The good news: To thank you all for sticking with me through all this, I'll be writing a one-off describing exactly what happened between Damon and Elena in their tutoring session (thanks to faithful reviewer Nymphadora for the idea). The bad news: It won't happen until this weekend, and this chapter is decidedly lacking in fluffy bunnies. But it's always darkest before the dawn. Please enjoy.
The front door slamming shut woke Elena. She blinked blearily around the room, then burrowed back under the covers. No. No way was she getting out of bed yet. It was Saturday, and she and Damon had spent most of the night studying. She bit her lip, smiling as she recalled just how effective his study methods had been.
It felt strange and sinful to lie there, not to rush off to rescue someone or thwart some coming evil, just to be able to close her eyes and let her thoughts drift on a sleepy Saturday morning. Granted, that would have been much more pleasant if Damon had still been in bed, but she'd make do. She was content to doze in a pleasant fog until she heard a familiar voice downstairs. It was distant and muffled, but she couldn't mistake Stefan's voice.
"Okay. I'm here. What do you want?" he asked flatly. All his words now were so curiously devoid of emotion, so empty of anything except hate and bitterness. So different from the brooding Stefan who seemed to feel everything more keenly than anyone she'd ever met. She still missed him, and suspected she always would. He was her first great, epic, sweeping love, the first man who'd made her feel alive and precious and desired and loved. No matter what kind of monster he was now, she could never forget the sweet, noble, kind boy he had been.
"I just think it's time we had a heart-to-heart, brother. One that doesn't involve sharp, pointy objects for a change," Damon said. "Sit down, let me pour you a drink."
Elena froze. He was going to tell Stefan! This was the moment he'd been waiting for, the words he'd been carefully crafting? He hadn't breathed a word of it last night. Quiet as a mouse, Elena slid out of bed and tip-toed to the closed door. She didn't dare open it—damn vampire hearing—but she pressed her ear against the door, not wanting to miss a word.
"Oh, were you going to tell me you're fucking Elena? Because Bonnie told me all about that," Stefan drawled, bored and disinterested. Elena felt like she'd been punched in the gut, like all the air had been forced from her body. "You know, it's funny. She seemed to think I'd actually care. I think she only told me because she thought I'd kill you for it." Footsteps. "But Damon, I'm not going to do that. I'm happy for you. It's nice that you get to have my sloppy seconds. Again."
Elena ripped the door open, half running, half falling out of the room and down the stairs. She could have predicted the scene before she laid eyes on it: Damon had Stefan by the throat, pressing him against a bookshelf, the younger Salvatore's feet dangling off the ground.
"Damon, no!" Elena cried.
"Get back upstairs, Elena. This is a family discussion; it doesn't concern you," Damon said coldly, not sparing her a glance.
"Come on, Damon," Stefan gasped. "There's no reason we can't share, just like we did with Kath-"
Damon released his grasp, sending Stefan crashing to the ground. Damon began to kick his younger brother as he lay on the floor, those stylish Italian shoes connecting with Stefan's ribs, the sound of splintering bone and squelching organs overlaid by the solid impact of Damon's foot again and again and again...
Elena ran towards the horrific scene, grabbing Damon's arm with both hands. "Stop!"
He shook her off, never pausing in his attack. She tried again, shoving his shoulder, trying to turn him away from Stefan's prone form. "You have to stop it! Damon, it's Stefan!" That got his attention: he stopped his assault, turning to stare at her for a long moment, eyes full of blood. He nodded, as if with sudden understanding.
"I was an idiot to think anything would change" Damon's gaze darted between Elena and Stefan's crumpled body. Then he shook his head. "Fuck you. Fuck both of you." And he was gone.
Elena stared at the place Damon had been. She didn't understand. None of it made sense. Damon had been so good, so in control lately. He really had been changing. But then to see him snap so quickly, to lose his cool over his brother's stupid insults...well, maybe that should be expected. But for him to turn on her? She hadn't foreseen that, and she sure as hell didn't understand it.
Stefan climbed to his feet, grinning at her through teeth stained with his own blood. "Well, I think that went well, don't you?" Elena's stomach roiled as she heard his ribs cracking, saw the bones rearranging under his tattered, torn shirt.
"Just shut up, Stefan," Elena said, looking around the living room, as if it might give her some clue about where Damon had gone.
"Don't worry, I'm leaving." He turned towards the door, then paused. "I expected this from him. But you?" For an instant, Elena could see the old Stefan shining through, vulnerable and sensitive as a sigh. "I expected more from you." Then he, too, was gone.
He wasn't at the town green. Or the Grille. Or Alaric's apartment. Or anywhere. She roamed the woods around the boarding house, calling his name until she was hoarse. His car still sat in the driveway, so she knew he couldn't have gone far. Out of options, she returned to the boarding house and waited. And waited.
She wanted to be sick. She wanted to kill Bonnie. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kill Stefan. She couldn't be still, pacing every inch of the house. Damon would come back. Wouldn't he? Or would he just run the first time things got tough between them, that their reality didn't meet his romantic dreams?
Worst of all, didn't even understand what had happened. "I was an idiot to think anything would change." What did he mean? She'd only been trying to help. None of it made sense.
The shadows lengthened. Afternoon turned into evening and evening into night. Klaus has him, she realized with a start. It has to be. Stefan left and did something stupid, and Klaus killed Damon. Or worse—what if he sired him? The thought left her cold. She seized her car keys, ready to march over to Klaus' house and...and do something, when the door creaked open and there he was.
"Damon. Thank God, I was so worried." She started to run to him, to fling her arms around him, but then she saw the terrible look in his eyes, scented the heavy smell of bourbon. She stopped, uncertain. "You're drunk."
"You really should be more surprised when I'm not drunk," he said, brushing past her. "But in this case, I have a socially acceptable reason to be wasted. Why are you still here?" Seizing the decanter, Damon poured two generous fingers of bourbon, then downed it like water.
"What do you mean, 'why am I here'? I spent all day looking for you! I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, Damon. What happened?"
More bourbon gurgled into his glass, but he didn't down it right away this time. He turned to look at her, and for a split-second, Elena saw every one of his years etched onto his face in lines of grief and pain and despair. "'You have to stop,'" he mimicked cruelly. "'Damon, it's Stefan.'" He snorted. "That sounds familiar. You worded it a little differently last time, though. How did you put it?" He pretended to search for the words. "Oh, right. 'It's Stefan, it's always going to be Stefan!'" More bourbon disappeared. "Go home, Elena. Or go find Stefan. That's what you really want."
Elena stared. "You think I want to be with Stefan? That's what you thought I meant? That I couldn't stand to watch you hurt him? That's why you stomped out of here like a spoiled brat?"
"Spare me the lecture, Elena. Go, do what you always do: go save the bad boy from himself, ease his suffering, make him see the hero deep inside." He sneered, but it melted from his face. "The worst part is, I believed you. I believed that you could really be with me, that you could really love me like I loved you. That's the worst part."
"Damon, you don't know what you're saying," Elena whispered.
"I know what I saw, Elena." He rounded on her, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring. "I saw-"
"You saw me trying to save you from killing your brother," Elena interrupted. "Yeah, Damon. That's exactly what I said: It's Stefan, and you could never forgive yourself if you lost your temper and killed him because of me. And if you hadn't run away like a coward, I could have told you that and I wouldn't have spent all afternoon thinking you were dead and you wouldn't be drunk and pathetic."
The words kept tumbling out; she was on a roll now, couldn't stop herself. "But you go ahead, you believe the worst. You believe no one can ever love you. You're damaged goods, right? Well newsflash, Damon: So am I. And I still love you. In spite of everything, I love you. But what's going to come between us isn't your stupid asshole brother, Damon. It's you."
She had to stop then—she ran out of breath. Elena wasn't sure which of them was more surprised by the outburst. Damon's face fell, all the anger visibly ebbing out of him. He swayed on his feet. "That...that's all true, isn't it?"
Elena shook her head in disgust. "Yes, Damon. Of course it's true." She turned to the door. "I'll see you around."
"You're leaving? Elena, don't go."
"You need to sleep it off, Damon. And you need to figure out what you really want—if you can get out of your own way and love me. Because Damon? I chose you. Not Stefan." She sighed. "Goodnight."
She didn't look back; she knew if she did, she'd stay. But she kept her back straight and her head high as she walked away, returning to a night of tears in a house full of ghosts.