Disclaimer: Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
A/N: Buckle up, folks. It's gonna be a long chapter, but I hope it's a decent start. There's a longer A/N at the end, but for now, on with chapter 1! Thanks for reading!
"Choose your love. Love your choice." – Thomas S. Monson
Chapter 1: Crossroads
"Are you telling me," Damon hissed with barely restrained contempt, "that you had a choice between Elena and the quarterback, and you let her die?"
Outside the morgue in the halls of the Mystic Falls Hospital, Stefan Salvatore steeled himself for the (much deserved) onslaught of his brother's fury.
Stefan wouldn't admit it, but hearing Damon voice his sins aloud, even resentful as he was, provided a welcome reprieve from the constant assault of guilt and self-loathing Stefan had been turning upon himself since he first pulled Elena's lifeless body from the wreckage beneath Wickery Bridge, before he knew she wasn't lost forever. Damon, even at his worst, could never cause a greater pain than that.
Even still, it was with reluctance that Stefan recounted the tragic events of the evening, beginning with Elena's death at the hands of a vengeful Rebekah Mikaelson, and ending with the reason why he didn't make it to save her in time.
Why he had let her die.
It was a subtle distinction, really, the difference between letting Elena die and simply being too late to save her; either way, the irrevocable consequence was a bitter pill to swallow, to say the least. Did Stefan's intensions even matter when it inevitably ended in tragedy? It did to him, of course. Her death felt as heart-wrenching as if he had snapped her neck with his own hands. Everything that led to this moment was entirely avoidable. Her life was in his hands, she didn't have to die, he made the choice, he could have prevented this… There was no denying this single truth. Elena, the love of his immortal life, was dead. And his actions had made it so. It was a reality even more disturbing than the darkest period of his bloody, checkered past as The Ripper.
Stefan's only consolation was that he had done as Elena had asked—begged—him to do. Because as much as he wanted to put her life first, a part of him wanted to put her ideals first even more. Her compassion. Her inherent goodness. Her willingness to sacrifice everything for the people she loved. Who was he to let the legacy of Elena Gilbert die?
He couldn't be that selfish. Not with Elena. She deserved so much better than stifled principles, and Stefan desperately wanted to be worthy of her. He respected her choice, much as he despised himself for it. So he saved her friend first, preserving one drop of her happiness in an ocean of tragic memories. Even if she had to suffer an eternity for that happiness. Even if she deserved far more than a life of death and bloodlust and self-hate. Even if she hated Stefan forever for the consequences he forced upon her.
Because it wasn't Stefan's choice to make; it was hers.
It was her choice. Her choice. Elena's choice.
This last revelation was the only thing that gave Stefan any semblance of comfort when he had stood over Elena's body in the cold silence of the morgue, agonizing over her fate and the part he had played in it. This one thought became his mantra, and he clung to it desperately as a drowning man clings to a life raft, lest he be swept away by his own rage and despair and regret. He knew it was a poor defense at best. (Her choice. His choice. In the end, did it really make a difference?) But in the end, it was all he had.
Stefan forced his eyes to meet Damon's, which were practically screaming at him to contradict his accusation, begging him to deny that Elena's death was avoidable, that Stefan of all people chose anyone over the girl they both loved. But, of course, he had nothing to offer but disappointment.
"She begged me to save Matt first. And I…" he paused, knowing his next words would ring hollow and just incite his brother's rancor yet again. "I respected her choice."
Damon stared at him in disbelief. "Great, Stefan. Leave it to you to turn an act of chivalry into a Greek tragedy. And while you were off respecting her choice," he sneered, throwing Stefan's words back at him, "and earning your title as Boyfriend of the Year, you let the most important person in our lives die!" Damon took a menacing step forward, his icy blue eyes narrowing. "Really, brother, bravo."
But Stefan didn't back down; if anything, his brother's well-aimed barbs finally ignited the spark of anger hidden beneath the layers of guilt. "You think I'm happy about this?" he shot back, defensive. "I was there the day Elena told me she never wanted to be a vampire."
And as quickly as it had come, Stefan felt the fight leave him, making room once again for the grief he desperately wanted to block out. Trying to regain control of the emotions clouding his mind, he closed his eyes briefly and began massaging his temple with his thumb and forefinger. "And I never wanted this life for her," he finished quietly.
"Then you shouldn't have let her die!" Damon exclaimed, pressing his advantage. Stefan's eyes flew open. "And what if she hadn't had my blood in her system at the time, huh? What then, Stefan? We'd be burying her, all because you couldn't handle a few of her tears over some collateral damage!"
Stefan knew he was right. Elena's happiness… it was his Achilles' heel. It always had been, ever since he had met her. She had already suffered far too much in her young life, and he'd do anything to make her smile. In a cruel twist of fate, it seemed the definition of 'anything' now included sacrificing her humanity, spiraling from the subsequent guilt, and reigniting his brother's on-again-off-again loathing for the next century. Damon had promised him an eternity of misery, after all, way back when they had first turned. At least Stefan was doing his part to earn it.
Now there was nothing left to do but face the consequences.
"I made a choice, one that I will regret for the rest of my existence," Stefan said, emphasizing the last few words. Given his brother's lack of response, they did little to earn him sympathy. "Hate me all you want, Damon. You can't possibly hate me as much as I hate myself."
Damon's lips quirked into a cruel smile. "Don't underestimate me, brother."
Before Stefan could reply, they were interrupted by a shrill scream resonating on the other side of the door, followed by a collection of panicked, heaving sobs.
Elena.
Damon clearly came to the same conclusion, his eyes meeting Stefan's in a shared look of understanding.
"We can go ten rounds later," he relented, anger giving way to rising concern at the sound of Elena's distress call. "Sounds like Sleeping Beauty's awake."
Elena ached all over. Whatever adrenaline had been building in her system prior to her outburst was already receding, leaving her body completely and utterly spent.
Not only that, but her throat was still parched, and instinctively she knew that it wasn't water she was craving.
It was blood. Warm, flowing, human blood.
It shocked her to realize that the bloodlust was already beginning. And she was in a hospital of all places, surrounded not only by blood bags, but also living, blissfully ignorant human donors. Without even concentrating, Elena could make out the dull thrum of a hundred hearts beating a merciless cacophony, all sound and chaos, calling her, sending her already frazzled senses on overdrive.
Elena inhaled, closing her eyes in desire. The sound of flowing blood was tempting, but the smell… the smell was what was truly intoxicating. It called to her in a way that nothing had ever tantalized her before. It was like she had tunnel-vision, shutting out all else except thoughts of the most vital, wonderful substance in existence…
She was so distracted by the sweet, coppery scent that she almost missed someone calling her name.
Whirling to face the door, Elena nearly sobbed with relief as soon as she saw Stefan walk through the entrance of the morgue. She rushed forward and flung her arms around him, desperate for the comfort of his embrace. No matter how crazy things seemed in their messed up world, he had always been able to anchor her to sanity, as if his arms had some magical ability to keep her emotions from flying in a thousand directions at once.
"Stefan," she sighed.
Glancing over his shoulder, Elena was surprised to see another familiar face join them. "Damon?"
Last she had heard, he was a hundred miles outside Mystic Falls dealing with their latest crisis: hiding Klaus' desiccated body from Alaric's vampire-hating alter-ego and his indestructible white oak stake. Ironically, protecting Klaus had been the only way to protect her loved ones, as they were unfortunately the vampire descendants of the Original hybrid himself. But in the end, not even Damon could stop his old friend from staking Klaus, killing him once and for all. And Elena had spoken to Damon right after it had happened.
The phone call. The last conversation she thought they would ever have. It all came rushing back to her…
When Elena knew that it was all over, that every member of Klaus' bloodline would die, all she could spare Damon was a lousy phone call. It was far less than what he deserved.
As always, Elena was stuck in limbo, caught between the Salvatore brothers, endlessly wavering between them with her indecisiveness. Only this time, the stakes were higher than ever. This time she was literally halfway between Stefan and Damon, and she had no time left for stalling. If Klaus was telling the truth about siring their bloodline, they would both be dead within the hour.
It wasn't until that moment, in that final hour when fate forced her hand, that Elena realized how much she truly cared for both brothers, and how much it killed her to let one go, let alone both. She had always believed that she hadn't chosen sooner because, as Klaus put it, she was afraid of destroying their brotherly bond. But deep down, she knew the real reason, and it wasn't selfless at all. It was her most guarded secret, but she couldn't ignore the truth anymore.
Elena didn't delay choosing for their sake; she did it for hers.
She was too selfish to let either of them go. She wanted—needed—both of them in her life. She couldn't lose anyone else she loved.
It's okay to love them both. I did.
Katherine Pierce's immortal words echoed in her mind, tormenting her with their infinite truth. Had Elena ever thought she was any better than her?
After all, Elena had fallen into the same pitfall as her ancestors before her, even knowing full well the consequences of getting caught between two brothers. And she could try to blame her dilemma on the curse of being the doppelganger, but she eventually had to acknowledge that she had no one to blame but herself. Regardless of her feelings and her heritage, her choices were entirely her own. Or rather, her reluctance to choose.
And now, Elena had to make that choice: As time faded around them with Stefan and Damon on their deathbeds, who got the final goodbye?
She chose Stefan.
He was her rock, her everything, and as Caroline would say, her "epic love." Being with him was as easy and wonderful as breathing, and many of her happiest memories were spent with him. He had brought her back to life once, and not just because he had saved her from drowning the night her parents died. When they had first met for real, she fell for him instantly because he made her feel alive again. For the first time since that tragic night, she was glad that she didn't die along with her parents.
And that's what love should be, she remembered herself saying only hours ago. You should love the person that makes you glad that you're alive.
And that should have been the end of it, but of course there was the added complication: Damon. He had wormed his way into her stubborn heart so gradually that she hardly knew when it first began. He had this way of unnerving her, but not in a repellant way; his ability to unsettle her actually attracted her even more. He challenged her, he pushed her to her limits, and he forced her to question everything she thought she knew. Being around him was anything but easy, but Elena had to admit it was exhilarating. And ever since she had met him, there was just no shaking him from her system, no matter what. At least, not completely.
Perhaps not ever.
That's why it had shattered her heart to hurt him so deeply with that lame goodbye phone call. To not be there for him when he needed her most. To choose his brother over him, again.
Elena felt Stefan give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze, bringing her thoughts back to the present. With that last unhappy memory in mind, she was naturally a little wary of greeting Damon as he stood with her in the morgue, but she couldn't deny how happy she was to see him. To see both brothers at her side.
"You're both here," she heard herself say.
Damon threw her one of his typical tight-lipped, off-kilter smiles in acknowledgement, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Clearly the tension she felt between them wasn't just her imagination.
Focusing her attention back on Stefan, Elena pulled back slightly to gaze into his warm, green eyes.
"But how? I thought both of you were dying?"
Stefan shook his head, looking as much at a loss as Elena felt. "Klaus must have lied about being the sire of our bloodline. It's the only explanation for how we're all still alive."
Elena was quiet as she considered that. It made sense enough, but his final words reminded her of the most important matter she needed to address.
After a moment of internal struggle, Elena finally forced herself to utter the words she was terrified of having confirmed. "But I'm not, am I? Alive." It wasn't a question.
Stefan's gaze dropped to the floor before he slowly brought it back to meet hers, tears forming in his eyes. The look on his face just about broke her heart. His anguish was plain to see, and Elena couldn't help wondering what he must have gone through while she was unconscious, blaming himself for her condition.
"I'm so sorry, Elena," he whispered.
"Don't, Stefan," she protested, placing a comforting hand on his cheek. "You just did what I—oh my God, Matt!" she exclaimed, suddenly filled with alarm. "Where is he? Is he okay? Did you—"
"He's alive, Elena," he assured her.
She let out a shaky breath in relief, smiling sadly as she thanked him with every bit of sincerity she felt.
Elena had no doubt that Stefan would always feel regret and guilt over his decision to save Matt first. But in time, she hoped that he would accept the choice he had made and understand that he had done the right thing. Elena hated that she put him in such an awful position, but she would always be grateful that Stefan made the best of it for her sake. He always did. It was one of the best things about him.
But clearly Damon didn't think so, which he made perfectly clear when he finally decided to speak up for the first time.
"Yes," he sneered, lacing that one syllable with more sarcasm than Elena thought possible. "Let's all thank Stefan, the hero, for his public service." His voice was as harsh as a whip, completely devoid of the sympathy she had seen in his eyes only moments before.
Turning to his brother, Damon added, "If I see any gift baskets from the Mystic Falls High School football team on our doorstep, I'll be sure and forward them along to you."
"Damon, don't—"
"Don't what, Elena? Don't tell it like it is?" he cut across her. "Sorry, not my style."
Stefan looked angry. "Back off, Damon. Now's not the time—"
Feeling helpless, Elena's eyes abruptly glistened with fresh tears. She was already unstable without the added frustration of the hostile turn this conversation was taking.
"Listen," she addressed Damon again, inhaling deeply to strengthen her resolve. She immediately regretted the action. Once again, her olfactory senses were brutally assaulted by the strong, tantalizing scent of fresh blood drifting from nearby hospital patients down the corridor. Stefan and Damon had provided a welcome distraction before, but now it seemed they were just adding fuel to the fire.
Elena tried once again to finish her thought, but for the life of her—what's left of it, she thought idly—she couldn't even remember what she had been trying to say. The more she tried to focus, the heavier the fogginess in her mind became until it was nearly impossible to ignore. She couldn't tell if it was the bloodlust, her heightened emotions, the exhaustion from fighting them, or some bizarre combination of all three battling for dominance, but whatever this overwhelming sensation was, it nearly brought her to her knees.
"Elena?" Stefan sounded worried, but she couldn't confirm it by reading his expression. When had she shut her eyes?
She felt strong hands grip her upper arms, keeping her upright, and she instinctively knew it was Stefan supporting her.
"Looks like we'll have to continue our little reunion later." Damon. He too sounded concerned, all animosity apparently forgotten for the time being.
"We need to get her out of here. She's unstable with this much blood around."
"A hospital isn't exactly the most accommodating environment for an almost-newbie vamp. Right." Elena detected Damon's almost business-like shift in tone. "Meredith said no one else saw you bring her in tonight. I'll stay here and make sure it stays that way. You just get her back to HQ, keep her safe."
Elena felt Stefan carefully sweep her up into his arms, one under her knees and the other protectively encircling her shoulders. Damon's voice calling after them was the last thing Elena heard before she succumbed to the overwhelming urge to sleep.
"And if I were you, brother, I'd avoid taking any bridges."
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, Elena woke up aching, disoriented, and unsettled. This time, at least, it was in the comfort of an actual bed.
Even still she didn't relax, keeping her eyes squeezed shut as she recalled all that had transpired. Her life had been completely turned upside down, and it wasn't about to get any easier. She was still in transition to become a vampire; if anything, her troubles were only just beginning.
Banishing those heavy thoughts for the moment, Elena immediately noticed something she hadn't when she first stirred from sleep: a pounding cadence echoing throughout her room. Somehow, that sound was incredibly enticing, its rhythm as hypnotic as a siren's song calling to a love-struck sailor. And combined with that sweet smell…
Wait, what?
It only took Elena two seconds to solve the mystery: She wasn't alone. Someone—a human—was with her, and they were close. Too close.
Their pulse hammered a steady beat against her eardrums and made their presence impossible to ignore. Elena could literally hear the blood pumping through their veins; smell the sweet, coppery scent so much clearer than in the hospital; sense just how near its source was, sitting in her room, waiting for her. Alone, unaware, vulnerable. Practically begging her to give in to her new, predatory nature.
Unwittingly Elena felt an aching in her gums, the hint of elongated canines eager to force their way through and tap into a pulsing blood vessel; eager to feel the delicious, warm liquid coat her parched throat… She had never understood until that moment how just the thought of blood could appeal so strongly to vampires. A craving so strong that it often stripped them of their humanity, leaving a trail of blood and corpses in their wake.
That horrifying image was enough to sober her up. Eyes flying open, Elena gasped in horror as she fought to reign in the sudden urge to leap from her covers and turn her bedside companion into her first human meal.
The next thing she heard chased that desire away almost completely. Almost.
"You're awake."
Elena froze, disbelieving, as a wave of relief swept through her, quelling her baser instincts for the time being. She would recognize that voice anywhere. It belonged to the person she wanted to see more than any other, and as long as he was here, with her, then maybe her life wasn't as hopeless as she believed.
Even if she was more than a little tempted to drink his blood.
"Jeremy," she breathed, her voice thick from exhaustion… and from thirst. But even that detail couldn't derail her happiness at hearing her younger brother's voice. Grateful for his company, Elena hastily pushed her comforter away and rolled over to see him smiling at her from the window seat.
Something about her appearance must have troubled him, because he suddenly leaned forward, scrutinizing her. He looked worried—understandable, given the circumstances. "Are you okay? You've been out of it for a while now."
It was true. Until Elena had moved to face Jeremy, she hadn't noticed the sunbeams pooling through her open window, bathing a large portion of her bedroom with its warm, soft glow (although it seemed much brighter than that to her). If the sun had been up long enough to illuminate her room this much, then she must have slept for several hours at least.
A subtle movement above Jeremy's head caught her eye: A hanging decoration she had had since she was little, something she saw every day without a second thought, swayed in the gentle breeze coming through her open window. Sunlight pierced the dangling crystals like prisms, casting several rainbows onto her floor. She watched colorful shapes dance across the surface—for how long, she wasn't sure—but she was oddly fascinated by their genuine beauty. They were their own natural works of art. She could practically see individual beams of light, they were so detailed—where exactly the red turned into red-orange, and red-orange became pure orange, which faded into a lighter orange the exact shade of the sun on a warm, summer day in the South. Such a display probably would have gone unnoticed to anyone else (any human, at least) but Elena could see everything—an idea that terrified her as much as it excited her.
Back and forth, back and forth, the rainbows scuttled across the floor, and Elena watched them, mesmerized. There was a sense of freedom about them that she envied, silly as that sounded. I'd much rather be one of these rainbows, Elena thought wistfully. A creature of the light… not darkness.
Hearing a cough from Jeremy, she realized she never answered his question.
"I'm… dealing," she settled on, meeting his gaze. The light behind him was intense, invading the sanctuary of her room and spreading like an infectious disease. She winced slightly and drew back—an action that didn't go unnoticed by her brother.
He quickly located the source of her discomfort, and, mumbling an apology, jumped up to draw her window and curtains shut. And while her eyes rejoiced at the absence of pain, for a brief moment Elena mourned the loss of light and the lovely little rainbows. They were as much slaves to the dark as she would be to the sun—yet another cold reminder that for every perk of vampirism, like her ability to perceive just how glorious those rainbows were, there would always be a drawback. A sacrifice.
"You don't have to put on a brave front for me, Elena."
"I'm fine, Jer. Really," she insisted.
He clearly wasn't buying it. "I know you better than that. You say everything's okay, even when you're falling to pieces—"
"I said I'm fine, okay?" she snapped, sudden annoyance fueling her words. Why couldn't he just leave it alone?
At the sight of her brother's startled expression, Elena's features immediately softened as she felt the anger evaporate as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced by a flood of remorse.
"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean that." She sighed, shaking her head. "My emotions have been a little more—no, a lot more—demanding since I first woke up in transition."
Jeremy flashed her a small, sympathetic smile. "When I saw Ric's ghost… I thought you were gone for good." He shook his head, as if trying to dispel the painful memory. "You can yell if you want. Hell, go crazy if you need to. Honestly, I'm just glad you're still with me."
Elena didn't know how much she needed to hear those words until he just said them, and she felt a real surge of love for her brother. She hated that he was suffering right along with her, but there would be plenty of time to mull that over later. Right now, something else he mentioned stole her attention. "You saw Ric?"
He nodded. "The real Ric. Not his evil twin," he joked before his expression turned solemn once again. "He was sorry about what happened to you, Elena. He never wanted this to happen."
"I know. But I was supposed to die, Jer. I was ready to die. I accepted it."
It wasn't until she said the words out loud that she realized none of this made sense. She should have died, so why didn't she? Or rather, how did she become undead?
"Wait a minute, I never drank… I mean, how did I…?" She was at a complete loss, but thankfully Jeremy understood her confusion.
"Have vampire blood in your system before you died?" he finished for her. "Stefan called me last night. Apparently, when I brought you to the hospital yesterday, your head injury was critical, much worse than Dr. Fell told me. I guess she didn't want me to worry, so she healed you with some of Damon's blood and kept it quiet."
Elena nodded as she slowly digested the new piece of information. Maybe part of her should have been upset with Meredith for putting her in this terrible position, but she just couldn't bring herself to blame her good intentions. Meredith had saved her life yesterday, and not just from her head injury. Without Damon's blood, Elena would have died for good when she drowned—and she never would have gotten a second chance. Whether she transitioned or not, at the very least Elena got to live on borrowed time long enough to see her loved ones again. Even if she ultimately used her time simply to tell them goodbye.
When Elena finally spoke, her voice wavered, defeated. "I guess my number was up one way or another. You were right, Jeremy." His eyebrows lifted at that. "This whole town… it's toxic. And I was an idiot to think I could continue down the dangerous path I was on and survive without consequence."
Jeremy said nothing—neither of them could deny the truth of her words, after all—but from the look on his face, he seemed to be having some sort of internal debate.
But Elena couldn't focus on that. Her emotional instability, heightened by the raging hormones fueling her supernatural metamorphosis, was getting the best of her yet again, leaving her prone to her baser instincts. And right now, those instincts were honed in on the thick vein twitching in her little brother's neck. His pulse pounded a violent tattoo in her head, amplified by the silence stretching between them. Between predator and prey.
Elena suddenly felt horrified with herself. How could she possibly thinking of her little brother as prey? She would die before she ever hurt him.
And yet, ever since she had begun transitioning, blood was always on her mind. It consumed her every thought, if she were being honest. Sure, there were times when she distracted herself, but it was only temporary—the craving was always there, buried just beneath the surface, itching to unleash the monster within her, the one pushing her to grab, bite, drink and revel in the hedonism of it all, something she had never allowed herself to do before, burdened as she was by her compassion. And she knew, she just knew, if she gave in, the pain would stop—the burning in her throat, her ears, her gums; the grief she had suffered time and time again as her loved ones continued to die on her, because of her. All of it would be over. She wouldn't have to feel any of it. She could be numb to the pain, delight in the ecstasy. And all it would take to make it reality was the magical elixir pulsing through the delicate veins of the human sitting across from her. It would be so easy…
No, she refused. She wouldn't let the monster win. But the allure was undeniably strong. How long could she hold out before she gave in?
"Elena, there's something you should know," Jeremy finally said, yanking her back to the conversation at hand. He hesitated—not much, but Elena knew her brother well. It was enough to put her on guard.
Jeremy suddenly stood and closed the distance between them, taking a seat next to Elena on the edge of her bed—an action so abrupt that the monster nearly reared its ugly head right then and there. She took several deep breaths in what she hoped was a discreet attempt to suppress her inner demon. If Jeremy saw through her, he didn't say, focused as he was on whatever it was he was about to tell her. Despite his uncomfortably close proximity, Elena noticed how serious Jeremy looked and found herself impatient to listen to his words, not his pulse.
She saw the resolve form in his eyes before he spoke again. "Bonnie and I… we're looking for a way out of this. A way to stop the transition."
Elena inhaled sharply, her bloodlust all but forgotten. "What? Is that even possible?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But Bonnie once made some kind of deal with the spirits to save my life. Maybe she can do the same for you."
"But the consequences were horrible," she objected, remembering how Bonnie had breached the veil to the Other Side, the realm that contained the spirits of dead supernatural beings, and inadvertently saddled Jeremy with the ability to see and communicate with them.
"And what could be worse than you becoming a vampire?" he countered. "You're not going to be one of them, Elena. Not if we can save you."
Elena was skeptical, but couldn't stop the bubble of hope swelling within her. There was still a chance. She could be normal. She could grow up. Have a family. Be human.
But was there any sort of precedent for reversing vampirism? Elena vaguely recalled that the Original witch Esther had planned to turn her children human again in order to kill them. Was it possible for any other witch to perform such a spell? Or did it have to be her, the one who created vampires in the first place? Or maybe there was some loophole hidden within the numerous pages of one of the grimoires in Bonnie's possession? Elena scarcely dared to dream.
She shook her head in bewilderment. There were too many unlikely scenarios. Too many what-ifs and possibilities that could go wrong. But she knew that if anyone could find a way to help her, it would be Bonnie. She always came through, even when Elena asked for far too much.
But still—
"What if it doesn't work?"
Without hesitation, Jeremy reached over and pulled his sister in for a hug. It was heaven and hell. Elena loved her brother dearly and knew he meant well, but his innocent gesture flooded her senses and sent her predatory instincts reeling. Like the flip of a switch, the smell of his blood intensified from barely tolerable to overwhelming. His steady heartbeat, now only inches from her sensitive ears, pounded like a battering ram inside her skull. But worst of all, what was once a dull ache in her gums strengthened into a stabbing pain as she felt her dormant fangs begin their descent, impatient to pierce the delicate flesh of her brother's neck. Elena stiffened in his embrace as she tried to regain control of the impulses.
But Jeremy had already moved away, holding her at arms-length to look her straight in the eyes.
"No matter what happens, you'll always be my sister. Even if you're one of them," he emphasized, gifting her with a ghost of a smile. "But until that time comes, we won't stop until we find a way."
As Bonnie Bennett made her way into the dark, silent tunnels of the old Lockwood cellar, it felt like she was walking straight into the lion's den. Which didn't make a whole lot of sense since it was her idea to meet there in the first place.
Entering the main chamber, she immediately noticed a familiar ornate casket resting innocently in the middle of the room as if it belonged there. Bonnie stared at it in confusion, and couldn't help the slight feeling of déjà vu that crept up from her subconscious. Wasn't this how one of her dreams started when this whole mess began? Except there had been four coffins, and she had been in the old house where the spirits of a hundred dead witches hid them from their enemies. And yet, something about her current circumstances felt strangely familiar…
A dream. It was just an old dream, she reminded herself.
Bonnie slowly crept up to the coffin and reached out a hesitant hand towards the lid. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and without further reluctance, threw open the lid before she could change her mind. And somehow, she wasn't at all surprised by what she found inside. Or rather, who.
It was the Original hybrid himself. Klaus.
But it wasn't, not really. Because Bonnie knew that the body lying in the coffin was nothing more than just an empty shell—a very burnt, very desiccated shell.
Over half of his face, neck, and torso was a charred mess. Where flesh still remained, thick black veins snaked beneath the surface of his translucent gray skin, parched from the desiccation spell still in effect. Bonnie had never seen him look so… helpless, and she couldn't stop the rush of pride that coursed through her knowing that her magic had made it so. Now, Klaus was certainly a far cry from the man that had ruthlessly terrorized Mystic Falls ever since he first rolled into town with his hybrid-crazed agenda.
Ever since that day, Klaus' face had haunted her nightmares. He was the most feared and most powerful being in the world, the catalyst for so much misery inflicted upon her and her friends' lives. He murdered Jenna, and even Elena, during the sacrifice to break his hybrid curse; he deprived Stefan of his humanity and forced him to once again become the self-loathing, murderous Ripper; he turned Tyler into one of his many sired hybrid minions; and nearly killed Jeremy, Caroline, and Bonnie herself on multiple occasions. Hell, he even carted around his siblings, those he professed to care about, in coffins with daggers shoved in their hearts. There was no doubt in Bonnie's find: He was a complete monster.
And yet, despite his claim to power and immortality, Bonnie had been among the few to finally take him down, leaving him in an impotent state to rot for eternity. It was no less than what he deserved, and at the time, she celebrated that he was finally out of their lives for good.
She should have known that in Mystic Falls, the monsters only stay in the dark for so long.
The respite from Klaus's reign of terror hadn't lasted even one day before Bonnie had grudgingly spared his life to save the lives of her loved ones from Alaric's plan to rid the world of vampires. The fact that Klaus, of all the Originals, sired her friends' and mother's bloodline must have been some kind of cruel cosmic joke—but such is the supernatural karma of Mystic Falls.
For all her selfless intentions, however, Bonnie knew that the spirits of the dead witches would surely scorn her action—siding with vampires, whose very existence defied the sacred laws of nature—as a betrayal. But Bonnie couldn't bring herself to regret her decision. If their rage and retribution was the price to pay to save her family, then so be it. It was worth it.
Not to mention, Bonnie found her new independence utterly exhilarating.
Gazing down at Klaus's hollow body, she wrinkled her nose in a mixture of revulsion and confusion. What bothered Bonnie even more than the fact that his body had somehow survived an impromptu cremation was the question of how it came to be here, in the cellar, where she was supposed to be meeting its owner.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice called out from the shadows.
Speak of the devil.
If she didn't know better, Bonnie would have said that it was Tyler Lockwood speaking. It was his voice, after all. But despite recognizing it, she heard the familiar underlying drawl that clearly belonged to another creature altogether.
"What is that doing here, Klaus?" Bonnie demanded, gesturing to the coffin as she slammed the lid shut.
"Have a care, Bonnie." His reply was more amused than reproachful. "That's precious cargo you're manhandling." Despite inhabiting Tyler's body, the characteristic lilt of Klaus' speech was more pronounced than ever, cementing his true identity in Bonnie's mind once and for all.
"Why is your body here?" she repeated. "Or more importantly, how? I thought it burned to ash when Alaric staked you."
His lips slowly curved upwards. "As did I. But in a rather fortunate turn of events, it seems your teacher isn't quite as smart as the education system would have you believe. Good thing he taught history, not science."
Klaus looked at her expectantly, but Bonnie wasn't following his roundabout train of thought. "What do you mean?"
"As a servant of nature, I would have expected you to have a rudimentary understanding of the physics of fire," he tsked her, voice thick with condescension. And given the smug expression on his face, he clearly enjoyed lording his advantage over her.
Bonnie pursed her lips but otherwise ignored the insult, simply waiting for him to elaborate.
It wasn't long before he obliged. "If the teacher intended to destroy me completely, he should have let the flames consume my entire body. Instead, he closed the coffin prematurely, deprived the fire of oxygen, and consequently left my body intact." He grinned, a cruel smile that sent a shiver down Bonnie's spine. "His ignorance equals my survival. A rather pleasant twist of fate, I'd say. Although," he added, frowning down at his temporary body, "the choice of real estate does leave something to be desired."
Still smarting from his jab at her inexperience, and annoyed that even in a vulnerable state Klaus was as arrogant as ever, Bonnie couldn't resist the chance to even the score. "Why? Is there something wrong with your current form?"
She couldn't help feeling disappointment when he remained unmoved by her insolence, shrugging loftily. "It served its purpose. But aside from the Lockwood boy being an inferior vessel, this body is also a liability. It became vulnerable when the teacher outed him and set the Council on a warpath. Which brings us to why you're here." His eyes darkened perceptibly as he informed her, "You're going to put me back."
"I'm here because I called you, not the other way around," she coolly reminded him.
Perhaps it wasn't her smartest move, provoking an impatient, not to mention very deadly Original, but the urgency of her new objective didn't leave much time to be subtle. If she was going to get what she came for, she had to be both upfront with her intentions and assertive in demanding them. With his disdain for weakness, Klaus wouldn't respond favorably to anything less.
And unfortunately, despite having an edge over him in his current state, Bonnie still needed his cooperation.
"I need more time," she blurted. "There's been a… complication."
Really, Bonnie? That's the best you've got? she chided herself, cursing her lame excuse. Klaus wasn't exactly known for accepting vague explanations.
Then again, he wasn't likely to be merciful upon full disclosure, either.
His dark reply proved her correct. "Unless it impedes your ability to perform magic, it doesn't concern me."
Although annoyed by his dismissal, Bonnie wasn't surprised, nor was she deterred; after all, she had expected as much from someone so used to getting his own way, and his predictability in this regard somehow strengthened her resolve. With nothing left to lose, Bonnie decided to switch gears and opt for the only strategy that stood a fighting chance with him: brutal honesty.
"Your sister killed Elena last night," she shot back with more bravery than she felt. "She's in transition. So yes, it does concern you."
If he was surprised by her declaration, he hid it well. "On the contrary, love. Elena Gilbert ceased to be my problem the moment Esther tied her life to Alaric's. From then on, it was only a matter of time before she met her end. Although, I admit, I would have preferred squeezing out a few more pints of her doppelganger blood first…" He trailed off, obviously delighted with Bonnie's expression of horror and disgust. "However, at least my sister had the good sense to finish the job before my mother's creation exterminated my siblings and I along with the entire vampire race."
And with that, he closed the remaining gap between them with slow, deliberate steps, his hands carelessly clasped behind his back—an obvious intimidation tactic, and even in Tyler's body it was having the desired effect. Bonnie suppressed the shudder building within her, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her visibly rattled. Keeping her feet firmly in place, Bonnie held her chin high and crossed her arms over her chest, anxious to keep some sort of physical barrier between them, despite how hollow the gesture felt.
As if reading her thoughts, Klaus smiled at her discomfort. "So now that we've exhausted that rather irrelevant topic, Witch, I suggest you stop stalling. Put me back. Now." He leaned in closer, his breath teasing her face. "I won't ask again."
This time, Bonnie did shudder. She knew this was no empty threat. Klaus had proven time and time again that he could get to anyone, anywhere, at any time. But, she reminded herself, she was a capable witch who had already suffered far too much at the hands of the man before her. She'd be damned if he kept her from saving Elena, too.
Bonnie stood her ground. "And I told you, I need more time," she insisted with renewed force. "If I can keep Elena from transitioning, I might be able to make her human again."
"A touching sentiment, but also a pipedream. One that doesn't concern me, and thus doesn't concern you." His casual tone sounded forced—too much so. Bonnie knew she couldn't push the Original much further without suffering the consequences.
Time for a last resort strategy.
"I think you're forgetting who just saved your life," Bonnie replied coldly. "And I don't take orders from you."
The sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable, and from the ominous pause that lingered after her last statement, Bonnie knew she had finally gone too far. After all, provoking Klaus was about as wise as waving a red flag right in front of an angry bull.
Except, at least with the bull you stood a chance at walking away with your heart still beating in your chest.
Klaus' face was unreadable, but Bonnie still sensed the imminent threat behind the calm facade. In a way, it was more terrifying than if he had just lashed out at her. "You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you and I are equals in this partnership. Allow me to set the record straight."
Before she could even register the movement, his hand flashed out and seized her throat roughly, choking off any retort she might have uttered. He lifted her up, slowly, until her toes barely scratched the ground. Bonnie was sorely tempted to give him a witch aneurism, bursting the blood vessels in his brain until he was forced to let her go, but she knew that would only make him angrier. And in this case, angrier equaled deadlier.
Panicking, she uselessly clawed at his hand as she felt the air begin to leave her lungs.
"You may be a powerful witch, Bonnie Bennett," he growled, finally letting the mask drop, "but I am much older, much smarter, and much more dangerous than you will ever be. Never forget that."
"If I can keep Elena human," she managed to get out between gasps, "then you'll still have an endless blood supply to create your hybrid army. And isn't that what you really want?"
Klaus relaxed his grip in astonishment, and Bonnie greedily sucked in a lungful of air. Though in pain, she briefly glimpsed the indecision warring behind his eyes as he considered her words. It was the most effective argument she could have made, and she idly wondered why she hadn't thought to use it before everything escalated.
He recovered quickly, hardening his gaze and retightening his grip around her throat in warning. "You had better not be lying to me, Witch."
Klaus may be well versed in sealing off his emotions, but Bonnie still detected the veiled desperation behind his threat. She was his only chance at keeping alive a dream that he'd harbored for over a millennium. He needed to believe her, just as much as she needed him to.
"I already have a plan in the works," she insisted, revealing as little as possible. "I'll need to do some more research, and then it's just a matter of whether or not I'm strong enough to execute it."
Bonnie watched Klaus consider her request for several long seconds until she felt his fingers slowly ease their hold on her throat. The relief was immediate. She massaged her sore neck as air rushed back into her aching lungs. Once she finished coughing, the pain finally receding from her chest, she chanced a look back at him. What she saw surprised her.
If Bonnie didn't know better, she would have said she saw something akin to grudging respect flit across the Original hybrid's face. Well, that would certainly be an interesting development. Was he actually amused by her audacity? That she had successfully manipulated a deal out of him?
But the look was gone before she could analyze it further, and Klaus's demeanor was once again stone-cold and all business. "Very well. I'll grant you additional time, but I expect you to keep me informed of your progress."
Bonnie gave a reluctant nod and turned towards the entrance of the cellar, eager to part ways with present company.
"Oh, and Bonnie?" he called out to her a final time, forcing her to glance back over her shoulder. "Same rules apply. Complete discretion with regards to my whereabouts and my… condition." He sent her a final chilling smile, so cruel and completely un-Tyler that she nearly felt sick. "Good luck, love. Don't disappoint me."
Stomach rolling, Bonnie spun around and exited the cellar without another word. Klaus' final warning rang loud and clear in her mind. And even though the young witch was doing nothing for his sake, it certainly felt like she had just made a deal with the devil.
What in the world had she just gotten herself into?
Across the living room of the Gilbert house, Damon lounged on the couch, watching Jeremy as he finished descending the stairs. He had been waiting for the little blabbermouth, having caught the tail-end of his oh-so-candid conversation with his sister, and was anxious to figure out just what the hell he was thinking.
Telling Elena she might be cured? That she might still have a chance at staying human? Really? How delusional was this kid?
"Way to get her hopes up for something that's never happened in the history of vampirism, Gilbert." Without warning, Damon flashed in front of Jeremy, narrowing his eyes as he leaned forward. "Really, well done."
Jeremy scoffed at the vampire, apparently unimpressed by his dramatics. Okay, he got points for that. "You know what? Screw you. Bonnie says she's stronger than ever and if anyone can find a solution, it's her."
Well. Looks like somebody ate their Wheaties this morning.
"No disrespect to our resident witch," Damon held up in hands in mock-supplication, "but what exactly does Sabrina expect to find, huh? A magic wand that will hocus pocus Elena back into a human? Some magical reversal spell that allows you to turn back time?" he quipped. "Hate to break it to you, but my DeLorean's being refurbished at the moment."
Jeremy's eyes flashed, and he took a step forward. Honestly, if Damon wasn't so annoyed, he would have laughed at the gesture. It was almost cute, Gilbert Junior's weak attempt at intimidation; really, he should just stick to fighting those in his own league. Like those killer rabbits in Monty Python. Or maybe a really scary garden gnome.
"My sister's life isn't a joke, dick," Jeremy returned, voice low.
"No," Damon agreed, "but this little fantasy you're trying to sell us is."
"A year ago, you didn't even know werewolves existed. So despite your years of experience, you don't know everything."
Damon scoffed. "I know the difference between experimenting with crazy pills and swallowing the whole damn bottle." Weren't drug metaphors the way to this kid's heart, or something? "And you, my friend, are toeing the line in Delusional City. Whatever witch's brew the two of you are cooking up, leave me—and, more importantly, Elena—out of it."
Jeremy rolled his eyes in a fashion that practically screamed 'moody teenager,' which, if Damon were being honest—and let's face it, when wasn't he?—was more humorous than rebellious. Then he relaxed, momentarily catching Damon off guard.
"I'm not surprised you're so cynical. I mean, isn't this what you wanted all along?" The question was probably rhetorical, but felt more like a challenge. "For Elena to end up like you?"
Now it was Damon's turn to get angry. "I'd tread carefully if I were you. You have no idea what you're talking about. None."
Honestly does this kid have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever? How quickly he forgets what happens to people who provoke an already pissed-off vampire with little to no impulse control. And all it takes is being in the wrong place, wrong time, and snap, you're dead. Jeremy should know that better than anyone. He had died at Damon's hands once already.
Good thing he still wore his Gilbert family ring of invincibility—convenient, that. Or inconvenient, depending on how you looked at it. The urge to snap his neck was so very tempting, and he was just going to come back anyway, so really, no (permanent) harm done, right?
But Damon doubted Elena would be quite so forgiving this time around, especially given that these rings apparently had a shelf life, and one too many deaths could easily put Jeremy on the path to follow in Alaric's psycho footsteps. One murderous alter ego is more than enough, thank you very much.
However, Jeremy smartly put an end to his suicide mission by shaking his head, evidently done with the entire conversation.
"Fine, whatever." Clearly, this guy didn't strain his creative muscles coming up with that gem of a comeback. "I'm going to help Bonnie. You do whatever the hell you want."
Without waiting for a reply, Jeremy turned on his heel and made to leave the house.
Well, then. Witty retorts might not be his forte, but wallowing in full-fledged teenaged angst certainly was. He and Stefan should start a band or something.
Just the thought of being surrounded by so much incompetence had Damon reaching for the bottle of bourbon he'd swiped from the Gilbert's kitchen. Oddly enough, despite housing two minors, the house never seemed to run dry as of late, thanks in great part to their newly departed guardian—Yeah, probably best not to pull at that particular thread. At least the guy kept this place well stocked. Perhaps not the best parental role model move, but hey—if Jeremy and Elena can take on the badass supernatural creatures that had the rest of this town dropping like flies, then they could certainly handle the big kid juice. It's not like Damon had any right to judge, anyway. Hell, he practically had his bar stool at the Grill reserved for eternity.
Damon raised the bottle in salute. "Thanks for the parting gift, buddy. Wish you were here." It was truer than he cared to admit. But of course, because the sappiness of it all was just too damn much, he buried it like he always did. "Then I'd introduce you to the good stuff, not this cheap swill."
Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a swig and relished the burning sensation it left behind. For a brief instant, it blocked out the insanity of this God-awful day.
"He's not wrong to have hope, you know."
Ah, there he was. Damon was beginning to wonder when Saint Stefan would finally make his grand entrance, eager to right the wrongs of today and deliver one of his infinite sermons. Looks like Damon had driven away one pest only to be replaced by another. Too damn bad for Stefan; Damon was in no mood to humor his little brother about the validity of Little Gilbert and Broomhilda's crazy ass plan.
"He's an idiot." Damon had always preferred candor to beating around the bush; much more effective. Turning around to face his brother, he offered him a grim smile. "But, contrary to what I've said in the past, he's not the dumbest brother on the planet."
The reference to their conversation last night clearly wasn't lost on Stefan. His gaze fell to the floor, which Damon took as his cue to twist the knife a little.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
And thank God Stefan didn't pretend to misunderstand, because if he had, Damon probably would have hit him right then and there. Granted, he was only seconds away from doing it anyway, but still. He wanted to hear what sanctimonious, pain-in-the-ass, moronic excuse his brother had for his most epic screw up yet.
On second thought, who was he kidding? Damon would much rather just hit him.
"Not now, Damon," Stefan sighed in one of those familiar I'm-brooding-and-I-need-my-space tones, the kind that Damon had learned a long time ago was easier to indulge, because let's face it: Angsty Stefan was about as much fun to be around as Caroline when her curling iron goes missing. (Translation: it ain't pretty.)
Any other day, Damon would have let it go. But today wasn't just any day.
It was the day Elena freaking died.
And unfortunately for his little brother, Damon wasn't in the mood to take prisoners.
"Yes, Stefan, now. I told you at the hospital I'd wait till later before I tore you a new one." His smile widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Well, it's later. Time out's officially over, so it's back into the ring we go."
"What do you want from me?" Stefan returned with exasperation, and Damon was gratified to see his brother's composure finally begin to crack. "I told you why—"
"Yes, you were very clear on that point. What I want to know is how."
Seeing Stefan's eyebrows narrow in confusion, Damon elaborated.
"How did you do it? How could you choose someone—anyone!—over Elena?" he demanded. "I want you to tell me how that's possible."
Stefan took a minute to consider his answer, and from the way he kept his fists carefully clenched at his sides, it was costing him a great deal of restraint not to fight fire with fire. Well that's no fun. Seriously, Stefan's self-control could be such a buzzkill sometimes.
"I know it may not seem like it," Stefan began, choosing his words carefully, "but I was putting her first. Her choice, her happiness, her ideals… not her mortality. We've had this discussion before," he pointed out.
Boy, had they.
Stefan respected Elena's choice, and so did Damon. Most of them, anyway. The ones that didn't involve her throwing her life away. That's where Damon called bullshit.
Because sometimes her decisions just plain sucked, and as much as Elena might hate him for it, she needed someone to intervene—not enable her, like Stefan—when her actions plunge her into a death trap.
Thus, the eternal difference between you and me, brother.
How many more times would he and Stefan have to rehash the whole Alive vs. Happy debate? It felt like all Elena-centric conversations led to this particular fork in the road.
On the one side, you had Stefan the Chivalrous leading Team Happy, which advocated an ill-advised regimen of poor decisions, negligence, and an extra helping of stupidity—hold the logic. And don't forget to sprinkle a dash of moral superiority on top.
Elena wants to meet alone with a one-thousand-year-old resurrected witch with homicidal tendencies? Sure.
She decides to entrust her life with an Original vampire that has repeatedly screwed her over in the past? No problem.
She tries to martyr herself for some nobody because it would make her happy, even though she won't even be alive to experience said happiness?
Over my dead body, Damon's thought fiercely. Which is why I'm sired to Team Alive. You know, the one that actually cares if Elena lives or dies.
And let's face it, Elena had to be one of the most self-destructive people he knew. No one came so close to dying as much as this one girl (often because of said girl), and frankly, Damon would be surprised if the Grim Reaper didn't have her number on speed dial.
However, a reluctant part of him was willing to admit that Elena's selflessness—recklessness (let's just call a spade a spade)—was one of the things he loved most about her. No one's heart was as big as hers. It's what allowed her to see Damon as more than just a monster.
But good lord, he knew that goodness of hers would be the death of him someday. He thought it had been last night, when he believed she was gone for good. It was the worst pain he had ever felt. Not even Katherine's loss, which he had mourned for a century and a half, could compare to that overwhelming despair. A world without Elena Gilbert was a world that held no appeal whatsoever for Damon.
And so he would do whatever it took to keep her alive. If that meant Damon had to be the bad guy, make the tough decisions, deal with collateral damage, so be it. It's not like the world had any shortage of jocks and busboys, anyway. Elena would get over it one day. After all, grief is temporary; death is permanent. And Damon would be damned—pun not intended—if anything, including Elena herself, got in the way of her chance to live a full life. With all the tragedies she's endured, and all the opportunities that lie ahead for her, it's the least he can do. It's what she deserved. And Damon would make sure she got it. Always.
Even if she hated him for it.
Because Damon could live with her hating him; he just couldn't live without her.
God, when did I start sounding like some sappy cliché from one of Blondie's bodice-rippers?
Shaking his head at the thought, Damon set aside his musings when Stefan spoke again.
"It was the worst decision of my life."
His brother's confession should have gratified Damon's own stance, and yet, it actually had the opposite effect because of three harsh truths staring him in the face:
One: Elena had chosen Stefan, which sucked like you wouldn't believe, but what can you do? The heart wants what the heart wants, and all that jazz.
Two: As if that wasn't bad enough, Stefan somehow didn't choose her back—he had chosen Mattover Elena. Matt, for Christ's sakes.
…
Yeah. Enough said.
And three: Stefan actually had the audacity to regret his choice. He had said as much before Elena woke up in transition, but the full impact of his meaning hadn't registered until now, when the sting of Elena's death wasn't quite so fresh. And yet, despite his hero's remorse, he still had everything Damon wished he had: Elena's heart.
Stefan probably couldn't have found a better way to rub vervain in the wound than if he had tried.
Damon glared back at his brother's grave expression. "Shouldn't you celebrating the quarterback's health? Elena's happiness?" he prodded. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
He vaguely recalled Jeremy making a similar accusation just minutes ago, and the irony wasn't lost on him.
Seeing Stefan about to protest, Damon cut across him. "I'll tell you what I want. I want you to stop pretending. Just stop acting like we're so different, that you're somehow better than me, when you wish you had the guts to choose as I would have!" he roared.
It was the hypocrisy that did it, that twisted Damon's insides. Always the same: Stefan does one thing, yet thinks another. It was exactly the same when Damon had forced Elena to drink his blood to ensure that she came back to life after Klaus' creepy sacrifice ritual—a bad move on his part, Damon would admit, but it didn't change the fact that Stefan had wanted the same thing; he just wouldn't admit it. He wanted to keep Elena alive, even as a vampire, but he was always so willing to play the good guy and agree to Elena's ridiculous (not to mention suicidal) terms just to stay in her favor, even when he desperately wanted to act otherwise.
Say what you want about Damon, because lord knew he was as far from a saint as he could get, but at least he was honest. Honest about his intentions to keep Elena alive at any cost, consequences be damned. And here was Stefan, admitting his doubts and wanting to switch teams? Sorry buddy, but Team Alive only takes fully committed applicants who pay their non-refundable registration fee upfront and can perform the secret handshake upon command. No wishy washy members, please and thank you.
So yet again, they were back on that fork in the road, the one that defined the quintessential difference between the two brothers: their regard for Elena and her decisions. (That, and Damon's clearly superior hair.) So when you stripped that factor away, were they really so different after all? Did it even matter?
Stefan. It's always going to be Stefan. Elena's words ghosted through his thoughts, crushing any hope that remained.
Because of course it didn't matter. It changed nothing. Elena had said it all before. No matter what I feel for you, I never un-fell for him.
How tragic.
When Stefan didn't respond to his accusation right away, Damon wasn't surprised. As evidenced by his lifelong struggle to accept his true nature as a vampire, Stefan had always had a problem with the truth. Which was too damn bad, because brutal honesty coupled with a healthy dose of manipulation had always been Damon's weapon of choice. That, and a nice blow to the head.
Time to deliver the final punch.
Damon narrowed his eyes. "I mean, were you really so afraid of her rejection that you'd risk letting her die forever?" he asked, disgusted. "It's pathetic."
For the first time all day, Stefan fought back. Snarling, he flashed forward and slammed Damon into the wall behind him, pinning him in place by his shoulders. His green eyes flashed with all the rage he had kept bottled up, unleashed thanks to Damon's provocation. No more of that resigned, self-loathing crap. Finally, finally, Damon got a real reaction out of him.
Although, it was a bit amusing, his baby bro putting on the tough act. Damon knew for a fact that he was back on the bunny diet, so what chance did he think he had against his older, stronger brother?
"What are you going to do, little brother?" Damon taunted. "Stake me?"
"Don't tempt me," Stefan growled.
"Empty threats, Stefan. You haven't followed through on a single one in over a hundred a fifty years."
"I could say the same about you," he shot back. "And why is that? Playing up the good guy routine for Elena's sake?"
Her name from his lips flipped some kind of switch in Damon's head. In an instant, he had their positions switched, Damon's hand pinning Stefan to the wall by his throat.
"Well, well. Seems there's a backbone hidden inside you after all," Damon drawled, reclaiming the upper hand.
He loosened his grasp just enough for Stefan to choke out his next words. "Go ahead, keep making jokes," Stefan managed. "We both know you deflect when you're hiding something. When you're hurt."
Damon's mouth tightened. "Careful, Stef," he warned. "I've been going easy on you, but if you're going to lecture me, I'm not above taking it up a notch."
"Are we back to empty threats again?" A disbelieving laugh escaped from Stefan's throat. "Alright, fine. I'm calling your bluff."
Without warning, Damon's free fist connected with Stefan's jaw, and his head made a satisfying crack as it rebounded off the wall behind him.
"Wrong move, brother. You forget, my motivation hasn't been this strong before." Damon retracted his arm a second time, enjoying the look of anticipation on Stefan's face as he prepared for the blow. "Can't say the same for my restraint."
"Stop!"
Both brothers' heads snapped in the direction of the command.
Naturally, Elena chose now to walk in, when it must surely appear as though Damon the bully was tormenting poor, innocent Stefan. (You know, just your typical Damon-Elena-Stefan dysfunctional dynamic. Heaven forbid something upset the status quo.) So it wasn't shocking that her scrutiny felt like she caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.
Did she even know Damon was defending her honor like some kind of ironic white knight? Did she even care?
At this point, even he didn't care. Hell, he was pissed, and nobody, not even Elena freaking Gilbert, was going to stop him from taking it out on the target in front of him.
"Go back upstairs, Elena," he ordered, returning his attention to Stefan. It wouldn't help if he was looking into those disappointed doe eyes. "This is between us brothers."
"No, I heard you fighting all the way upstairs. This is about me," she argued. "Stefan doesn't deserve this, Damon. And hurting him isn't going to fix anything."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. It'll certainly make me feel better."
"And what about me?" She lowered her voice. "Do you think I enjoy seeing the two of you like this?"
"Elena, you don't have to—"
"No, Stefan, I need to say this." Her tone remained firm as she addressed Damon once again. "Look, I know you're mad about what happened, but I'm not." To Stefan, she added, "Matt's alive because of you. I can't thank you enough."
The tenderness with which she assured Stefan nearly made Damon sick. He could see where this was leading, and he really didn't need to see his brother and the girl he loved make goo-goo eyes at each other while they both pretend that last night wasn't the epic disaster Damon knew it to be.
With one final shove, Damon released his hold on Stefan, and finally turned around to face Elena, a look of relief passing over her features. "Well, I can see three's a crowd. Don't let me keep you two kiddos from bonding over your mutually annoying altruistic tendencies."
"Damon—"
His voice was flat as he cut her off. "Oh no. Trust me, I get it."
And he did. He understood it all too clearly. But now he was done fighting it. He was just done.
"Your choice, Elena." His eyes briefly flitted back in his brother's direction. "As always."
He didn't give either of them a chance to respond before he disappeared.
A/N: Whew! So there's chapter 1! Future chapters will be shorter on average. This one is almost 12K words—I probably should have split it in half, but couldn't find a good stopping point, so this chapter will just be extra-long. It kind of took on a life of its own, so if you made it all the way through, you have my deepest thanks.
Man, there are so many great scenes/dialogue from 4x01 that I'm having a hard time making these first couple chapters seem original and not just a rehash of that episode. It's necessary to set the stage for future events, so hopefully I'm succeeding. I also took some liberties with vampire transition and how I interpret what Elena might be going through. I've done my best to keep it cannon, so hopefully I haven't deviated too much from that. I'm also trying very hard to keep everyone in character, but I am definitely open to suggestions. And yeah, I stole a bunch of lines from Stefan and gave them to Jeremy. I felt like we need more Elena/Jeremy bonding. Speaking of sibling bonding…
I'll go ahead and make a disclaimer: As you might be able to tell already, I am a big fan of both Damon AND Stefan (go Team Salvatore!), so expect them both to be represented in (near) equal measure. I personally see the merits of both Stelena and Delena, so if you're looking for a Delena story filled with Stefan-bashing, then this probably isn't the story for you, although I do respect everyone's opinions. As for my own opinion, at this point in the series I do think that the story is naturally progressing towards Delena, at least for the time being. But never fear, dear readers; despite all the obstacles in their way, one thing I can assure you is that the end game for this story is definitely Delena. They just might (read: definitely) take their time getting there ;)
Alright, this A/N is waaaay too long, so I'm stepping down from my soap box now. See you all at Chapter 2!