Damon was dead, dead and ashes, laughing eyes closed forever and ever and she'd never see him again, never tell him a thousand things she thought she'd have forever to say. Why else would the ring be there? Klaus was taunting her. He knew, he knew everything, and Damon was already dead.
"Elena, what is it?" Stefan was there, and she hated him. Elena whirled on him, fists beating frantically against his chest, full of fury and loss.
"This is your fault! This is all your fault!" she cried. Dimly, she was aware she was making a scene, that the eyes of her classmates were on her, but nothing could be less important right now. Stefan's revenge and their stupid plan and their false hopes and her stubbornness had killed him. It was Stefan's fault; it was her fault.
Stefan brushed her aside, yanking the car door open. There was a rustling of paper. "Klaus has him," Stefan said, voice devoid of emotion. What did it matter that Klaus had a pile of ashes, a handful of dust?
"He's dead. He's dead and it's all our fault," Elena whispered, suddenly exhausted. The world seemed heavier, older, colder.
"No. He's not. Get a grip, Elena," Stefan said, thrusting the note into her hands with disgust in his eyes.
Tears blurred her vision, but Elena managed to read the note. On one side was Damon's own neat copperplate handwriting, a relic of a bygone era: "Let's get together and plot the destruction of your brother. XOXO, D. Salvatore." It didn't mean anything; it didn't make any sense. Elena flipped the note over. "Your ruse has been discovered. There is still time. E," it read in ornate cursive script.
The ring didn't mean Damon was dead—it was a warning. Elijah was a ruthless bastard, but he was repaying Damon's debt to him. Damon wasn't okay, but he was alive. The tears in her eyes dried at once, as if she stood in front of a great blazing fire that sucked every ounce of grief from her body, leaving only grim determination and certainty behind. She put the ring and the note into her pocket.
"Elena, this is a trap. You know it's a trap," Stefan said.
"Yes. That's why I'm walking into it, not you," Elena replied, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. "You need to protect Bonnie and her mom. They're our only hope now."
"He's not worth your life," Stefan said, grabbing her arm.
"But he was worth yours?" Elena asked. Stefan flinched and dropped her arm as if she'd burned him. Now that the initial wave of annihilating despair had passed, Elena could think rationally about the situation. "Klaus can't kill Damon. He's the only one who knows where the coffins are."
"Not anymore," Stefan said. Elena looked at him in surprise, and he shrugged. "I told you, there aren't that many places to hide it in Mystic Falls. It's-"
"No, don't tell me. Go get Bonnie and her mom, take them there, and get that thing open," she ordered.
"And you're going to do what? Cry in front of Klaus until he gives Damon up? You can't beat him," Stefan said.
"I can't kill Klaus; I can only slow him down for a while. Whatever's in the coffin can kill him." God, she hoped that was true. "If we let him get it, it's game over forever. Besides, this is what you wanted, isn't it? Revenge? You gave up everything for it, seems stupid to stop now." She slid into the driver's seat of Damon's Camaro and drove, leaving Stefan staring after her.
Getting into Klaus' mansion was too easy. No guards, no lurking hybrids. True to his word, they were all still gone from Mystic Falls, and he hadn't replaced them with more mundane security staff, apparently. But there was a gift waiting for her on the doorstep: three slender daggers. Elijah. How long had they been undaggered? Was Rebekah already awake and looking for revenge? What about the two other brothers—whose side were they on? Was this move genius or madness? Only one way to find out. Elena tucked the daggers into the waistband of her jeans, hidden by her shirt. They joined a long, wicked knife and stake she'd found in Damon's car.
The instant she stepped into the house, the overwhelming stench of blood assailed her. It wasn't quite the penny-like smell of human blood; it had an undercurrent of iron, a hint of spice and age and something sinister. Keep it together, Gilbert, she told herself sternly. No one to save you this time if you screw it up. Keep it together for him. Three coffins sat in the foyer, all still closed. How long did it take for them to wake up after the daggers were pulled? There was no way of knowing.
"Niklaus, you must pace yourself. If you kill him, we may never know the resting place of the final coffin," Elijah said from the dining room. He sounded unconcerned, as if he were discussing the possibility it might rain.
Klaus seemingly ignored his brother, focused on his bloody work. "It can all be over in an instant, Damon. Just tell me where it is, and it will all be over. And you needn't worry your head about Elena. I'll make sure she's safe. Maybe encourage her to spend some time with that football player, the blond one. Imagine how beautiful their children would be," Klaus purred.
There was a racking cough. "I've never liked blonds," Damon whispered, hoarse and barely audible. Elena's heart was in her throat, hearing that ravaged voice. "Give me a brunette any day."
She couldn't wait any longer. She burst into the room, the two Originals looking at her in surprise, but she scarcely noticed. Blood lay thick on the floor in a sticky layer. They'd been at it for a while. And there in the center of the flood, was Damon. His shirt was gone, as were large strips of flesh from his chest, muscle glistening wetly. Elena had to look away when she saw something that looked like intestines laying on the floor beside him. As much as she loved him, as much as his pain made her want to scream and cry and vomit and run and fight, she couldn't focus on him right now, only on her next move. The pain wouldn't kill him.
"Oh, Elena, I am glad you could join us. You're just in time. Tell me, do this country's public schools teach mythology? Are you familiar with Prometheus?" Klaus asked pleasantly. His hands were coated in blood to the elbow, a few smudges on his cheeks.
Elena was thrown off guard. "The guy who discovered fire?" she asked uncertainly.
"Something like that. When Zeus, king of all the gods, discovered that Prometheus had shared the divine secret of fire with mortals, he condemned Prometheus to a terrible fate. He was chained to a rock, and every day a monstrous eagle would descend from the heavens and devour his liver. Every day it grew back, only to be devoured again. And again," the hybrid said with a smile. "Don't you wonder what that would be like, Damon?"
"Less talk, more torture," Damon wheezed. "She doesn't know anything, just ignore her."
"Tragically, you're correct. However, her presence might give you motivation that mere physical pain alone can't provide,"Klaus said, rising from where he crouched beside Damon's prone body.
"You're going to have to make a tough choice, Klaus," Elena said, approaching him. There was no room for fear anymore. This was her only shot.
"And what's that, sweetheart?" he asked with a smirk.
"Elena, will you please shut up?" Damon croaked.
"Do you want what's in that coffin, or do you want your hybrids?" Elena asked. Confusion flickered across Klaus' face, those red, fleshy lips pulling into a frown. "Sure, you could torture me in the hope that Damon will crack and tell you where the coffin is, but we both know you can't kill me, so it's not much of a threat. Or you could torture Damon so I beg him to tell you where it is, but here's the bottom line: if you kill him, I figure you can make maybe three hybrids from the blood you can scoop from the ground after I slit my throat." She took another step forward, less than a foot of space separating them now. Elena cast a quick glance at Elijah, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. "But there's one last choice." She produced the three daggers. "You can start running right now, before they wake up."
"Too late," a male voice said from behind her. Klaus' eyes looked ready to explode out of his head in surprise and rage. Elena didn't bother looking at the speaker; he was irrelevant. She dropped the three daggers to the floor with a clatter and flew to Damon's side. There was a ruckus as the Originals scuffled for the daggers.
"Can you walk?" Elena asked, but the instant she asked, she knew what an absurd question it was. Much of the skin on his chest had been flayed away, his abdomen cracked open to reveal a soup of guts.
"You shouldn't be here," Damon murmured.
"Little late for that argument," Elena said. They didn't have much time until the Originals sorted themselves out, though it seemed Rebekah and the other brother had joined the fray. She couldn't carry Damon, not as dead weight. If they were going to get out of here, he was going to have to heal. She gripped Alaric's knife. Hysterically, she tried to remember that silly nonsense Caroline had once told her: "If you're going to kill yourself, remember: you go down the road, not across the street." Before Damon could argue, she'd slashed a horizontal line on her wrist and pressed it to his mouth. This wasn't how she'd wanted this to happen; probably wasn't how he'd wanted it to be, either. But there was no choice. There was no time for squeamishness: she was the only available blood source. If he didn't drink from her now, he never would.
He started to struggle feebly, her blood dripping down his cheek. He opened his mouth to protest, but the instant the blood hit his tongue, he was lost. She lifted his head gently, pressing him against the gaping wound. It was nothing like sex; it was a lot like pain. But pleasure was the last thing on her mind as he suckled at her wrist, his tongue soft and wet against her torn flesh. Rebekah appeared to have put out both of Klaus' eyes with one of those silver daggers.
Damon turned his head away. "Enough. Help me?" Elena turned back towards him. There was color in his cheeks and many of his chest wounds were beginning to form new, pink skin. Elena shoved his ring onto his finger and wrapped her arms around the broken man, helping him to stand. Damon held his guts in with one hand.
Slowly, laboriously, they skirted the battling Originals. Klaus was nearly unrecognizable as his siblings took turns skewering him with those wicked daggers, but Elijah caught their eye on the way out the door. "My debt to you for my freedom is repaid. We are even," he said calmly. Then he sliced off Klaus' ear.
Somehow, they made it to the car and drove away from the house of horrors. Elena had no idea where she was going, only that it was away. They needed blood, she needed to bandage her wrist, Damon needed rest. She turned to look at him, semi-conscious, slumped and bloody in the passenger's seat. So many things she wanted to say to him, but she was without words. But then those laughing eyes cracked open, and he smiled faintly. "How come you get to be a hero and I don't?" he whispered. He managed to move one hand, covered in blood and other unmentionables, to cover hers.
"Because my plan worked," she said, hand clutching his with all her might. That moment, that horrible moment when she'd been sure he was gone and she would have to face a thousand tomorrows without his laugh, his terrible jokes, his hands and his lips and his kindness and his cruelty had only deepened her certainty:They were playing for keeps.
"My hero," he sighed. "Love you."
That was all that needed to be said.