A/N: Thank you to everyone who has sent me so much encouragement and support over the past few months. I've been very happy with all the positive reviews and your ideas and, although I know I've been absent from fan fiction and AO but rest assured, none of my stories are abandoned.

The last few months, apart from a change in laptop (again, since apparently I've got a weird one that alternates between a badly working keyboard, a flickering screen and a flickering touch bar; yeah, I spent all my savings on a rather expensive computer and it still despises my nearness), I've had some personal issues I had to deal with.

Consider them dealt with and I back, risen from the ashes, and happily continuing the story. The tire first installment is ready, figured out and many chapters written to an extent that I'm very happy with. However, I'm not done proofreading, so chapters will be posted once a week to keep room for improving the story.

Of course, your reviews, likes and words of curiosity or perhaps even your ideas when you have them on the route this story is on or the one you suspect it's on, are very welcome.

A small warning, although I have not shied away from violence in this story before, it will get quite a bit more bloody and there are several characters that will either die (gruesomely, if I might add) or will be tortured.

In short, I want to warn people in advance, for I can imagine that some violence, especially when it's quite descriptive, can be triggering.

Anyway, enjoy.

Side note: this chapter will deal with the recovery of mayor trauma (seeing so much death, blood and gore sounds like the medicine for trauma). I've tried to make this as realistic as possible, and although I'm not planning on letting the entire revolve around it will play a role in the next few chapters.

o.O.o

Chapter Twenty-Four, Temporarily Changed

When I awoke, it was to a sunny Friday morning during late winter. Above me was an endless expanse of dark, naked branches, reaching up to an unmoving gray sky. Everything seemed colorless and completely still and as I moved, pain shot up my spine.

I moved up to my knees, slowly, breathing in and out, trying to control the budding panic attack. I felt dizzy, there was an ache in the back of my head and the tips of my fingers felt numb and frozen. However, did any of that mean I'd died and came back in transition? The dark ground beneath me blurred, and my eyes burned. I sucked down each breath and I moved my fingers to my gums.

To my canines, but nothing seemed amiss, nor was I dizzy or craving blood. Which made no sense.

I didn't remember taking any sort of cure, nor could I remember Klaus force feeding me any vampire blood either. I thought if I was in transition I would remember things Klaus, or any other vampire for that matter, had compelled me to forget, right? That left some kind of spell— perhaps the Martin Witches had saved me? I groaned. Perhaps it was frustration, perhaps it was elation, but I couldn't name the emotion that churned down my spine. I pushed myself up onto my knees and stretched my arms in front of me.

My body was stiff and every part of me felt sore. I wondered if that was the natural response from a body that should have gone into rigor mortis by now — since I had died — and blinked blearily. My coat was caked with dirt and the tips of my fingers were cold and stark white. When I thought about it, the rest of my body was cold too.

I stared around over the ritual site. The burnt circles, the scent of smoke and the werewolf girl. My stomach churned at the sight. The woman's limbs were grotesquely twisted, her head turned away and the bones in her neck sticking out at an odd angle. Some blood had trickled down one nostril and I scrambled to my feet quickly — cold forgotten.

"Oh fuck!"

The corpse stared up at me with sightless eyes and I dry-heaved over the low-hanging bushes to the side of the clearing. I didn't feel better when I leant up again, but at least the need to throw up had vanished (slightly at least). I quickly dared a glance at the second body, gray and cold and littered with veins. The vampire looked even worse than the werewolf and something clear and oily was oozing through where the skin had been broken by the protruding stake.

My fingers trailed over the perfect semicircle of puncture marks on my throat and then— I ran. I managed not to scream in terror — to let out all the screams of fear — but I did run. I ran hard and fast and was wheezing loudly when I reached a narrow dirt road. I had no idea where I was, which way I had to go and soon tears were mingling with snot as I fell on the ground. For the first time in months, I actually thought I deserved the breakdown and muffled my sobs against my arms.

When I regained some control over my breathing, I stumbled further down the trail. Here and there patches of snow lay on the ground and in the crisp, clear morning sun, the forest seemed a lot more friendly, not malevolent. The sun shone through the bare branches and the bustling conifer needles above me, and the air was thick with the smell of pine.

A smell I'd previously associated with visions of long walks and even perhaps the winter holidays, now ruined. I wondered if I would ever associate the scent with anything else but horrible deaths and pained hypocrisy.

I moved slowly, hitching my damp coat higher up and around my shoulders. It was a long trek, or it felt like a long trek. I wasn't sure which one was true. Either way, when the trees began to thin out and I heard the bustle of traffic, I knew I was near the road. Exhaling gratefully, I quickened my step and almost cried out in joy when I passed the outskirts of the woods. I was exhausted. The sun has risen above the trees at this point, but it was still early and most of the town appeared to be asleep. With tired eyes, I stared around. I had arrived at the edge of what I assumed was the bustling business neighborhood of Mystic Falls, but I had no idea how to get home. I had no phone, no knowledge of who I could trust and whom I couldn't. Nothing. So, I walked up to the first person I saw on the street and asked if I could call an Uber with his phone. I had no idea if he recognized Elena Gilbert or not— probably— but I wasn't sure. He didn't say anything when I pulled up the number or the closest Uber driver.

"Thank you," I mumbled almost robotically and the man nodded curtly, straightened his dress jacket.

"Of course," he agreed. His expression gave away how odd he my appearance thought, coat damp and face pale. I suspected half of the forest had made an appearance in my hair, but once he turned around, I couldn't remember what he looked like. I wondered if that was the first sign I might have been in shock.

The Uber driver arrived shortly and as he drove me away from what I later learned was Founders Street, I stared outside and watched the buildings slide by. The Uber driver drove fast, making no conversation and for that, I was thankful. When the houses became larger, accentuated with the large wraparound porches and the neat lawns, my thoughts drifted. I still had Klaus' change money and gripped it tightly when the Uber driver pulled up in front of Elena's two-story house.

"That will be $7.60, please," the man said and I all but pushed the paper money in his hands and stumbled out of the car. I gave one look at the jeweled sky above before stumbling towards the porch.

I didn't have my keys, why would I, and almost fell into the birdhouse with the uncoordinated way I grabbed for the spare. When I finally managed to unlock the door and step into the wood paneled hall, the steps of the stairs creaked noisily. A man was barreling down and I had a second to let out a gasp and try to step back when my name was called.

"Elena!"

"John?" I gasped bewildered and had exactly three-seconds before he hugged me close and tight.

"I thought—" he started but never finished his sentence.

I knew what he thought, though. I hadn't given him any thought when I decided on a whim Elijah could compel Elena's parents and brother. I hadn't realized he might have known about Elena's sacrifice, but hence he did. And hence, he probably heard about it from Isobel. I helplessly, limply rested in his arms as he blubbered words of insurance against the crown of my head.

"I'm okay," I whispered awkwardly.

"Yes," he agreed.

"I'm really okay, Uncle John."

"You're alive!"

I was. However, I was still unsure how or why. It took a moment for John to compose himself and to let go of me. John avoided my eyes, licking his lips. The line of his jaw was tense and after a moment I cleared my throat, desperate to dispel whatever worries he still had. "I'm okay. I really am."

John nodded grimly, looking restless and I watched him with a frown as he walked past me through the door into the sitting room. "Sit down, I'm going to get you something warmer to wear."

"That's okay—"

"Sit down, Elena."

He said it so compulsory, I couldn't help but slump onto one of the sofas. John left the living room. I heard him climb the stairs and step onto the landing, his footsteps heavy.

The ceiling above creaked as he moved into my bedroom. When he returned less than five minutes later, he was carrying several towels, a bathrobe and a jogging suit. He offered them with a grim smile and I wrapped the largest towel around my chilled body.

John sat down on the edge of the coffee table in front of me and I nervously carded my fingers through my damp and sweaty hair. It was a lost cause. Even Elena's hair had its limits apparently.

"What happened?"

"I think you know," I whispered and curled my legs up beneath me.

"You made a deal with an Original."

"See, you do know."

"And somehow that went wrong. Klaus snatched you up. How could you be so naive? How—"

His eyes slid down my face, down my neck, falling on to the fresh scar of Klaus' teeth.

"He succeeded?" His face blanched. "Are you—"

"Do I look like a vampire to you?" I returned irritably and John visibly relaxed.

"Someone saved you."

"No," I tried, and tried to formulate a logical response, "I think Klaus let me survive. We had a deal."

"A deal?"

"Hm," I agreed. I couldn't talk about this. I couldn't think about this. I rubbed my hands over my knees and John gave me a look as if he'd liked nothing more than to wallop me. Exhaling noisily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, before meeting my reluctant gaze again.

"Do you want some tea?"

"I would really like to take a shower now."

"Elena, we need to discuss this."

I shook my head. "There's nothing more to discuss. It's done now. I'm okay. No one else was killed for it. And again, I'm fine. I know you're worried. I get that. I'm just— I'm really tired. I want to take a long hot shower. And I want to sleep. Preferably in that order. Please."

"We will talk about this tomorrow?"

"I promise."

"Fine, go." He waved me away, surprisingly, if I may add, and I quickly crossed the living room.

Stumbling blindly into the bathroom, I stared into the mirror, stared at my reflection. My skin looked shallow and pale and my eyes were red-rimmed, but at least, I was alive. My fingers brushed over the scabbed mark where Klaus' fangs had pierced my neck. It was faintly visible — not as fresh as I'd thought it would look — but far enough to the side of my neck it wouldn't be that noticeable if I wore my hair down.

Perhaps in a while it wouldn't be so noticeable when I wore my hair up either— honestly, only time could tell. I hoped it wouldn't scar too badly. Stripping out of my clothes I stumbled into the shower, dunking my head beneath the warm water. I was so tired—

I wasn't sure how I managed to get myself into bed later.

However, I woke up, curled on my side, comforter snugly wrapped around my form. My back was cold and my body felt heavy. It was a strangely familiar feeling. Like waking up with a massive hangover. Waking up with a massive hangover minus the splitting headache.

My body was sluggish, heavy and slow, but it was still mine. Drawing myself up on one elbow, I slowly peered around the room. It hadn't changed in my absence. Not even in the slightest and I rolled over, pressing my face hard against my pillow. Everything that happened the last few days felt so surreal and I didn't want to get out of bed. Like ever.

The problem? I could hear John moving around downstairs. I leant forward, throwing my legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the clock on the nightstand. Eight thirty. I groaned, getting to my feet. My mind and body were buzzing as I threw open the curtains and stared outside. Snow was covering every surface and large white flakes were falling rapidly. Even the pathway to the house was undisturbed by a clean sweep of snow and I opened the window a little. I stuck my head out and peered to the left, along the rough surface of the outside wall. I wasn't sure what I was looking for.

"What are you doing, Elena?"

A sharp squeak tore from my throat and I gripped the windowsill tightly, almost losing my balance. Breath catching in my throat, I turned around quickly. John Gilbert, wearing a heavy light-brown overcoat and scuffed combat boots stared at me with a frown.

"You scared me." I gasped out.

"For a moment I thought—"

"That I was going to jump?" I finished for him, clasping my hands together. "That would be a moot point, wouldn't it? Surviving the sacrifice, yet, trying to kill myself afterwards. I feel it would be really ungrateful of me."

"That's one way of putting it," he remarked dryly. "What happened? When Grayson called me—"

"Grayson called you?" I asked and my breath began to quiver.

"Yes, somehow the compulsion fell away. The one you had your friend put on them. Elena, how could you be so careless? Compelling your parents, your brother? And then making a deal with Elijah Mikaelson? Have you gone mad?"

"I thought we were going to speak, not shout."

"Elena," John whispered and I closed the window with a soft click, "you're playing vampires. Beasts in human form. Thinking you were smart and made a deal with them? They don't play by the same set of rules as you do."

"No, exactly," I agreed, "they don't play by the same rules. Klaus would have killed anyone standing in the way between him and the cure of his curse. He would have killed both Grayson and Miranda. Would have killed you, too, had you tried. How can my parents have broken the compulsion— Oh shit!"

"What?"

"Elijah, he's death isn't he? Or he's daggered-death, isn't he?"

"I can't say," John gruffly replied, "he disappeared after Klaus came to town."

"Right—" My eyebrows furrowed together.

I had considered that could happen. Or, I knew Klaus kept all of his siblings with him in coffins. And wouldn't it have been easy? He'd been wearing the face of Zach Salvatore when he'd managed to give everyone the slip.

Elijah might have been aware that Klaus could take over others' bodies with the help of his witches. He — and Katherine in the series — had implied Klaus had no shortage of witches doing his bidding. My frown deepened. Klaus as Zack could have cornered Elijah, probably using some bullshit reason and in a moment of weakness or hesitation could have daggered his older brother.

After all, every vampire had that immense ego and self-assurance that no human could hurt them.

It was rather stupid, if I was honest.

I wrapped my arms tightly around my stomach, feeling cold, cold, so cold. The phantom flicker of flames burned from my peripheral vision and Greta's chants echo into the distance. My fingers slid over the puckered skin of the scarred flesh on my throat and I was reminded of the heat leeching from my body. From the darkening, swimming vision and—

I shuddered. "Are the Martins okay?" I tried, forcefully dispelling the fleeting feeling of pain when Klaus' fangs had dug into my skin. "The witches who were trying to help Elijah?"

"They're fine." John muttered. At least I'd done something right. He moved closer to me, almost like I was a wounded animal, and I felt a shudder pass up my spine. John was Elena's father. John genuinely cared and I supposed all of this, was probably really hard for him. It deflated my irritation and I slumped against the windowsill, curling one leg up beneath my chin. The garment of the oversized shirt was very loose on me, slipping down one shoulder

"I know you don't agree with my choices," I started, "but I swear I did what I thought was best."

"Elena—"

"I know you don't see it," I continued, because how could he, he hadn't seen what I had, "but can't you trust me that I want what's best for all of you, just as you want what's best for me?"

"Of course, I trust you," he signed and I smiled.

"Thank you."

"Just don't have your parents compelled again."

"Does that include you?"

His face blanched a white that I'd never seen on anyone. So white even the white lab coat I'd seen Grayson wear looked darker in contrast and I kept my gaze level with his. The rapid change in expressions, ranging from shock to horrified, was almost amusing. When his expression settled on tense worry, he met my gaze again. "How long have you known?"

"For a while, I guess." I shrugged, curling my fingers into the hem of my oversized T-shirt.

"Did Grayson and Miranda tell you?"

"No, you just did." I remarked softly.

"I see," he chewed his cheek and his icy-blue eyes flitted over my face. "I had no idea you suspected. I, Grayson never told me you—"

"He doesn't know I know." I shrugged. "I wasn't sure how to broach the subject."

"I—"

"Are they coming home?" I tried and he nodded. "They're upset though."

"Does Jeremy know now?" I continued, shrugging on a long vest. "Does he know about vampires?"

John nodded and I swallowed. I had no idea if that would be a problem or not. In the show Jeremy became disappointed with his role in the supernatural world. In the show he became a vampire hunter. I had no idea what else he became after season four, but I put him in the extremely depressed column. John had started pacing, massaging his temples.

"I'm sorry I lied to all of you," I tried.

"We should have realized. You'd been acting so odd, how did I not see it?"

"In your defense, I had plenty of reason to act odd."

That got a laugh out of him and I forced out a smile. This conversation was going a lot better than I'd expected. Perhaps he would even drop the subject after talking it out. Keeping calm and not shoving Elena's holier-than-though lines under his nose might even make him more agreeable. I should at least get dressed. The chill of winter — and the chill that hadn't left me ever since Klaus had drained my life away — settled against my bare legs. John wordlessly seemed to understand and with a wave of his hand, left my room. The following silence isn't comforting, but, it did bring some calm.

It didn't last—

Grayson and Miranda Gilbert returned the third morning after the sacrifice. Jeremy wasn't with them. Dropped off to stay the rest of Christmas break with family friends in Denver. To say they were upset with me would be putting it lightly. Grayson was so angry, his lips remained drawn in a tight line the entirety of my remaining Christmas break and he actively went out of his way to avoid me. Miranda seemed more forgiving, trying to see it my way and was most thankful I was alive and well.

And physically I was well. The twin-wounds had crusted over with a thin layer of dried blood — it was hard not to scratch at them — but the skin looked already a lot less reddish as it had the first day. However, my mental health? Not so much. After the first night in my bed, being so exhausted I'd slept like the death, the nightmares started. And they were nightmares. Often they brought me to the sacrifice, to the sightless corpses staring into the gray expanse of sky.

Sometimes, they settled around my previous life. The life where I'd been a university student and wore my own face. But instead of my life I still had Elena's. Instead, the deaths and the people being hurt were the people I loved most. They woke me up screaming. Screaming at the top of my lungs and sometimes I wondered which nightmare I screamed about. The one I had when I was in bed, or the one I woke up to.

I quit trying to fall asleep for fear who would torment me in my dreams, but the echoes of the past haunted me awake. Even when awake, the nightmares tormented me.

The faces of my family, of my mother, of my friends would stare at me accusingly from my peripherals and when they didn't, I would hear the agony in the werewolf's voice when Klaus had rammed his hand in her chest. And even when I didn't worry about that, I would dread what would happen next. No matter, what I would do, I wouldn't be able to have a normal life anymore. Because it was all good and well that I somehow survived, it was only a matter of time until the next immortal being would stroll by, or, more likely, Klaus would roll into to town.

Grayson diagnosed my condition as Post-traumatic Stress Disorder* and had me in psychological treatment, on antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication before the week was out. He was reluctant in prescribing me sleep medication, but after the fifth night being awoken by my screaming, I had to add a third bottle of pills on my nightstand.

My therapist urged me to document my fears and encouraged me to write down the more positive points of my days. I realized she knew of the supernatural. Why else wouldn't she try to have me institutionalized when I started talking about vampires? Or perhaps I was the field day in her psychological park? Either way, I was to meet Dr. Elizabeth Freeman once a week and so far she had yet to judge me. Only time could tell if it would help me in the long run, I supposed.

It helped little to calm my frazzled nerves and outside Christmas lights sprung up around the lanterns. When the end of December arrived, the driveway was clogged with snow and the sky was cloudless. The streets were empty, deserted, people cluttered inside their homes away from the cold and had bundled out into two sweaters, stepping inside the kitchen.

I'd just taken out the loaf of bread from one of the cabinets, busying myself with making a sandwich when Miranda came down he stairs. Her soft footfalls were easily recognizable and for a moment I waited for Grayson's footsteps to follow. They didn't.

"Elena?"

"Morning mum," I greeted, not turning to her once she stepped inside the kitchen.

"You're up early," she muttered.

I shrugged. Strangely the sleep medication might have provided me with dreamless sleep, it didn't keep me under after seven o'clock. Besides, staying in after the medication wore off was a really bad idea. I'd tried, only to be awoken a few hours later, my brain muddled with panic and breath quivering. Wetting my lips, I met her stare. "I was hungry."

"How are you feeling, Hun?"

"I'm okay—" I started, but then shook my head, "—no, I'm not, but I will be all right."

Miranda looked thoughtful for a moment and I leant back against the kitchen counter. "You're taking your medication?" She asked after a long moment of silence.

I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. "Yes. Where is dad?"

"In his office."

"Again?" I muttered and frowned. "What is he doing there?"

"Research sweetie."

"Even on his off day?" I snorted. "Well, goodbye to being a doctor then."

"I thought you wanted to be a writer?" Miranda said and I shrugged.

"Perhaps, I still want to keep my options open though."

She sighed, catching my wrist before guiding me onto a stool. She sat down in front of me cradling a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. I expected her to say something, but for a long moment, she seemed perfectly content staring at me.

It unnerved me.

I tapped my thumb against my lower lip. It was a nervous habit I wasn't aware of most of the time, but with Miranda tracing the motion persistently, I felt my thumb freeze. Miranda's face curled into a suspicious expression. I forcefully pressed my hands against the table top, cocking my head. "What's wrong?"

"I could ask you that, Elena," she muttered and I frowned.

"I don't understand?"

"You have been acting so strangely lately." She said and I inhaled deeply.

I had expected to be horrified when she finally started to mistrust me as her daughter. I had thought I would descend into some kind of panic attack, but now— with Miranda frowning at my face— I was less startled by the revelation than I should have been. "It's been an eventful few months." I rolled my shoulders. "I am stressed. I'm sure it will get better."

"No, you've been acting odd, even before that—"

"I have?"

"Distanced," she accused softly and my mind roiled with ideas.

What was I supposed to say now? It hit me suddenly and I stared her straight in the eyes. "Am I adopted?" I challenged in a near-whisper and her face leeched of color.

"What?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. It was such an easy way to dissuade her suspicions— it would explain my reserve towards both parents. After all, the Elena Gilbert I knew was 'big on trust' and I tried to mimic her furious-hurt expression as best as I could. "Am I adopted, Mom?"

"Why would you?"

"Basic biology, besides, I know I am. I confronted Uncle John too, and he asked if you told me that." I said, feeling slightly bad for throwing Uncle John under the bus, but I'd rather deal with Elena's biological father who didn't really know her all that well than with the adoptive parents who knew Elena Gilbert like an open book.

"John—" she started and her face gained and lost colors so rapidly, I worried she would faint. With her expressions changing so quickly, I found it hard to gauge what she felt, although I recognized the planning-to-murder-someone expression quite well, when her face settled on that. I didn't speak, only hoped she would get through her whirling emotions soon and pressed my lips together. The sudden silence was oppressive I forced myself not to tap my lower lip again.

It took a good minute before she straightened her spine. Her smile was still strained and her knuckles had turned white around her cup, but she didn't look quite as murderous anymore. "I suppose I should have expected you to figure it out at some point."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We were going to when you'd turn eighteen," Miranda explained and I puckered my lips.

"A moot point now," I muttered and averted my eyes.

"So it seems," Miranda said and took a forced sip of her tea. I could tell it scalded her tongue.

I felt somewhat dizzy. "Listen, I— I am sorry to spring this on you like this. I know you never saw me as anything but your daughter, but— it shook me. And then all this vampire shit happened and— I just, I'm stressed. I'm scared. Of course, that changes a person."

Miranda looked somewhat ashamed and she tapped her fingers against the ear of the cup. "We can talk about this some more?"

"No," I shook my head. "No, it's fine. I'm already stressed enough as it is. Can I take a rain check on this"?

"All right," she smiled again.

"So— dad's research? What is it about?"

"Cellular regeneration," Miranda breathed out and the awkward atmosphere lets up, even if only slightly.

"Interesting." I said. I didn't know how to ask her about the vampire factor in all of it.

She didn't expand.

To be continued…

A/N: And the next arc is on its way. Quite curious what you all thought about this chapter. Somehow, I found it difficult. Hard to write, because I have no actual experience with such massive trauma (I'm great with Google though).

On another note *Post-traumatic Stress Disorder is a mental disorder one could develop after a traumatic event often to do with sexual assault and seeing death/murder (like during a war or a deathly traffic accident). I'm specifying this, because PTSS is often used as an all-around diagnosis. Like, when the character was under a lot of stress with school or something. That's not PTSS.

I make this distinction because, like mentioned before, it will play a hefty role in the next few chapters, like depression, suicidal thoughts and of course the overall stress Non-Elena will display for fear of Klaus returning.

I feel like it would be rather weird if she was all fine and dandy immediately, but, like every character under such duress, she'll have to grow stronger of because or despite it.

Love to hear from you all!

Anna