It wasn't fair. How could she hyperventilate when she didn't need to breathe anymore? Breathing was a habit Elena hadn't shaken yet, apparently. Just like her habit of taking in deep gulps of air to try to quell the panic that was ripping through her. How could she tell Stefan? And he was just the tip of the iceberg. It would be indescribably awful to see the pain on his face as he realized that Damon hadn't done this to her, as he accepted that she had changed her life forever to be with his brother. Elena couldn't see him plunged into another decade of darkness because of her. This was her fault, all her fault, and it was only the beginning.
Once she told Stefan, how did she tell Caroline she'd thrown away her humanity for the man who had used and abused her? How did she confess to Alaric that she'd followed in Isobel's footsteps, begging Damon to turn her? How did she tell Jeremy that he was on his own now, the lone remnant of the Gilbert bloodline? And when Bonnie found out...
Her breath came in short, useless gasps. The veins slithered further down her face, writhing unbearably beneath her skin. Why wouldn't they go away? They had to go away—the fangs, the blood, it all had to go away. She had to tell Stefan, but she couldn't tell him looking like this, couldn't tell him while her blood still collected in sticky pools in the bathroom. She looked up at Damon in desperation.
His face was utterly human. That only made it worse. Her monster wouldn't go away. What had been beautiful only moments before was terrifying and wrong. It had to go away. She opened her mouth to speak, to beg Damon to make it stop, to bring her back, but he clamped a hand over her mouth, pressing a silencing finger to his own lips. She bit her lip, tearing twin pinpricks into the delicate flesh. The pain helped. She gave a tiny nod and he released her. They both turned toward the door with wide eyes.
"Don't get your panties in a twist, Stefan. Everything's fine," Damon said, somehow able to keep his voice light and mocking. How could he do that at a time like this? Couldn't he see what was happening? What an idiot she was. A goddess? Maybe that's what she saw—what Damon saw—but to the rest of the world, she was a disgusting, swollen tick. Even Stefan would look at her with revulsion. She was selfish; she was stupid.
"I don't believe you, Damon. It smells like blood. Elena's blood." The doorknob shook as he tested the door. Thank God it was locked. Of course, that would keep him out for about three seconds if he really got concerned. "Are you in there, Elena?"
Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What did she say? She couldn't lie to him, but she couldn't tell him. Not like this. "Yeah. I'm here. Can you just go downstairs and I'll come down and explain in a minute?" she asked tremulously. Could he tell from her voice? Did she even sound different now? She didn't know. Mostly, she just wanted him to go away, just to give her enough time to pull herself together and figure out how she could possibly explain this.
Stefan hesitated. Damon wrapped a supporting arm around her waist. "We're not dressed for company, brother," he drawled playfully, though he cast worried glances down at her. "Go crack open a chipmunk and we'll be down in a sec."
Another pause. "You sure you're okay, Elena?" Stefan called through the door.
"I said I'm fine!" She barked harshly. Damon winced. "Please. I'll tell you everything," she said softly.
Footsteps on the stairs were their only answer. They both stood motionless until they heard Stefan reach the lower floor, heard water pouring into the coffee machine, heard the seal being broken on a new bottle of scotch.
Elena caught sight of herself in the mirror. The dark irises of her eyes had nearly been devoured by the surrounding blood, the veins creeping ever lower on her face in her panic. "Damon-" she whispered.
"Shh," he soothed, ushering her to the edge of the bed. She sat, stifling a whimper. "Shh. You have to calm down."
"I fucking know that, Damon! But I can't calm down until it goes away and it won't go away until I calm down!" she hissed.
He was smiling. That son of a bitch was actually smiling at her. Oh, he was trying to hide it behind his hand a little, but that was definitely a fucking smirk. "Glad you find this funny. Glad my panic attack is so amusing."
"Oh, come on. It's not funny; I hate seeing you so upset." He took both her hands in his, pressing kisses to the back of each in turn. His nearness helped, a little. She no longer felt she was going to explode into tiny pieces of terror and rage. Progress. "But there's just a little schadenfreude in watching you find out just how overwhelming vampire emotions are." He grinned more broadly. "Not so easy being me, is it?"
That stopped her. In the immediate aftermath of turning, she'd forgotten that part of it. She'd been so focused on the whole dying part, then the whole blood drinking part, then the whole crazy vamp face part, she'd forgotten that the change wasn't purely physical. There was more to it than that. She stared up at him. "Is it always like this?"
He sat beside her, still holding her hands. She turned to face him. "Yes. It can be overwhelming. Rage. Sadness. Fear. That part sucks. But you also get to feel more happiness." He kissed her cheek. "More love." He kissed just beneath her ear. "More lust." She felt his smirk against her neck. "This is living in full color, Elena."
It was a lot. It was a lot to take in. Even in her new, nearly indestructible form, Elena wasn't sure how her skin could contain all these emotions. But if this was going to be her life now—a life of more guilt and more responsibility and more fear—would it be worth it for equal measures of joy and love? It would have to be, wouldn't it?
"Please tell me there's a vampire handbook for all this stuff," Elena said.
"Yep. You're looking at him," Damon said. "Can't wait to show you the ropes. But for now, you look pretty human to me."
She turned to the mirror. Sure enough, the predator was gone, hibernating for now. Leave it to Damon to distract her, even in her darkest moments. She hadn't thought it was possible to love him more than he had, but she was beginning to suspect she'd find a way.
"How do we tell him?" she asked. Hi, Stefan. I love your brother so much I died for him. Please don't decapitate anyone. By the way, got any blood? Super parched right now.
"Well, the first step is getting dressed. The naked thing might be awkward. For him; it's never awkward for me."
Elena managed a smile. She wanted to laugh, but knew she wasn't going to be able to until this was done. She rose and began digging through the closet, searching for whatever odds and ends of clothing she'd left here. She located a hoodie. Jeans. A pair of Converse sneakers.
"Nudity problem solved. Now what?" Elena asked as she found a bra and underwear in a drawer.
Damon sighed. He reached for her abandoned glass of blood and drained the last lingering drops. "We tell him the truth. And we tell him together. I don't know what else we can do."
"I don't want to hurt him," Elena said as she pulled her jeans on.
"But we already have," Damon said with a sad smile. "The hurting part's over. He just doesn't know it yet."
"Comforting," she said. She looked in the mirror. Normal. A little pale, but she doubted anyone except Caroline would notice her pallor.
"Just the truth, babe. You ready?"
"No." She headed for the door.
Damon beat her there, pulling the door open. "Yeah. Me neither."
They walked down the stairs hand in hand. Stefan was waiting with a scowl. "Took you long enough."
"You coulda used the time to get rid of the stiffs," Damon said , nudging the gray, crumbling corpses on the rug. "It'd be nice if you'd help with the body disposal every once in a while, Stef."
"It'd be nice if you explained why Sage and the guy who used to work reception at the Mystic Falls Blood Bank are dead," Stefan returned.
Well, that explained how Sage had found the poor bastard, anyway. "A lot happened last night, Stefan. After Finn died, Sage and that guy came here for revenge. But before they could do anything, they just dropped dead."
Stefan's eyebrows rose. "Vampires don't drop dead."
"Exactly what I said," Damon said. "Except it turns out they do, if the originator of their bloodline is, say, stabbed with a white oak stake by a busboy."
They watched as the light bulb went off in Stefan's head. "That's bad," he said.
"Ever the master of the obvious," Damon said. "But it gets better. You know that last stake we were supposed to take back to Rebekah and Klaus? The only weapon left on the planet that can kill an Original? Yeah, Ric's inner Hannibal Lecter came out to play again. We don't know where it is."
Stefan sat back, trying to process all this information. Good. Keep him distracted with all the life-altering vampire bloodline stuff. Maybe that would soften the blow. Unlikely, but Elena had to hope for something. She fidgeted.
"None of that explains why the house reeks of Elena's blood. That wasn't a paper cut." Stefan leaned forward, brow furrowed even more than usual. "You can tell me if he hurt you, Elena."
Damon just rolled his eyes, far too accustomed to his brother's recriminations. But Elena snapped. "Damon has done everything possible to protect me. And some things that were impossible. Everything that happened is on me. It's all because of me. It's all my fault."
"What are you talking about?" Stefan flicked his eyes to Damon. "What's she talking about?"
"She made her own choice, Stefan," Damon said ambiguously.
"Just tell me," he half-ordered, half-begged.
Part of Elena wanted to give the whole explanation. To tell him that it had been a decision they'd been considering, that it was a decision born of thought and love and agony, that it had been the right decision, to choose to enter that endangered bloodline. But in the end, she didn't owe him an explanation. She only owed him the truth. "I turned."
The world fell silent. Then the world exploded. Stefan had her by the throat, pinning her against the wall. "Katherine," he snarled. "What did you do, Katherine?"
Stefan staggered back as Damon's fist connected with his jaw, leaving Elena to stumble, coughing. The pain in her throat would have been unbearable as a human, but she could already feel tiny crushed and broken things in her throat shifting and mending. Damon wound up for another blow, but Elena shoved him in the chest. She'd just been trying to get his attention, but Damon flew through the air, stopped only when he struck the couch.
The boys stared. Well. That was new. But who cared right now? There would be time for fun with superpowers later, but for right now, she had to get Stefan to accept that this was real. This was her. This was her choice. Elena offered Damon a hand up.
"That's gonna take some getting used to," he muttered.
Elena didn't answer. She tore her hoodie off and yanked back the shoulder of her T-shirt. "Remember this?" she asked, looking at Stefan over her shoulder. His eyes were locked on the jagged X carved into her flesh.
"You told me...you told me to look for the X. So I'd know it was you," he whispered.
"I'm not Katherine. Never have been, never will be." She shrugged her shirt back on.
Tears prickled in Stefan's eyes. "Why?"
"Because I love him." Elena couldn't stand to see him cry, to see his hurt and confusion. She approached him, slowly, as she might approach a kicked, beaten dog. "And I loved you. You know that."
"But not enough. You didn't love me enough to do this," Stefan said bitterly. "I never would have asked you to."
"And that's the difference," she said softly. "Damon didn't have to ask." Once, Damon had tried to turn her to keep her alive. Once, she had begged to turn to protect the ones she loved. But the final choice hadn't been about life or death; hadn't been about anyone but her. It was a choice to stay with the person she loved most, no matter what. And Stefan would never understand that.
Damon came to stand at her side, his presence solid and comforting. She wanted badly to take his hand, to draw strength from him, but she couldn't. That might be the final straw that sent Stefan spinning off into despair and rage. This had been her decision; ultimately, the consequences were hers and hers alone.
But Stefan wasn't looking at her right now. He was staring at his brother. If looks could kill, Damon would be six feet under. But there was something tender in his eyes, too. "You can't leave her. You can't get tired of her. What she did for you..." He shook his head. "You saw where it got Sage. Promise me you'll take care of her."
There wasn't a trace of mockery or a hint of irony on Damon's face as he answered. "I love her. I'm not going anywhere."
Stefan nodded. His eyes were still too bright, but he wasn't throwing punches. Wasn't screaming. He was functioning. Surviving. Oh, he hurt. Elena could see that plain as day. But Stefan always hurt.
Impulsively, she drew him into a hug. "Someone will love you enough. Someone will love you as you should be loved."
Stefan didn't return the hug, but he didn't flinch away. "Take care of him, too."
"We'll take care of each other." She released him.
"I need to go. Clear my head. Find that stake," Stefan said. "And you two need to figure out what you're going to do about Klaus."
The door shut behind him, and Damon and Elena collapsed on the couch. "One throttling and one punch? I think that was the best Salvatore family meeting ever," Damon said.
"He's going to be okay. I think that night at Bonnie's house...I think he let me go." Maybe before then, maybe since he'd started sleeping with Rebekah, maybe even when he'd first left Mystic Falls and surrendered to Klaus and to the blood. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that one day, he found some modicum of peace. Maybe even a little happiness.
"I hope you're right. God, I hope you're right. For his sake," he sighed. "But in the meantime, he's got a point. Klaus isn't going to be happy about losing his hybrid machine, and we can't kill him now, seeing as he might be our great-great-great grand vampire."
"You're right. I was thinking-" Her stomach rumbled. "It still does that? There isn't even anything to digest."
"Everything works pretty normally. Even the gross stuff," he said.
"I better go get a blood bag," she said, climbing to her feet. "Caroline said she likes B-positive. What's your poison?"
"My poison doesn't come in a bag." He wrapped an arm around her waist, steering her to the door. "C'mon. We're going out."