Stefan's POV

What does winning mean when you're all alone? How does it help you feel better? Does it make your efforts more sensible or is it just a deception that you can actually own something in this life by simply being too stubborn to achieve it?

What's winning? What does it mean?

Does it mean that I'm stronger than another human being? That I'm smarter? How can that be? How can I rule over someone else just like that?

I just don't believe it.

I don't think it's luck either. Luck is for the stupid people who believe in wishing something when you see a shooting star. It is for dreamers who hope that fate will somehow turn circumstances in their direction and it will all be better again.

I don't believe in those stuff, I just don't. I think that I'm here right now and I'm running in this dusty old gym and I'm doing everything to make a point and then another one, and then another one. I want to win and yet I don't get the meaning of this word. I want the success to bring me happiness, but it won't. It won't because I'm alone-my mother isn't here, she didn't come. No matter how long I kept staring at the seats around me, no matter how hard I was trying to find her-she just wasn't there.

After our fight that other night she didn't say anything to me and I tried to come home as late as I could the next few nights so that I wouldn't have to see her disappointed look and try to figure what excuse to find for the fact that I'm just pointlessly ruining my whole life.

She wasn't here. And yet I was running with all the strength I had, I was thinking, I was surpassing the other players, I was practically just fooling around with them-no one could manage to catch me.

And I kept asking myself after every basket I made, where is she? She always keeps her promises. Have I disappointed her that much? Why was I alone?

After the third break was over though I noticed my brother coming in and climbing up to the last row since there were the only free seats left. He didn't wave though, but he smiled and removed the hat from his head-a sign with which he wanted to tell me that he's going to pay full attention to whatever was going on the field. We didn't had time to talk either. I avoided him those few days. I felt both anger and guilt towards him. I knew he could've saved my mother the details of what was going on, mainly because I didn't want to hurt her, to make her doubt her own abilities to raise her sons and yet he did it. On the other hand I knew it wasn't on purpose. I knew he had his own demons and he was struggling with them and I had no way of helping him. I couldn't see one. He was a very stubborn person, I knew that, I was aware of it, but then again I've tried to use this excuse to calm my conscious every time I heard him come home after midnight, drunk and unable to put the key in the lock. And yet I did nothing. I didn't scold him, I didn't make him try to change his mind and stop this.

Why was I patiently staring from besides how he was ruining himself? Why was I doing nothing?

I made one foul since I got distracted. I often did that when we were playing and sometimes that was the reason why we lost-they got me out of the game and we could never make the points we needed for winning, even if they were only a few. I tried concentrating again after the coach gave me one of his deadly looks and thanked God that there were only a few minutes left. I was sure in myself this time. I felt different, because I was ready-ready to finally taste what winning was like and yet I had only bitterness inside me. I've lost all my excitement about tonight, ever since I've realized that I won't see my mother here tonight. Then I swallowed my pride and told myself that I deserve it-which was the ultimate truth. That's the way it has to be.

I made the final point and people jumped happily from their seats screaming satisfied that our team has finally won. Fathers and mothers have come to watch their sons, girlfriends have come with their best friends to brag about how good their boyfriends were, little sisters have come to support their big brothers-they were all rejoicing, yelling at me, my teammates were tapping me on the shoulder and smiling even though I suppose they would never talk to me outside this gym.

Such a strange thing-winning brings people together, doesn't it? I figured that out just now. But then again..if it is like that it means that it's deceiving, just like I initially thought-those people, they didn't know me, they didn't train side by side with me every morning or every night I stayed out late. They considered me to be a loner, I could hear them whisper in the locking rooms and yet they loved me now. Because I've helped them win and their parents were proud of them, they were happy and they would live through this happiness together. They'll share it with each other.

I look up at the place my brother was. He is standing up, smiling at me, clearly satisfied with what has happened-he wasn't clapping, he wasn't yelling, but he gave me a nod and that's all I needed, because it meant-you did it, brother and I'm glad I was here to see it. That single gesture was the world to me tonight. It meant absolutely everything.

I didn't smile though and I didn't clap my hands and I wasn't letting myself feel happy. I waited for them all to get out slowly of the gym, still yelling joyfully, jumping around and talking to the coach, who by the way tried to get to me, but I simply nodded and ignored him as I sat back down on the benches besides the field.

People started moving out, talking cheerfully, some of them stared at me and the way I was sitting-with my head bend down and sweat coming from my hair. My jersey with the big number seven on the back was wet, but I didn't took it off, neither did I put my sweater on so I wouldn't feel cold. I just remained like this, with my hands on my head, slowly running my fingers through my messy and now dirty hair. The ball has rolled back near me, and I leaned down to take it. It felt so light in my hands, like I can just toss and turn around or put it in my pocket and I won't even feel it. One of my old coaches used to say that this happens when you train a lot-you just stop feeling the borders of everything around you-the ball is light, the court has no finish line, you jumping from the center seems like you're shooting almost near the hoop. I felt like this now..and it was a good feeling, but it couldn't help me drown my guilt or suppress it with tiredness.

I feel someone taking the place beside me and look up to see my brother still smiling at me.

"So, that's what you've been doing those past few weeks, huh?" he asks, but I don't answer. I feel too much weight in my heart to talk, I feel like I've betrayed everyone I ever cared about. He can feel it though, which is why he wants to make me talk. "Though you don't seem to be happy with the result?"

I didn't answer him. The truth was-I wasn't happy with any of it. Yeah, I worked my ass off, but then what? Who was there to see it? Surely not the person I wanted to be there. Winning doesn't mean anything when you're alone.

I felt him moving uncomfortably on the seat next to me. He always did this when he was nervous, wondering how to pick the right words.

"Look about the other night" he started, but I didn't want to hear it so I interrupted him.

"It's fine, Damon."

"It's not fine. You came to find my drunken sorry ass and all I did was bash on you in front of mother. You didn't deserve that." I remained silent. I couldn't figure what to say. That it's fine? He knew that I wasn't mad. Not now for sure. I couldn't be angry with Damon for more than a few hours. I didn't like to hold such feelings inside me, they couldn't do me any good-not to me and definitely not to him or mother. So I usually just suppressed everything inside, I didn't let it get to me, I didn't want it to control me. I still don't know if this is a mistake or not. I'm just that type of person.

"You have to stop drinking so much, Damon" I said honestly. "I know you have a hard time, I know that things aren't the way you want them to be in your life, but you have to stop, because you're scaring me out of my mind sometimes. It's not about mom-it's about me. I keep imagining you in some gutter out there in the moments when I can't find you. And every time I keep telling myself that you'll be in this or that bar and when I can't find you there are terrible scenes passing through my head. And I can't live like that-I can't live not knowing where you are. "

He nodded slowly, understandingly.

"I'll try to do something about it, I promise. "

"Good. Because if you don't do, I will. I promise you that, brother. I can't keep watching you like that. If it means you'll hate me-then good, I don't mind that as long as you're here next to us." we look at each other for quite some time, without letting a single word out. He knows I'm serious and I'm really going to do what I just promised him and I'm glad he realizes how bad the situation is so that he could start doing something about. Then he nods, appreciatively, because he understands that some battles you can't find alone and it's good to know that there's someone out there stubborn enough to care for you and to be willing to give everything just to bring you back from the edge. I know that now we both need some time on our own so I stand up and put my hand on his shoulder. For a moment he seems like the younger brother, not the other way around. Drinking has made him thinner, it has taken away all the cheerful colors from his face, even the jokes he usually made were not that funny anymore, because he has lost his happy spirit, his optimistic view on life and that made me sad. I was allowed to be a loner, I've always been like that-a kid who kept things to himself, but he was supposed to be another person, I knew that much. He has lost a lot of weight lately and the dark clothes he wore made him look almost like a ghost. As if he was somehow transparent, not really here. "I'm going to take a walk, brother. Then I'll come back home. I need some time alone, yeah?" I tell him and he nods with a sad reassuring smile.

"Don't take too long, though" he adds as I was walking away. I waved my hand, without even turning around, to give him a sign that it'll all be fine and then I get the hell out of this place.

I put my sweater on once I go outside since I'm still sweaty and the weather is kind of cold and makes me shiver, then without even thinking where I'm going I take on the left side and start walking. I liked doing that, it helped me clear my mind some, it calmed me down.

I don't know how long I walked and how many shop-windows I passed by, but by the time I've actually started coming to my senses I was far away from the center of our small town. I looked up and I realized I'm in one of those dark questionable neighborhood which was in the opposite way of my own place. I was about to look back down to my sneakers and continue my sad thinking when I realized that I know the girl who was walking a few meters before me. The long brown hair was gently swaying up and down her delicate shoulders. She was dressed in a light summer t-shirt, skinny jeans and converse shoes and she was definitely freezing since I noticed that her hands were around her arms. Strangely the first thing that came to my mind was to rush next to her and give her my sweater, but then suddenly I changed my intentions-why would I do that? I didn't really know this girl! And she was probably just about to get home. But wait…why was she even here? She was a rich girl, from a founders family and they lived in the opposite direction. I knew their house-it was a big one with that white fence every girl dreams for and a big red oak door. Their house always amused me when I was younger and mother took us downtown. I remember watching it and thinking what would it be like to live in such place. Sure-the Lockwoods and the Forbes had bigger houses with much land to them, but somehow I thought there was something poetic in the way the Gilbert's house looked.

I was wondering what she was doing here? It was late and this neighborhood was the worst place for a girl to be alone. I noticed that some of the boys, standing outside bars or diners made inappropriate sounds as she passed by and I really wanted to just go there and smack their faces but instead I kept telling myself that I can't get into a fight right now, that I shouldn't, because that would be just another disappointment for my mother, which is why I decided that I'll follow her home, just to make sure she gets there completely safe and sound. I kept my distance from her and waited patiently for her to start making the right turns and just get to the opposite direction, but she didn't. She seemed almost lost in thoughts as I was today and I could feel something just wasn't right.

I don't get these people-they have everything they could ever wish for. She has a father who cares about her, an enormous house, friends that love her and her future is practically insured-she could become everything she ever wanted to because her family had money and she was smart-she could go to any college she wants. Probably even the Ivy league ones.

But why am I even thinking about her? There's no point in trying to figure out the disturbed rich girls who were desperate to find a problem in their lives just so they could make it more interesting. I will just send her home, being the invisible person I always was, and she wouldn't even notice.

Even though I was so bend on seeing only the worst in her I couldn't deny that feeling inside me that said kept reminding me there was something different about Elena. I couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but it existed. She didn't seem that spoiled like Caroline or the other girls in school. There was some kind of sadness in her, a sadness I couldn't understand.

For the life of me I couldn't figure out why such a beautiful girl could look so lost sometimes? I've noticed her teary brown eyes as I've passed her by in the hallways, I've seen her waiting for her friend to finish practice-seeming so distant from everything around her and I've seen her in the library-lost in the books and their magical world. And only now did I realize that I've actually paid attention to her, but I didn't let that conclusion change my opinion in any way, because I usually liked observing people.

We turned around into another street, a darker one and I started cursing myself for following this girl in the middle of nowhere, in the worst neighborhood and the coldest for the season weather. Where did she think she was going?

Before I could continue mentally cursing myself though, I noticed that she was passing by a group of boys who started calling out some nasty words to her. She suddenly stopped, startled and looked around herself, only to finally realize where she has ended up. She tried moving away from them and even mended her pace, but one of them, a tall, but not that strong boy caught her wrist.

I immediately dropped my bag on the pavement and ran towards them. For minute they have all surrounded her. I could hear their words "Sweetheart, what's the rush?" and her trying to wrench herself from them, but the skinny girl she was she just didn't have a chance. "Why so grumpy now, babe?" another person's voice. There were four of them and I quickly realized who will be the easiest to take down-the one behind her back, who has put his hand on her shoulder. I didn't need anyone to convince me I should do something-my inner guts were screaming out to just get this over with, so as I finally approached them, very silently, in a cunning, fox-kind of way I jumped on the boy's back and took him down.

She turned around abruptly and I noticed her terrified glance-she was desperate for help.

"Run, Elena!" I yelled, trying to get her out of her frozen position. She needed to let the fear free her and get the hell out of her "Get around the corner! Now!" I let out again and she finally started moving. I managed to notice her doing what I've advised her to, just as one of the other guys was pulling me back from the first one's back. We went down and he got over me-he was really mad that I've intervened. I'm not sure where the others were, but I could see the one I've managed to put down, still on the ground and a third one behind this one's back. He hit me a few times in the face before I could actually react and I cursed myself for letting him get that far-now I would get a black eye and mother would be mad when she sees me. I caught his hand and pushed him away from me, then pinned him to the wall and returned the his favor by hitting him a few times in the ribs, then in the groin and waited until he crashed down in my feet. As I was about to get away another one caught my shoulder and turned me towards him-he was holding a knife and for the first time this evening I heard Elena's scared voice.

"Stefan!" she yelled from behind the corner. Jesus Christ, that girl had no sense for self-preservation. She should've run away ages ago-why was she still here? I wasn't afraid of a knife, though I admit that the situation has drastically changed and become more serious. He waved it in front of me a few times and I tried hitting him, but this one was strong and hard to take down and now places were reversed-he pinned me to the wall. I tried getting away, but his grip was tight and he managed to hit me pretty bad a few times in the ribs. He was talking something, but I wasn't paying any attention to him at all. I was trying to figure out the best way to get out of this situation. Fortunately, he made a mistake-he waved the knife against my face again and before he could actually stab me somewhere with it I took the rush decision to grab the blade with my bare hand and kick him in the stomach. I felt the knife cutting my palm and the blood started dropping on the pavement, but I tried hard not to let the pain consume me and hit him with my elbow in his face. He staggered and fell down.

I didn't wait long to take the next decision-I knew we had to move-fast! Elena was still sheepishly looking at me from the corner, confused and completely startled after what she has just seen. I'm pretty sure she hasn't let it all sink yet. I ran towards her and grabbed her hand.

"We have to get out of here. Now!" I yelled, with another desperate attempt to make her realize where she was and what was going on. She nodded and I grabbed her wrist gently with my healthy hand. I could feel the warm blood from the cut spilling and I've clenched my wrist in desperate attempt to stop it, but I couldn't. After we've run for quite some time she suddenly stopped and I looked around myself-we were almost back in the center of the town. I leaned down on the side of some wall and opened up my palm. I could also feel that burning feeling on my right side, where one of them has hit me in the ribs. My right eye has probably swollen too, since I had a hard time trying to open it up. She came closer and took my hand gently in her small hands. I managed to see the look in her eyes-she was finally back to earth.

"It's deep" she said as she examined the cut "You need stitches."

"I'm fine." I tried to calm her down. Going to a hospital was the least of my intentions right now. "You need to get home."

"No, I'm not leaving you like that. You saved my life."

"I did nothing like that." I opposed her and took her hand in desperate attempt to make her keep going. She had to get home fast and be taken care of-she looked so pale, as if she would collapse any minute. But she stopped me once again and took a handkerchief out of her pocket only to wrap it around my palm.

"We're going home. My father is a doctor, he'll help you."

"No, I have to leave. You don't understand" I tried explaining, it was already too late and I was sure that when mom sees me it would only make things worse, but I needed to get home.

"Stefan, please." she asked and pierced her brown eyes in me with some kind of determination. She wasn't going to leave me alone and I only realized that now. I nodded and she started leading me now. I wasn't up to going to her house, not now for sure-when I was tired, hurt and lost, but I had no other option-this girl..she was a stubborn one and for the first time in my life I've met someone as bend on doing something as I was. And honestly that completely confused me-I had no idea what I should do.

By the time we've reached her house she was walking in a straight line, with a confident step, her hands were still a little bit shaky, but apart from that the roles were completely reversed-now I felt sick-ish and all I could think was how I want to throw up. She has put her small arm under my shoulder and was gently pushing me to keep going-something that I definitely didn't like. I wasn't a week boy and I was completely fine-this was just s scratch.

She knocked on the door desperately until her mother finally opened only to see her daughter and an unknown teenage boy with blood on his basketball uniform. She didn't seem scared though, even if in the beginning she was a bit startled.

"What's going on, Elena?"

"Mom, get dad! Now! He needs help." she responded still with the same determination and we entered the hallway. I kept asking myself how many wounded boy has Elena Gilbert brought home?

"Oh, man" I said through teeth since I still felt pain although I didn't want to admit it "You shouldn't have brought me here."

"Shut up." she cut me off and I gave her a completely surprised look. This wasn't the girl I thought she was-a silent, smart nerd who did nothing but read books in the library. I wanted to oppose her but a man in his forties rushed from what seemed like a living room to us dressed in a stripped pijamas and a perfectly ironed white t-shirt which almost made me laugh. He rushed towards my side and without even saying a words out, let me into another room which seemed like a doctor's office. I've heard that sometimes people go straight to the Gilberts house instead of the hospital so maybe he has adapted his own room where he could help people. I wondered what it was like to live in such a place where anyone can simply knock on your door in the middle of the night, wake you up and ask for help just like we did now. He wasn't startled that a wounded person has come to his house, I think he was just surprised that it was his daughter who brought him. He put me on a bed and at first I refused to lie down, but he pushed me on the chest and carefully unwrapped the handkerchief Elena has put.

"I'm fine, really." I kept saying "I just need to get home."

He pushed me back down though, for the billionth time and I saw him getting mad with my resistance.

"Hey!" he bend over while still pressing a bandage on my hand "Stop it! I just need to make a few stitches and then I'm letting you go, ok? But you have to stop moving around, because you're making it hard for me."

And then I stopped moving because I felt bad that this person wanted to help me and I was bashing on him. I closed my eyes and the thought I was desperately trying not to let sink in, finally found its way back.

I wouldn't be able to play anytime soon.

I wouldn't be.

Yet somehow it was worth it. At least the girl before me, watching her father from the door and rushing back and forth giving him what he needed was safe and sound. I knew I would do what I did tonight for anyone-even if they were complete strangers, but now that I've done it for her…it somehow made me feel different and surprisingly relieved.

She was fine-she was safe.

A/N: I had a sleepless night and I decided to spend it finishing this chapter. Thank you all for the amazing reviews and the follows. I hope you get to like this one as well. Since I'm desperately trying to save this semester and I have awful exams coming up, updates will be delayed. Hope you understand!