Chapter Nineteen: i never imagined you dead

"Hey."

It's one word. One syllable and it doesn't mean much of anything but an informal means of greeting another. It's so casual and familiar that Elena does nothing when she hears it. She has to hear it again just to register the voice. It's been so long. Too long. Sometimes she thought that her friend was dead. She had no way of knowing. It was easier to think that way. It was always easy to believe that someone was dead than having any hope whatsoever. Damon and Stefan could've killed them all and Elena wouldn't have known. They could be one of those monsters, and Elena would just be here, silently mourning for her friend.

But when she sees Caroline again, her frame thinner than she remembers, and her cheeks slightly gaunt, skin paler than usual. She's kind of a ghost.

"You shouldn't be here," Elena says weakly, but she's so happy that she is. So happy and so frightened. Caroline shouldn't look like this. She shouldn't be in this mess. She doesn't deserve it.

Caroline takes a step forward and Elena shakes her head. "N-no. They'll find out."

"No, they won't."

"Jeremy."

"I already talked to Jeremy, Elena. I just want to see you."

Elena's eyebrows knit together and she stuffs her hands in her pockets, backing herself into a corner. It's so dark in this room and the only source of light is a lantern by the doorway that flickers across Caroline's skin. She's a phantom, a walking tragedy. Elena is weak herself; thin, considerably more pale. When's the last time she's been out in the sun? Her eyes have grown so accustomed to the darkness that if she were to see daylight again, she could very well go blind. Elena may be all these things, but Caroline is terrible. It appears as if she were to hug her, that she would just break in half.

"I miss you," Caroline whimpers, her face—her soul—breaking into a thousand pieces. "I miss my best friend."

Elena's lower lip quivers and she tries to suck it up. She's not going to cry. No. She has to be strong. There are no more tears. Oh, but she can't help it. Caroline dashes over to her and in a split second her thin arms are wrapped around Elena's neck tightly, threatening to never let go. Elena's arms lace around Caroline's back, tugging on her tighter than before. Tears roll out of both of their eyes and incomprehensible words leave their mouths. Caroline's had Nik to give her what she wanted—that closeness and intimacy—but what she really needed was a friend. The girl she'd grown up with, the one who she shared secrets with and cried over Ryan Gosling with. She missed her so much.

"I'm sorry," Caroline tells her. "I'm so sorry for doing that to you."

Elena breaks away from the embrace and shakes her head and sniffs. "Don't apologize, Care. I don't care. I understand."

"No, Elena, I—"

"Forget about it, Caroline. It doesn't matter anymore."

Caroline wants it to be true, but she's not sure. Her actions had consequences—consequences that she's still paying for. It will always matter.

Stefan and Damon barrel through the neighborhood in a flurry of swings and gunshots. Bullets strike through the air—perfect headshots—Damon's axe hacks off heads right at the base of the neck and Stefan's knife thrusts below the chin and he twists it, twists it until anything inside that head is shredded to bits. Damon grins proudly every time another straggler falls to the ground by him or his brother's hand. They are weak, really. What do they have? Teeth and maybe fingernails? Most of them are so rotted they can hardly walk properly.

Zombie-slaying aside, they've gotten lucky to a degree with supplies. There was a pharmacy that hadn't been totally cleaned out. It seemed as if everyone just grabbed what they figured they needed, so the only things that were allergy medicines and nasal strips. The Hallmark section was completely stocked, though. Stefan grabbed a few birthday cards because even though it's an apocalypse, everyone should have a birthday. Elena's already passed a few weeks ago, Stefan told him. Well, he thinks it did. By the change in the weather it has to be close to October, if not already. Exactly how much time has passed?

"What kind of cake should we get?" Stefan asked. "Do you think Elena would prefer a single-layer or one with zombie blood filling?"

Damon just looked at him. "You're not funny."

And that was the end of the conversation. Damon didn't like talking about Elena. She was a touchy subject. Even though technically he never had her or was ever close to getting her, the pain of "unrequited" love tore through his heart like a sharp blade. He supposes that maybe he deserves it. Or, rather, doesn't deserve her considering all he's done to Caroline. Well, Elena doesn't know, but still. Maybe it was karma and oh, what a bitch she is. Actually, maybe that's what this whole thing is. Bad karma.

They never set a time for when they were going to leave, but as the sun is just beginning to get lower, Damon figures it's time they leave. It won't be such a good idea to be out in the dark. They haven't gathered much so he hopes the Mikaelsons fared better. He speaks into the walkie telling them to head back to the Alemada. Damon waits for five seconds because talking again. Stefan's face contorts into something worrisome yet highly annoyed.

"Get to the Alemada. Over," Damon hisses bitterly.

He gets nothing but dead air. Stefan runs a hand through his hair and looks around. It's getting dark. Shadows are appearing on the streets from the houses and trees. They need to leave. Now.

"We'll zip over to Inner Harbor in case they're there," Stefan whispers quickly. "We just need to get out of the open. Who knows what's still lurking around here?"

Damon stuffs the walkie back into its holder angrily; hitching the axe over his shoulder and storming off down the street.

"When we find them, I'm going to rip out their hearts and feed it to them. Then we're getting the fuck out of Baltimore."

The higher Elijah and Nik went, the worse it seemed to get. Apparently, this place didn't do a very good job at evacuating—if they even attempted it. But then again, maybe everyone decided staying inside would be the best option. Oh, how wrong they were. Just about every guest room and suite they enter is occupied by undead. Most of them look as if they just starved to death, afraid to venture out of their rooms because of the unknown.

Nik kills with his head on something else entirely. He's brutal. Ruthless. These are not humans. These aren't even monsters. They're just…puppets. Marionettes. They have no freewill, controlled by a murder and bloodlust. And as he drives his knife through their skulls or stomps their heads into the carpet, black brain matter splattering everywhere, there is no remorse and there is no sympathy. Maybe, in a way, he has subconsciously become one of them. He can't think of anything besides this anger in his chest, clouding out any other emotion he's ever felt. This rage pumps from his heart and through his veins. This fury. This wrath. He doesn't know whom he's angrier with: himself or Caroline.

Goddammit if she knows something and never bothered speaking up! They could've done something about this. They could've given her something or…just dammit! And what if she is pregnant? There's no way she'll be able to carry it full-term. And however long she gets—however far along she already is—there will still be a dead baby inside her that needs to be surgically removed. And just exactly how are they going to do a fucking D&C?

His head is pounding just thinking of all the possibilities. God, if he had known all this shit was going to happen between them, then he would've left her in Mystic Falls where he found her. He should've left her in that tree and kept on driving. What an idiotic decision to turn back! He could be in Rhode Island by now doing whatever the fuck they're doing there. Living. Not fighting for survival like a goddamn hyena in Africa. Jesus. He's not cut out for this. Him? A father? No. No, no, no! Nik can't even imagine. He'd be horrible. Terrible. There are people put on the earth to be parents; Nik is not one of them. He isn't nurturing or loving or good. He does not…he does not care. He's a monster, undeserving of any blessing of a child.

He is corrosive.

Toxic.

"You're a bastard; a twisted little cretin. You're the product of a whore!"

"Niklaus," Elijah calls from the end of the hallway.

Nik looks up and at him, noticing him yards away. He must've been in a daze. They'd gotten to the twelfth floor—the last floor (those stairs looked ridiculous okay?)—and then what? Jeez, he's starting to go a little mad.

He jogs down to Elijah who has the walkie-talkie in one of his hands.

"The Salvatores are ready to head back," he says coolly. "Are we clear on what we discussed earlier?"

Nik doesn't even care at this point. He's so done with this shit. Honestly, he'll kill anything that looks at him funny.

"You lead," Nik says, plastering a smile on his face. Sometimes he thinks he's actually the devil.

All the streets look the same when you don't know where you're going. Night falls fast in the city and the salty bay air is thick in the breeze. The Salvatores creep stealthily through the neighborhoods, trying to find their way back to the Alemada. Fortunately, they've gotten in contact with the Mikaelsons, but when they all meet up, they're so dead. Beyond dead. Damon didn't like them from the get go, but now this is just all the more reason to get rid of them. They were doing just fine in their small group, or, rather as fine as they were expected to.

"We made a wrong turn somewhere, Damon," Stefan whispers. They step into a side alley in-between two houses and hide behind a dumpster. It doesn't appear to be occupied by any undead.

"We just have to retrace our steps and—"

"In the dark, Damon? We have to find someplace to hole up for the night."

Damon shakes his head, looking over the dumpster into the empty street.

"We'll head back the way we came and go in the opposite direction. We're not staying out here, Stefan. Do you know how stupid that is? We have a camp that's protected by Jeremy. Think a little bit."

Stefan shakes his head. Jeremy isn't that incompetent. Kind of a goof, immature, but Stefan knows how much he loves his sister. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. They just need to trust the boy. Give him a little bit more credit. Don't get him wrong, Stefan was more than happy to rip his head off after that whole letting Caroline leave and then letting them back in, but he's got heart. He's not a coward.

"Let's go," Damon says. "We don't have time for bullshit, Stefan."

Stefan remains silent and just shakes his head. If he doesn't go, then Damon will go without him and two is better than one. He still thinks that they shouldn't be out here. They need to find a place to stay at least until the sun comes back up. Draining the power from their flashlights while trying to find their way back to the Alemada when they don't have many batteries isn't a very wise decision.

So he follows Damon because he's his brother and he's all he's got. Maybe they don't have the most conventional of brotherly relationships, but he wouldn't trade it for anything else.

Caroline, Elena, Bonnie, and even Rebekah have girl talk. They don't talk about zombies or when they think one of them will expire next. They talk about music and celebrities and Glee and how they'll never get to see the last season of Gossip Girl. They tear up as they remember watching the season finale of Grey's Anatomy where Lexie died with a smile on her face. Rebekah doesn't really understand. She didn't watch much television. She wasn't allowed to as a child so the habit just stuck.

"I bet in Rhode Island they'll have electricity," Caroline muses.

"And hot water," Bonnie adds.

"Don't forget a shopping mall." Elena smiles.

"A beauty salon." Rebekah absent-mindedly twirls a piece of her yellow hair.

"And hopefully hot guys," Bonnie sighs, resting her chin on her elbows.

A grin spreads across Elena's face. "Rebekah's brother is kind of hot." She remembers Elijah and his hair and that suave air about him that made her all tingly inside. She was like a giddy child when he said hello there. Swoon.

Rebekah's face twists into something gruesome. "Please spare me the details of how you find my brother attractive."

"Which one?" Bonnie asks excitedly. "Aren't there two? I only saw the tall, dark, and handsome one."

"Can we not?" Rebekah asks with her jaw clenched.

Caroline smiles sheepishly. Nik hasn't been across the line. Only Elijah. She wonders what her friends would think if they ever got the chance to see him. Hmm.

"Of course there are two," Elena announces proudly. "Caroline's screwing the other one, actually. Probably."

"Elena!" Caroline screams. "I am not!" When Caroline lies her voice becomes ten times higher. She can't help it. It just happens. She clears her throat and tries again. "I'm not." Nope. Still about an octave too high.

"I can't believe I have to listen to this," Rebekah says, covering up her ears.

Bonnie cocks her head to the side and smirks. "Is it good?"

"Oh my god can we please talk about something else?" Rebekah begs. Pleads. She doesn't need confirmation for something she's already suspected. Please just drop it.

Meanwhile, Caroline is as red as a lobster and if she doesn't get out of here then she might puke from embarrassment all over everyone. She really needs to work on becoming a better liar.

They've quite literally been walking forever. Elijah and Nik have finally made it back to the Alemada, back to the SUV, but Stefan and Damon are nowhere in sight. Elijah attempts to walkie them, but neither of the brothers responds.

"Maybe they're dead," Nik inquires." Hopefully they're dead."

"Well, that won't be any use for us if we don't have the key," Elijah deadpans. "We'll just wait. Be alert and wait."

Waiting is something that Nik is an expert at doing. Ten years in Belmarsh prepared him for such an activity. There isn't much to do in a cell besides wait. He collected the letters that Rebekah sent him over time, never opened a single one. They sat in the corner of his cell; stacked up in neat little piles in between the books Elijah sent him every few weeks. He must've read them about ten times each. He even began to memorize Insomnia by Stephen King, which did nothing to help his sanity.

"You need to start thinking about what might happen with Caroline," Elijah says softly. "If it's true."

"What happened to discussing this once we get back?" Nik retorts.

"You don't need to take your frustrations out on the wrong person," Elijah advises calmly. "Caroline will be even more devastated than you once you confront her. It's never too early to start thinking of solutions to this."

Nik spins around on his heel and glares. "There is no solution," he spits. "You want a solution? Kill her. Put her out of her misery before it even begins. That's your solution."

"Niklaus—" Elijah reaches out for his brother, but Nik snatches himself away.

"We're not bringing up a child in this world," he says, his throat tight. So tight. Constricting. "We can't."

"We can," Elijah replies, dropping his gaze. "You just don't want to. It's fear."

"What the fuck do you know about fear? Don't pretend like you know me! Where were you when Mikael beat Mum so bad she was in the hospital for two weeks? You didn't see how afraid she was of him. Where were you?"

Elijah opens his mouth to speak, but—

"You weren't there! You ran away just like you always did!"

"Niklaus, keep your voice down," his older brother advises, but Nik isn't listening. He can't hear him. Everything he's wanted to say to his brother is bubbling to the surface, overflowing at the top and spilling over. Elijah is covered in gasoline and Nik is just about to set him on fire.

"You're a liar!" Nik barks, his voice raspy and hoarse and thick. "You lied to me! You left and everything fell on me. Everything! I was fucking fifteen, Elijah! Fifteen!"

What is this feeling? What is this sudden emotion that stabs Nik in the gut over and over where each sharp pain is more terrible than the last? Why is it all coming back to him now?

There are times that Nik chooses not to remember and for good reason. This is one of those times. Or years. Elijah was supposed to protect him. He was supposed to stay there and never let him get hurt again, but he left him. He left him to fend for himself against that man who wasn't even his father. He left Nik there to protect himself and his mother and his younger siblings. Elijah left as soon as he could. He wanted nothing more than to leave and never look back, try and forget that house and those people he was forced loyalty to.

There are times that Elijah chooses to forget. This is one of those times.

"You don't know anything about fear, Elijah," he spits, looking away and wiping his face. And when he says it, he means it. Elijah didn't have to go to sleep wondering if he wouldn't wake up in the morning. Elijah didn't have to wake up and be greeted with a plethora of insults and slurs. "Do you know how hard it was trying to reach you once Mikael was gone? You didn't even tell us you left the UK."

"It was much more compl—"

"Bullshit," Nik hisses. "There were no complications. You wanted to forget we even existed. What happened to family above all, Elijah? Because I was there when neither you nor Finn were."

Elijah looks like a dog that's just been kicked in the stomach and then stomped on. What does he say? He can't deny it. He can't run from it. It's all in his face. Maybe he thought that helping pay for Kol and Rebekah's house had atoned for his absence. Or maybe it was already done when he put his best case to get Nik's prison sentence to the least. And if not, then it surely had to have been saving Rebekah from the side of the road and Nik just as a straggler was about to bite him. Had he not done penance?

"Niklaus, I'm—"

"I don't care." Nik mutters. "I really don't care about what else you have to say. Rebekah may choose to overlook it, but I won't."

Neither of the Salvatores is sure exactly how this happens, but they turn down the wrong street and there is a horde of undead. They're surprised they didn't notice them earlier, but there must be at least a hundred of them. They crowd the small street, their attention caught when Damon suddenly skids to a stop.

Stefan takes off running first, gripping his brother's arm as he goes. The faster the brothers run, the wiser the swarm gets. This is it, Damon thinks. This is how it ends. He can't run and shoot quickly enough. They don't drop as fast as he would hope. It doesn't cause any roadblocks for them. They run over each other, determined to feast on the Salvatores. They can smell their fear; their utter terror. They can hear how their hearts are pounding and how their lungs fight to expand and contract.

Damon stops running. He freezes and so does Stefan. The younger Salvatore looks at his brother before tugging on his arm, but Damon is unrelenting. He slips off his backpack easily and gives Stefan his gun. Glancing back, they're so close. They either keep running and neither of them makes it, or one has at least a chance. Even if it's not a big one.

And it's an easy decision, Damon concludes. He'd give up his life for Stefan time and time again. They aren't the best of friends, but if he had to choose between his life and Stefan's, he'll pick his brother's every time.

"Take care of yourself," Damon tells him and Stefan's eyebrows knit together.

Stefan swallows and takes in what's happening. No. No, no, no. "Damon, stop it. Come on!" He starts to run again, but Damon doesn't. He looks at him sadly, his eyes reflecting the life they once had. There's a childish innocence still there. There's a love—a strong bond—for his brother. There is care and friendship and nostalgia.

"Don't do this," Stefan says, his voice breaking. They're almost here and—"Damon please!"

"Tell Barbie I'm sorry, will ya?" Damon smiles and that's the last time Stefan sees his face.

Damon runs towards the undead, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He lived his life as the villain, but he sure as hell can die a hero. The teeth that tear into his skin, rip him apart, isn't when he screams. The hands and fingers that peel his flesh and muscle from his body isn't when he screams. He screams when he realizes that he didn't tell Stefan to apologize to Jeremy too.

Then he screams no more.

Goodbye, brother.

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A/N: Sigh. I'm going to go cry now. Wish me luck on my finals this week even if you hate me, please? Thank you!