Note: chapter title from "echo" by jason walker.

thanks for all the great feedback on this story so far! enjoy this next chapter!

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4. you could come and save me

… … …

Caroline Forbes does not shy away from attention. She never has. She loves the spotlight, even craves it sometimes. She loves the way she can get a crowd riled up at a football game with a wave of her red and black pom poms. She loves the way the audience oohs and ahhs when she opens her mouth and sings on stage. She loves the way she can make boys fall at her feet with a bat of her long eyelashes and a sexy smirk. (How do you think she got Matt Donovan to notice her at the height of his popularity last fall?)

She usually loves knowing eyes are watching her everywhere she goes, but for some reason, today it's creeping her out.

"The infamous Caroline Forbes," says a smooth voice from behind her.

She whirls around to face whoever is talking to her. If his accent didn't get her attention, his chiseled facial features certainly do, not to mention the way his lips are quirked up in a smirk.

"The one and only," she croons. "And you are?"

"Klaus Mikaelson." Before she can even react, he's brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

"I'm sure," she deadpans. "You must be new around here."

"Just moved from across the pond a few weeks ago," he confirms. "This school seemed dreadfully boring until I saw your lovely face yesterday. Forgive me for being so forward, but I just had to introduce myself. It seems you have no shortage of suitors around here."

She chuckles. "You could say that. I do have one in particular, though, who doesn't look so happy at the moment."

Klaus looks over his shoulder, no doubt noticing Matt glaring at them from across the hall. "Ah, yes, I had heard about that particular nuisance. Any chance you're ready to upgrade?"

She snorts. "In your dreams, my friend." She smirks as she turns to walk away from him. "Welcome to Mystic Falls."

She won't lie; his offer was tempting. It's not that she doesn't love Matt, because she does. (She thinks.) She likes spending time with him, and the sex is great, and he treats her like gold most of the time. But he's been especially clingy lately, and she's getting bored. Restless. She has this nagging feeling in the back of her head that it's time to move on, that she should cut him loose and stop stringing him along. But then he'll tell her how beautiful she looks, or he'll bring her flowers for no reason, or she'll hear someone talking about how incredible they look together. She doesn't know if she's ready to give all that up.

(No one said she wasn't selfish, okay?)

Besides, if she's going to 'upgrade,' it certainly wouldn't be for someone like Klaus. The way he looked at her… okay, she felt sexy, but she also felt like she was just a piece of ass to him. She doesn't mind boys looking at her, but she does have standards for how she should be treated.

"Who the hell was that?" Matt demands when she finally approaches him, and she rolls her eyes.

"Don't get all caveman on me," she groans.

"What am I supposed to think, Care?" he asks. "Yesterday it's that Salvatore kid-"

"Stefan."

"Yeah, whatever. And today, it's the new kid. It's like you want to talk to every guy in this school except the one you're actually dating."

"Oh, please," she scoffs. "So I'm not allowed to talk to a guy - who approached me by the way, not the other way around - unless it's you? Give me a break, Matt. I'm not your property."

Matt sighs in annoyance, lowers his voice. "I didn't say you were." He moves closer to her, takes her hand in his. "I'm sorry. It's been a long week, and you've been a little distant lately, and I don't know, I guess I'm just scared of losing you."

Her face softens. "You're not gonna lose me," she says quietly. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him in close to her. He lets his forehead rest against hers, his arms looping around her waist. "No matter how many guys I talk to in the halls, I always come back to you, don't I?"

He smirks. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yes," she laughs. "Those guys don't mean anything. I'm just being friendly. You know I only want you."

He leans in to kiss her. "Good," he sighs. "Now can we please go skip first period and make out under the bleachers?"

She hums contentedly, kisses him again. "You read my mind, Mr. Donovan."

… … …

For the thousandth time since Friday afternoon, she wonders what the hell she was thinking.

She agreed to tutor Damon Salvatore. Damon, who couldn't be bothered to associate with his own brother once he tasted success on the football field. Damon, who made her cry in in the hallway in ninth grade in front of half the school. Damon, who played the 'we used to be friends' card when he hasn't given her the time of day in years. She must have had an aneurysm, or something.

But then she remembers his face. The way his blue eyes softened just a little when he looked at her, though his smirk stayed firmly intact. The way he looked relieved when she agreed to help him. But most of all, the disgusted look on his face when he talked about his dad.

She's had this nagging feeling in the back of her head all weekend that she doesn't know the full story. She knows Stefan's side of the Salvatore family saga. She knows every horrible thing their father has said to him over the years, every time he's ever made him feel like he's an outsider in his own family. Stefan's always made it sound like Damon had it easy, and she never questioned it, never wondered if something more was going on. But she knows Giuseppe. She's seen first-hand what he can do to a person without even laying a finger on them. She can't imagine even Damon would be exempt from that kind of emotional abuse.

She shakes her head, shuts her locker to head to cheerleading practice. She's getting ahead of herself. Maybe she's reading more into this than she needs to. Besides, even if all of that is true, none of it makes up for the way he's treated her - them - for the last few years. She needs to remember that. He might be a victim, but he's not innocent.

She sees Stefan already on the field, and she waves as she walks along the chain-link fence. He jogs over to her and she stops to talk to him. "You look more athletic already," she teases.

He rolls his eyes. "Can I come to your place after practice? Things were extra tense at home this weekend and I want to delay going home as long as possible."

She hesitates. "Uh… I mean, you can go over there if you want, but I have a late tutoring session, so I won't be home."

"Late?" Stefan furrows his brow. "Like after football practice, late?"

"Yeah," she says warily. "It's, uh… they had a conflict earlier in the afternoon, so we just pushed it back a little later. It's not a big deal."

"Okay," he backs away. "Maybe I'll just go harass Ric into letting me kick his ass at PlayStation."

Elena laughs. "You won't have to ask him twice."

She feels a gnawing in the pit of her stomach knowing that she just lied to her best friend. Okay, so she didn't technically lie to him - she does have a tutoring session today after football practice. She just didn't tell him it's Damon she's tutoring. But he wouldn't understand; she knows he wouldn't. He would ask her all sorts of questions, wonder why she agreed to help him when she was under no obligation to do so. She doesn't know how she would even broach the subject with him. It's not even that big of a deal, she reminds herself. It's just a few tutoring sessions to get Damon through football season. Harmless, really.

She wishes she believed herself.

She's making her way back over to the rest of the squad for cheerleading practice when Caroline catches her arm. "Stefan's looking better out there already," she comments with a smirk.

Elena rolls her eyes. "Leave him alone, Caroline," she laughs. "He's not the type to play the kinds of games you want to play."

"Relax, okay?" Caroline bumps Elena's hip with her own. "Just because I'm taken doesn't mean I can't appreciate the green grass on the other side."

And because that metaphor makes sense, oddly enough, Elena shrugs and decides that Stefan can handle himself, and more importantly, he can handle Caroline. She's harmless, really. As harmless as Elena tutoring Damon.

(Still not believing it.)

… … …

It's not his fault that he can't concentrate, okay? He's got a lot going on in his life. He had to come up with a stupid excuse for his father about why he wouldn't be home after practice to go over game tape for their first opponent this week. He tweaked the same wrist he injured a year ago during practice - nothing major, but he really should be icing it instead of using it to write out calculus problems. Not to mention, Elena didn't change out of her cheerleading practice uniform, and he needs to remember to thank Caroline for making the tank tops a little extra low-cut this year.

"Eyes on your paper, Salvatore."

His eyes travel up a little further to meet hers, and he smirks. "But there's so many other interesting things to look at."

She rolls her eyes. "If you're not going to take this seriously, then…"

"Alright, alright," he concedes, turning back to face his paper. "Remind me what the hell we're talking about again."

"Limits."

"You mean like the limits of my attention span?"

"The limit would not exist, because your attention span is nonexistent."

"Touché," he chuckles.

"Just…" She sighs. "Just read that passage in your book one more time and tell me what doesn't make sense to you."

He tries to read through it for the fifth time, but it's basically written in a different language. He doesn't know why he needs to know any of this shit, anyway. How many times do people use calculus in everyday life? He'd be willing to bet it's somewhere around never. "None of it makes sense to me, because it's not written in English."

Elena rolls her eyes. "Okay, smartass. Let's start with something a little simpler."

"Are you calling me simple-minded?"

"If the shoe fits…"

He frowns. "Aren't tutors supposed to encourage their students?"

She snorts. "You don't need any more ego stroking. You need to be knocked down a peg."

He scowls at her. He knows they're not friends, and he knows she doesn't care for him. He's not naïve enough to think that magically changed over the weekend. But she's talking to him like he's stupid and worthless and he really doesn't appreciate it. "I'm not an idiot, Elena."

"No, you're not," she agrees. "You just act like one."

He bristles. "Just help me understand what the hell I'm supposed to be doing so I can go home."

"The more you complain, the more I think this really is a waste of my time."

"Yeah, well, I'm starting to think it's a waste of mine, too. You don't even care about helping me, do you?"

"Stop being so dramatic." She looks up at him. "You don't want to be here any more than I do."

"So then why are we even here?"

"Good question. It was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, well, maybe I really am an idiot then." He stands up, snatches the calculus textbook from her hand, shoves it in his backpack. "Fuck this. I'll figure it out on my own."

"Good luck with that!" Elena calls after him.

It's not until he slams the door of his Camaro behind him and bangs his fist against the steering wheel a few times that he processes what just happened. Elena was doing him a favor, and she really was trying to help him, even if she wasn't very nice about it. And really, he shouldn't be surprised, because he doesn't deserve her kindness. He's treated her like shit for the better part of the last five years, and she has no reason to be even a little bit nice to him. But she agreed to do him a favor, because that's the kind of person she is. And he blew it.

Fuck. No wonder he needs a tutor. He really is a dumbass sometimes.

… … …

She's still in a less than stellar mood by the time Friday rolls around, which sucks, because it's game day. The games are her favorite part of cheering; it's really the only part she actually enjoys. During practice, what they do feels pointless and frivolous, but during the games… it's just different. They're hyping up the crowd, and cheering on the team, and it's fun. It's what high school is supposed to be, she thinks. And it doesn't hurt the Timberwolves usually win, which makes their job pretty easy.

She loves game days. She's pissed as hell that she's letting Damon Salvatore ruin that for her.

She was a little harsh on him. She can admit it; she knows when she's being a bitch, and she was a bitch to him that afternoon. (It's not as if he didn't have it coming, but still.) He was right. He might be an egomaniac and a royal jerk when he wants to be, but she agreed to help him, and part of being a tutor is to help students work through frustration, not make it worse. She's supposed to encourage her students, not tear them down.

She doesn't like being mean to him. She doesn't like that they can't seem to even have a civil conversation anymore, when once upon a time, he was just as much her best friend as Stefan was. She remembers, very vividly, a time when she couldn't imagine her life without both of them in it. And yeah, maybe he's not that same boy anymore, but she's not that same girl, either. A lot has happened her - to both of them, she's beginning to realize - to shape them into who they are today. Things are different now, but that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

She's standing on the track around the football field, contemplating whether or not she should track him down to apologize, when she sees Stefan approaching. She lifts her head to smile at him. "Big day, number sixteen."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. I'm lucky they're even letting me suit up tonight," he laughs. "You seem like you're in a better mood today."

"It's game day," she reminds him. Her smile widens. "Game days are my favorite. Now you get to see what the hype is all about."

"Can't wait," he deadpans, baring his teeth in an obviously forced grin.

She punches him in the arm. "Go change. You're missing warm ups."

He squeezes her arm as he passes, and she turns her attention back to the field. She watches as Damon effortlessly tosses a perfect spiral to a full-speed Tyler Lockwood and hits him in stride. He really is an incredible player, she thinks. It comes so easily to him, but he doesn't seem to take it for granted. It makes her sad, though, that for him, football is what defines him. His performance in a sport is what dictates whether he's a success or a failure. It's like Giuseppe has nailed it into his head for so long that his athletic ability is what makes him worth anything at all that he believes it without question.

His eyes meet hers from across the field, and she lets the corner of her lip quirk up a little bit. She's gonna change that, she decides, and it starts with digging around for whatever redeeming qualities he has buried under the surface. It's not going to be easy, but she's never minded a challenge.

… … …

So yeah, this whole sitting on the bench, pretending to be part of a team thing? Not half as fun as it looks.

He didn't get a single snap. He didn't even get to put his helmet on after they ran out of the tunnel. It's not like he blames Coach Tanner. He can barely run a route, let alone catch a ball, so he wouldn't put him in either. It didn't bug him until he happened to look up in the stands and catch his father's eye. And he looked furious.

He took as long as he could to shower, to gather up his things, to make his way home. Hell, he even stayed to help clean up the bleachers after the game. He's hoping that by the time he finally gets home, Giuseppe will have given up and gone to bed, and Stefan can escape the lecture for tonight.

He should've known better.

"What took you so long?" Giuseppe stands from where he was seated at the kitchen table and moves to pour himself another glass of bourbon from the bottle on the counter. "Damon was home over an hour ago."

"I had other things to do," Stefan lies.

Giuseppe takes a sip of his drink, sets it down on the counter, looks up at his son. "You mind explaining to me why you didn't see the field tonight?"

Stefan fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Because I suck, Dad. Sticking me on the team doesn't change that I have next to no athletic ability."

Giuseppe's fist hits the counter and Stefan involuntarily steps back. "Don't speak to me that way. You've had two weeks to get yourself in game shape, and you couldn't even get on the field. I put you on this team so you could finally live up to the Salvatore name, and I will not let you disgrace it the way you did tonight."

He downs the rest of his bourbon, tosses the glass into the sink, turns back to Stefan as it shatters. It doesn't even phase him. "You will be competing for playing time next week, you hear me? You will work harder, Stefan. If you're not succeeding, it's because you're not working hard enough. You never did have the same work ethic your brother does, and if you don't suck it up, it's going to cost you."

Giuseppe pushes past him, deliberately shoving his shoulder hard against the door frame. "Prove to me that you deserve to be part of this family."

Stefan grips his shoulder, tears welling up in his eyes at the pain radiating through it. He turns so his father won't see - he learned a long time ago that weakness is not in the Salvatore vocabulary - and sits down at the kitchen table. There's no blood, but it's definitely going to bruise, and he'll be feeling it for at least a few days. He supposes that's what his father wanted - a constant reminder of his failure. He wonders how most people ended up with perfectly normal, loving, supportive fathers and he ended up with a sadistic bastard.

Damon shuffles into the kitchen, his hair still damp from his shower. He spares a glance at his brother, heads for the fridge to fill up a glass of water. "What happened to you?" he asks.

Stefan takes a moment, shakes his head. "Just Dad reminding me that I'm a disgrace to the family, as usual."

"Yeah, well." Damon leans against the island in the middle of the kitchen, sips his water slowly. "It's kind of the only thing he's good at."

The two brothers are quiet for a moment before Stefan speaks again. "I suck at football."

Damon snorts. "Is that supposed to be news to me?"

Stefan rolls his eyes, decides to ignore the jab. "I know I suck, and to be honest, I could care less whether I ever see the field at all. But if I'm gonna survive this year, if I'm ever going to get Dad off my back, I need to make it look like I care."

Damon shrugs, sips his water again. "I could help you out."

Stefan blinks at him in surprise. "What?"

"Don't sound so shocked," Damon scoffs. "Look, you need help, and I could use you to help hold up the great Salvatore name, since I'm bound to fail it at some point." He smirks. "What do you say, brother?"

Stefan mulls it over for a second. He doesn't have many options at this point. He can either suck it up, try to figure it out on his own, and likely never see the field. He'll probably end up with a myriad of bruises to show for his continued failure. Or, he can let Damon help him, show his dad that he's trying, even if it's feeble and half-hearted, and maybe he'll have a chance to make it through his junior year unscathed.

He smirks, looks Damon in the eye. "I say you're on, brother."

… … …