Title from Taylor Swift's you're on your own kid

Really hoping this fandom isn't dead y'all, cause I fell in head first and there's no going back now.

For reference, this takes place at the end of the first season/beginning of the second, when Damon kisses Katherine, who he thinks is Elena, and then Katherine attempts to kill John.

:::

Elena was still getting used to the idea that Damon could be kind. Or honest. Or respectful. But here he was, baring his soul and looking so lost and confused, and ever carefully pressing a kiss to her cheek.

She held her breath when he pulled away, silently pleading with him not to break this wonderful, delicate thing they were forging. Don't go too far.

He was debating: she could see him search her eyes, consider her lips, and she was so proud of him for thinking before he acted.

"Goodnight, Elena."

"Goodnight, Damon."

She watched him disappear into the night, that warm pulse of pride still nestled in her heart, until the door opened behind her.

"Elena?" Jenna looked frazzled, but grateful to see her niece. "It's getting cold. You should come inside."

Jenna held the door open while Elena gathered up her things.

"I'm headed out," Jenna said, rummaging through her purse for her keys. "Fire Chief needs a statement, but I wanted to make sure Jeremy got home first. He won't come out of his room. I think today shook him up."

"Thanks, Aunt Jenna. I just came to drop my stuff off before I go to the hospital, but I'll check on him before I leave."

Jenna gave her best smile, but she looked so… heavy. Aunt Jenna, like the rest of the town out of the supernatural loop, had no context for all the confusion and tragedy of these past few months. She was floundering in the dark, woefully unprepared but pushing on despite everything. And all that on top of having gone from a single college student to the single guardian of two traumatized teenagers overnight with no one to help her.

"You're a good sister, Elena. Try to get some sleep tonight."

"I will, but I might end up sleeping in the hospital waiting room."

"Understood. Keep your phone on you. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Aunt Jenna. I'll see you tomorrow."

And then Jenna was gone with a snick of the door closing behind her.

Someone was moving around in the kitchen, but that would have to wait because the first thing on Elena's docket was dealing with all her founder's day junk. She dumped it outside the door of her room and moved on to Jeremy's door. She knocked and received a "Piss off" that she didn't respond to. Her conversation with Damon had been wonderful, but it had eaten into the time she had before Stefan expected her at the hospital, and she had things to do before then. Tonight's tragedy was the last straw.

John was rummaging in the fridge when Elena got to the kitchen and she took a few moments before he saw her to wipe the rage from her face.

Jonathan Gilbert had waltzed into her town as if he had never left; stayed in her home as if he had any right to it; invaded her family as if he belonged. And now, here he was, helping himself to the same fridge where her real dad had stored baggies and tupperware labeled "for lasagna DO NOT EAT" and her mom always kept a gallon of homemade sweet tea in the summer.

How dare he.

The fridge closed and Uncle John started at the sight of her.

"You scared me."

"Sorry."

She started collecting dishes. Keeping her hands busy. Not looking at him.

"Is Jenna home?"

"She had to meet the fire chief about the building." (The same building she and Jeremy and Matt had played in as children after work hours. A place John had no right to destroy in his personal vendetta.) "She doesn't know the truth." (He lied to her and to Jeremy and to Jenna and the rest of Mystic Falls.) "They've covered it up."

"I know." Of course he did. "How's Jeremy?" And that was another thing. Her little brother was hurting and she couldn't fix it and Dear Old Uncle John was making everything so much worse.

The poor kid had been through enough.

"Holed up in his room."

Elena focused on the dishes. John needed to go, but she needed to be smart about how she made that happen, and if she looked at him again she would do something stupid and rash, which wasn't an option. Elena was small and weak and human. She had no leverage. She needed to think. Fast.

"You know, I first met Isobel when I was a teenager." …damn. He just knew all the right buttons to press, didn't he. "I fell in love with her instantly, although I'm pretty sure she never loved me. She was special."

She's psychotic, Elena wanted to scream. And so are you. But John was a smart man and he knew how desperately Elena would lap up any information he had. Especially on Isobel.

He kept talking.

"Part of why I hate the vampires so much is because of what she became. How it ruined her. I never would have sent her to Damon had I known she wanted to turn. It's my fault."

It was a pity really. John was looking for anyone but Isobel to blame for Isobel's choices. The one thing he was willing to take ownership for was the one thing Elena didn't blame him for.

He was still talking.

"I'm telling you this because I hope, maybe you'll understand."

Elena could understand a lot of things. She considered herself an empathetic person. She looked up from the last knife to meet his eyes. They were the same color as her dad's, with none of the softness.

"Thank you." She meant it. Just like she'd meant it when she thanked Isobel.

"Can I help?"

His hands were flat on the kitchen island. Damon had been stumped by the ring when he'd snapped John's neck and thrown his body off a roof.

Elena wasn't Damon.

"Sure."

It's true what people say about hysterical strength; John's fingers, ring included, split cleanly from the rest of his hand and Elena shoved him against the counter while he gaped.

"Katherine?"

She didn't bother to correct him.

"Goodbye, John."

The knife went in. the knife came out.

John gasped. John staggered. John fell.

Elena stood in her family kitchen with her uncle's body on the tile, his fingers on the island, and his blood on her knife.

That...was exactly what she hadn't wanted to do: the very definition of stupid and rash. But there was no going back now.

Elena… had never covered up a murder before. She was party to a handful of hidden bodies, but hadn't been curious how to do it herself. Until now. She regretted not asking more questions. But, sometimes, rare as it had been of late, Elena Gilbert was a lucky girl; it just so happened she was well acquainted with two boys in the habit of erasing the evidence of brutal, bloody murder. Even better, one of them wouldn't judge her.

She was still holding the knife when she clicked on Damon's contact with her unbloodied hand. It seemed to ring forever before she heard the click of the receiver.

"Why hello Elena. Please tell me the two of us aren't due for another deep and emotional conversation. I've had my fill for the next century."

"Damon."

"…is everything alright?"

"I need to hide a body. Help me?"

"You still at home?"

"In the kitchen."

"On my way. Don't touch anything."

"Ok. Damon?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell Stefan?"

"Keeping secrets from your boyfriend now are we? Sounds fun. I'm in."

A little of the tension in Elena's stomach abated.

"Thank you, Damon. Umm, hurry?"

"Yeah yeah I'm coming."

The line clicked dead and Elena was left alone in a red stained kitchen. But not for long.

Damon must have either not gone far after their conversation on the porch, or else pulled out some serious vampire speed because Elena was still staring at her phone when he let himself in through the sliding door in the dining room. He practically swaggered in, stopping to survey the gruesome scene.

"Huh." He made a face that looked approving. "I didn't know you had that in you."

Elena nodded, somewhat dazed. That got his attention. He was careful not to step in any blood as he crossed the kitchen to set his hands on her shoulders, ducking to look her in the eyes.

"You aren't hurt are you?"

She shook her head.

"Excellent. Now. We've got a body to get rid of."

When Elena was eight, she broke a plate while helping her dad unload the dishwasher. It had shattered in almost the exact same place John's body now lay. The shards had scattered everywhere. Dad nearly always wore shoes in the kitchen, he said it helped his back, but Elena had been barefoot and terrified of slicing her feet open.

Dad had scooped her up and sat her on the island and told her to stay there while he cleaned up. Then he turned to the mess with his hands on his hips and a problem solving look on his face.

Elena thought Damon looked a lot like her dad just then. It was a surprisingly comforting thought.

:::

Yes, I know this feels unfinished, but I didn't know where to go from here (also Taylor Swift's new album dropped last night so this felt like a good time to post a story titled after one of her songs). If you've got any ideas I'd love to hear them.

"Blessed are all simple emotions, be they dark or bright!"

~Rappacini's Daughter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Remember to love each other,

~Rachel