Note: chapter title from "always take you back" by night terrors of 1927.

Warning: violence.

12. the weight of it all sinking in

… … …

For most of the day on Sunday, Elena feels like she's floating on a cloud. Ever since Damon left her house the night before, she's been in a sort of trance, reliving the moment he kissed her over and over in her head. The way he spoke so honestly, the way he looked at her as if she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, the way his blue eyes sparkled. God. She really doesn't know how she's still standing upright, because that kiss knocked her on her ass in the best way possible.

"Elena!" Caroline snaps.

She jolts out of her reverie, blinking. "What?"

"Where the hell are you?" Bonnie laughs, throwing a fry at her from across the table. "Because you're definitely not sitting here with us."

Caroline turns to Elena, narrows her eyes. "You have that look in your eye."

Elena tries to plaster a neutral expression on her face, but she has to bite her lip to keep the smile from taking over. "What look?"

"That I-got-kissed-by-a-hot-guy look." Caroline gasps. "Damon kissed you!"

"Shhh!" Elena hisses, giggling. "We don't need to broadcast it to the entire Mystic Grill."

"I beg to differ," Bonnie gapes. "When did this happen?"

"Last night," Elena grins.

"And?" Caroline prods, excitement gleaming in her eye. "How was it?"

"It was…" Elena sighs dreamily. "It was perfect. He's perfect. I never knew a kiss could be that good."

"Damn," Caroline sighs forlornly. "I really hope that's a Salvatore brother trait."

Elena breaks from her trance for a moment to glance at Caroline, raising one eyebrow. "What are you doing thinking about kissing Stefan? Don't you have Klaus to handle that for you these days?"

Caroline scowls. "Doesn't mean a girl can't dream, okay?"

"Okay, that's enough talking about kissing," Bonnie pouts. "Enzo didn't even try to kiss me last night."

"Yes, how was The Date, Take Two?" Caroline asks, sipping on her milkshake.

Bonnie sighs dramatically. "It was perfect."

Elena narrows her eyes, throws a fry at her friend. "Don't mock," she scolds.

"I can't help it," Bonnie laughs. "You look like you stepped straight out of a Nicholas Sparks novel or something."

"Listen," Elena smiles, "when the guy you've liked since you were ten finally kisses you, you get to be a little dramatic about it. Okay?"

Bonnie rolls her eyes. "Fine, you get a pass this once."

Caroline smirks. "You're dodging the question. How was the makeup date?"

"What does it matter?" Bonnie leans back against the booth. "It's not like it can top Elena's perfect night anyway." She laughs as she dodges another wayward fry, and Elena knows she's never, ever gonna live this down.

… … …

Damon feels like he's completely lost his mind. For the past 36 hours, he's felt this visceral need to be near her, to feel her in his arms again, to kiss her the way he did the other night, to draw that soft, happy sigh from her lips. Jesus Christ. He's never been so affected by a simple kiss before, but then again, he's also never been affected by another girl the way he is by Elena Gilbert.

So by Monday afternoon, he feels like he's crawling out of his skin in anticipation of seeing her again. He passed her in the hallway earlier in the day on his way to class, and it took every ounce of self control he has not to pull her into an empty classroom. But when he sees her walking to cheerleading practice by herself, he can't resist anymore. He sends her a quick text - meet me behind the fieldhouse - and sneaks back into the shadows to wait for her. He hears her footsteps approaching, feels his heartbeat quicken in anticipation. Fuck, what is this girl doing to him?

She comes around the corner. "Damon? Wha-"

It's like something snaps inside of him. Before she can even blink, he has his arms around her and his lips on hers, and she gasps in surprise before she giggles into his mouth. She returns his kiss, and he feels his blood simmering under the surface of his skin. What is it about doing this with her that just feels so right?

She pulls her mouth away from his, but he simply moves his lips down to her jaw, nips at the skin underneath her ear. "What are we doing?" she asks breathlessly.

He smirks against her skin. "I thought it was obvious," he chuckles.

"Damon," she pleads. He kisses his way back up to her lips, and she whines in protest, but it takes her another moment before she finally pushes him away. He rests his hands on her hips to keep her close, and she brings hers up to twine around his neck. "What does this mean?"

He wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains. It's question he usually dreads hearing from a girl he's trying to kiss, but from her, it's not so difficult to answer. He can't help but tease her a little bit, though. He smirks down at her. "It means we're both damn good kissers, and we should be kissing all the time."

"Damon," she laughs as he leans in again, kisses her chin instead of her lips. "I'm serious. If you're just looking for sex, then…"

"Stop," he groans. He closes his eyes, willing away the images that flood his brain. (What? He's not twelve anymore, but he's not above the raging teenage hormones just yet.) He sighs, opens his eyes to meet hers. She looks nervous, apprehensive, and he hates it. "It's not that. Not with you."

Her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink and he can't help but smirk. "Then what?" she wonders quietly, searching his eyes for the answer. "What does this mean?"

Something tells him that she knows what it means, but she wants the validation of hearing him say it. He supposes that's not too much to ask. "It means… it means I like you, and you like me, and we should see how far that gets us."

The smile on her face could light up the Empire State Building, and it makes him grin back at her. "Well, in that case."

She pulls him in for another kiss, and the way she's smiling against his lips is so fucking cute he can hardly stand it. He pulls his lips away from hers, kisses her cheek, her nose, her eyelid, her forehead, her jaw, her laugh ringing in his ears all the while.

"Damon!" she all but shrieks, and they pull away from each other in alarm. She bites her lip to keep from laughing out loud again, and they listen carefully for signs that anyone heard her. When no one comes, she lets out a breath of relief and turns back to him. "We can't do this here."

"Okay," he relents, pulling her into his arms again. "I'll kiss you later, then." He smirks, kisses her lips one last time, and she backs away, holding onto his hand until she can't reach anymore. He decides he'll wait for a moment, just to avoid any suspicion, and he smirks to himself. As much as he would love to be able to hold her hand in the hallways or kiss her at her locker, he has to admit that sneaking around with her is fucking hot, and if that's the way she wants to play it… well. He can't say he'll mind, if they keep meeting like this.

… … …

Even though she's been wrapped up in Damon for the past few days, by Wednesday she's completely and totally fed up with Stefan and Caroline's drama. She doesn't know which is more annoying to her: the fact that Caroline still obviously likes Stefan and won't admit it, or the fact that Stefan is hiding with Rebekah so he doesn't have to admit the fact that he still likes Caroline. Or it could be option C: the fact that they both like each other but are too stubborn to do anything about it.

So when Caroline's leaning against the locker next to hers and says contemptuously, "I saw Stefan and his girlfriend at the Grill last night," Elena feels something inside her snap.

"Caroline," she snaps, and her friend looks up at her, eyes wide in surprise. "You walked away from him, okay? You chose Klaus. That's fine, but you can't be upset with him for moving on when this whole thing was your decision."

Caroline scowls. "You know that wasn't easy for me," she argues. "I wanted to be with him, but he refused. What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know!" Elena throws her arms up in exasperation. "But you made your bed, and now you have to lie in it. I'm sick of hearing about it from both of you."

Caroline quirks her brow. "From both of us?"

Elena levels her gaze at her friend. "What, you think he just asked Rebekah out and all his feelings for you went away?" She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. I'm done getting in the middle of this."

Caroline opens her mouth to speak, but Elena turns away from her. She feels guilty for a moment, but she really does need to get to class, and she really is sick of hearing about it. But as the day wears on, she feels increasingly like she may need to interfere just one last time.

She catches up with Stefan as he's walking to football practice. "Hey!" she greets, a bright smile on her face.

"Hi," he laughs, looking over at her. "You're in a good mood." Elena shrugs, and he furrows his brow. "Actually, you've been in an exceptionally good mood all week. What's going on?"

"Just…" she scrambles, tries to think of a logical explanation to give him. "Just having a pretty good week. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He eyes her suspiciously for a moment, a smirk plastered on his face. "Okay," he concedes. Something catches his eye, and she follows his line of sight. More like someone, she realizes. She decides this is her opening. "You know, Caroline said she saw you and Rebekah at the Grill last night," she says warily.

"Oh yeah?" he says distractedly.

"Yes," she continues. "She almost sounded… I don't know… jealous?"

He doesn't respond, and she sighs, steps in front of him to stop his forward motion. "Stefan, what the hell are you doing?"

He snaps out of his trance, looks at her in confusion. "I'm walking to football practice."

She rolls her eyes. "No, I mean, what are you doing with Rebekah when you feel the way you do about Caroline?"

Stefan's gaze hardens just a little bit, and he looks away from her. "What are you talking about?"

"Please," she scoffs. "It hasn't been that long since you were going on and on about how much you liked Caroline, and now I'm supposed to believe that you've moved on? Just like that?"

Stefan rolls his eyes at her. "Caroline didn't want me, Elena. Rebekah did, and I really do like her. It's as simple as that."

"No, it's not," she groans in frustration. "It's not, and you know it. Not when you feel the way I know you do about Caroline."

"Stop," he snaps. She reels back a little bit, and he sighs, runs his hand through his hair, looks back at her. "Look, she's taken, okay? It doesn't even matter. I've already been down that road with her, and it didn't turn out in my favor, if you recall."

She studies him for a moment, and her frustration fades a little bit. "It's not real, Stefan," she says quietly. "If you wanted her, you could have her. Trust me."

He finally meets her eyes, and she sees the hurt bubbling to the surface. "It's not really about whether or not I want her," he insists. "It's about whether or not she wants me."

And he's right, she supposes. This was Caroline's decision - isn't that what they argued about this morning? This isn't what Stefan wanted, it's what Caroline wanted. But she also knows that if Stefan fought for her, if he really told her how he felt, that she would come back to him in a heartbeat. She sighs, watches as her best friend walks away from her, and wonders if either of her friends will ever allow themselves to be happy.

… … …

All day Friday, Stefan has this feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can't describe. Tonight is arguably the biggest game of the season. They're undefeated up to this point, and this is the toughest remaining game on the schedule. If they win tonight, they have a great chance of finishing the regular season undefeated, and they'll be in prime position when the playoffs come around. But a win tonight is nowhere near a given; the team they're facing is also undefeated, and from what Stefan's heard, their defense is the best in the state.

When the clock winds down and the buzzer sounds, Stefan realizes what that feeling in the pit of his stomach was. It was dread.

They played well, but not well enough. The scouting reports were right; their defense was stifling. Damon could hardly get a pass off without being chased down by a defensive lineman, and he was sacked so many times that Stefan lost count. Stefan didn't help matters, though, as he didn't catch a single pass that was thrown to him; he even got chewed out by Coach because one of them turned into an interception that the other team returned for a touchdown.

And that's where the dread comes from, Stefan realizes. Because no matter how tough Coach was on him, on either of them, it's nothing compared to what he knows they're gonna face when they get home that night.

He stands side by side with his brother on their front porch, and he knows they're both debating how long they can wait before they have to go inside and face the music. They turn to face one another, and Damon sighs. "How bad do you think it'll be?"

Stefan mulls it over, shrugs. "Considering we lost? Pretty damn bad."

Damon nods, resigned. He faces forward again, takes a deep breath. "Listen, whatever happens?" He turns to face his brother again. "I've got your back."

Stefan swallows, nods. "Back 'atcha, brother."

He sucks in a breath, decides he can't bear to stand here in anticipation for another second, pushes open the front door. When they get to the living room, Giuseppe is standing in front of the fireplace pacing, drinking from a bottle of bourbon. Stefan notes that the bottle is almost empty. Fantastic.

He looks up when he sees them approaching, stops pacing. "Have a seat," he says lowly, calmly.

When they do, Stefan looks up at his mother, tries to read her facial expression, but she keeps it carefully blank. Stefan knows from years of experience that it can't mean anything good.

"Do you have any idea," Giuseppe begins, "of the damage you boys have done tonight?"

Stefan tries to think of a response, but he figures in this situation, it's probably better not to say anything at all. When neither of them respond, Giuseppe's calm façade disintegrates into pure rage. He throws the bottle into the fireplace, and glass splatters across the carpet while the alcohol stokes the flames. The two boys reel back in shock. "Answer me!" he roars.

"We got beat by a better team, Dad," Damon says quietly but clearly.

"Don't give me that bullshit," Giuseppe shouts. "You're the best quarterback in the state, Damon. You're supposed to be a playmaker. You looked slow and sluggish out there. What college scout would want a quarterback like that?"

Damon doesn't respond, and Giuseppe levels his gaze a Stefan. "And you. Don't get me started on you. Your brother threw you ten perfect passes, and you couldn't catch a single one of them. Ten!" Stefan swears he hears his father growl, low in his throat. "Not to mention the one that resulted in a touchdown for the other team." He looks between the two of them. "You two disgraced the Salvatore name tonight."

Damon stands, and Stefan's eyes widen. "What the hell is the big deal about the Salvatore name?" he snaps.

Before Stefan can even blink, Giuseppe has his hand around Damon's throat. "You will not speak to me that way," he seethes. "I am your father, and you will show me some respect!"

Stefan doesn't think before he stands, attempts to push his father off of his brother, and he's rewarded with a backhand across the face. He can't catch his balance before he stumbles to the ground, and the next thing he knows, his mother is intervening.

"Giuseppe, please," she cries, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Shut up, you bitch!" Giuseppe roars, turning to backhand her as well. She shrieks in pain and falls to the ground, and Stefan crawls over to her. He watches as Giuseppe's distraction allows his hold on Damon's throat to loosen enough that his brother staggers backward, gasping for breath and falling onto the couch. He holds his sore throat, and his breath comes in ragged spurts.

Giuseppe stands in the center of it all, his eyes burning with rage. "All three of you disgust me," he spits, stumbling out of the room drunkenly.

Stefan looks down at his mother with wide eyes. He stands, helps her to do the same. "Are you okay?" he asks hoarsely.

Lily holds her sore cheek, her eyes wet with tears, and she forces a smile. "I'm fine, honey. Are you okay?" She turns to face her other son, her eyes widening. She moves to sit next to Damon. "Oh, my boys," she murmurs, choking back a sob. "I'm so sorry."

Stefan sits down next to her. "Mom, it's not-"

"He's drunk," she says, closing her eyes. "He's drunk, and he's not thinking straight. He'll be better in the morning."

Stefan eyes her in disbelief. "What?"

"He doesn't mean it," she insists. "He only wants the best for you boys, I promise."

"Jesus Christ, Mom," Damon rasps, standing up and turning around to face her. "Are you blind? Did you not see what the hell just happened here?"

"Please, Damon," she pleads. "He just-"

"I'm so sick of you making excuses for him!" he yells, and Stefan watches as his mother reels back in shock, her face ashen. "How can you not see the kind of man he is?"

"He's my husband," Lily whispers.

"And he's my father," Damon spits. "That doesn't mean I have to accept that kind of behavior, and neither do you."

"I-" she sucks in a shaky breath, turns to face Stefan. "I need to go check on him."

She leaves the room, and Stefan eyes his brother warily. He nods toward his brother's neck. "That's gonna bruise."

Damon runs his hand along his throat, wincing. "Yeah, well, so's your eye."

"Quite a pair, aren't we?" he jokes, but it falls flat. He lets out a long breath, rests his elbows on his knees. He looks up at his brother again. "What are we gonna do?"

Damon puts his hands on his hips, looks up at the ceiling. He sighs. "I don't know about you, but I need a beer."

Stefan chokes out a laugh, the sound foreign and strange. He nods. "You're on, brother."

… … …