said under her breath as she got up. He hated the way he knew he was hurting her once again. All he seemed to do was hurt her. He kept his gaze on the window as she walked out and waited for the door to slam.

Elena felt numb. Why had she hoped so badly that all would be forgotten? Of course he couldn't just forgive her so easily! She'd lied to him this whole time, she had only confused him more. She should have been honest from the start, and now he hated her. They could never go back. She tried to keep herself from crying as she walked down the hallway. "I love you," she said, wishing he would have let her finish anyways.

AN: Yay, I actually updated within a week, haha. I made sure that I would have something up this week to make up for that month-long hiatus. So, Stefan is still human luckily, but why? He died with vampire blood in his system. Hmmm. And now Stefan and Elena are on completely different pages. Will he ever be able to get over this new guilt, and how will they be able to overcome this as a couple? We all know how Stefan is when he lets guilt get the best of him... will he ever be able to open up to Elena again?

Please leave a review letting me know what you thought of the chapter. You all know by now how much they make my day and inspire me to keep going. As long as you want to keep reading, I will right. Please let me know what you loved, what you hated, and what you want to see so I can make the best updates possible! Thank you so much!

Xoxo

Sara