A WEEK LATER, ELENA LEAVES. Matt's funeral is over now and she strips out of her black dress she has worn far too much and slips into more practical clothing of jeans and a top. Placed on top of the chest of drawers in what had become her room, she leaves behind a note detailing her apologies at leaving them, her explanation of why she just couldn't stay and her demands that they leave her alone.

( She'd rather die than go back to the town that took so much from her. )

She takes everything she can carry in one bag that's still left after the house fire: clothes, blood bags, phone and money. She burns the rest of her belongings that still remain—she doesn't want to give them a single chance of ever finding her, magically or otherwise.

As the bonfire of her belongings blazes—clothes, trinkets, schoolbooks and all—Elena vacates Mystic Falls without looking back. The sign at the very edge of town makes her pause for a moment, though. Unlike all those other times when she stepped out of the town's borders, Elena always knew she'd be coming back.

But, this time—this time she can't.

( Not if she wants to retain some semblance of sanity. )

Elena takes a deep breath and steps over the boundary. Instantly, she feels a little bit lighter. She hopes her friends feel a little bit lighter too, no longer burdened by the weight of protecting her over and over again: the focal point of disaster and danger that has plagued them all for over a year now.

The wind lashes against her skin ( it still doesn't hurt ) as she takes advantage of her supernatural speed, racing over the land without any certainty of where she's going. All she knows is that she needs to leave.

( She gives that town a wide berth. )

She carries on and on and on, barely conscious, lost in the maze of her own thoughts. Her phone starts vibrating violently in her bag, but she doesn't pick up. Debates tossing it away entirely, cutting the strings Mystic Falls has pocketed her with.

Elena steps into the borders of Farmville and the strings begin to loosen.

THE DOPPELGANGER LEFT.

IT DOESN'T take long to figure out, not when he's got the Salvatore brothers beating down his door, demanding to know what the hell he did to their precious Elena Gilbert.

Klaus, for once, is truthful. He has no idea.

Has no idea why, exactly, he decided to sleep with her that night. Why did he give into the strings that had been pulling them together again and again for the past thousand years, when he had previously resisted her oh so well?

( Maybe it was because he knew something other than her fear, her hatred. Maybe because even her indifference was intoxicating. )

Then he hears that Rebekah's dull little boy toy, Matt Donovan, had been accidentally killed in the name of turning Gilbert's humanity switch back on. Then, it really isn't that hard to guess why the doppelganger skipped town.

Now a vampire and the magical quality of her blood withered away with her first life, Klaus has no need nor want to chase Elena Gilbert down, so he bears his fangs, slings the elder Salvatore across the room and tells both of them to get out of his house now lest they want their throats torn to ribbons.

Wisely, they both leave.

Alone once more, Klaus slinks into his studio, the fragrance of paint and more wafting up his nose. His eyes drift to that fateful painting, unbidden.

It reminds me of the sacrifice.

The fire in her eyes when she said it: it was as much her sacrifice as it was his. Still, she'd somehow come out with the shorter end of the stick.

It takes a special kind of skill to make that stick into a sword as she did.

ELENA WANDERS THROUGH THE TOWN of Farmville, aimless, no sense of direction than the whim of her own bloody, beaten heart.

Her fangs ache with the pangs of hunger at the thrum of heartbeats in her ear, incessant and demanding. She slips into an alleyway and feasts on one of her blood bags. The blood spills over her chin, but she wipes it clean and throws the empty bag into a dumpster before she steps back out.

The urge has lessened—the cacophony quiets.

( She's not ready to hunt again. Not when she has the memory of Klaus cooing in her ear how good of a job she's doing. )

Elena continues on her mindless stroll, stopping at windows and peering inside, trying to summon up a spark of curiosity or delight ( some kind of emotion that reminds her she's alive ), but everything's buried under the mound of misery that infects her deeper than her bones, digging into her marrow.

She wonders if Stefan and Damon are happy now. Turns it over in her mind if they'll really be able to bond now without a Petrova doppelgänger ripping them apart again and again.

Like they did to her.

( Thinks about if it was really worth it. )

"Fuck you!"

Elena's heightened hearing catches the shriek, high and pitched like there's a reason to be afraid. Something other than sorrow uncoils in her chest: anger, fury, rage.

( She won't let anyone else be taken advantage of. Not like her. )

She zips through the crowd, following the sound to its source: a dark alleyway and four silhouettes. One is slim and curved, standing tall and straight-backed against the other three. Towering and wide, they loom over the woman with yellowed teeth and beetle eyes that gleam in the shadows. The air is laced with a mixture of the woman's fear and frustration.

"Come on, sweetheart," the one standing directly in front of the woman croons, "Just hand it over. We can have some fun, then."

"Like hell ," the woman spits and there's something vaguely familiar about her voice, but Elena doesn't bother to pick at it as the man on the left suddenly lunges and she races forward at supernatural speeds, slamming the man's head into the wall. She takes down the other two with little fuss, punching one right in the face and cracking the other's nose with her knee.

It takes less than a second, and then Elena's standing in front of the woman, chest heaving despite the fact that she didn't exert herself at all.

( There's blood on her hands. She almost licks it off. )

The woman blinks, her hazel eyes blown wide. Elena muses on how she should compel her to forget now, wiping her hands on her jeans.

"You're not Katherine."

It's Elena's turn to be shocked now. Her jaw unhinges. "Huh?"

The woman shifts on her feet, taking a step back, like she knows how much danger she's in. Elena can't blame her: she isn't wrong. "No—I just . . . you're a doppelgänger, but you're not Katherine Pierce."

Well. That's a first.

Elena nods, slightly hesitant. "Yeah, I'm Elena Gilbert. I'm her descendant and the—"

( She was going to say the reason hybrids exist but she cuts herself short. She doesn't need the reminder of Klaus' teeth in her neck. )

" And . . . you're what, human?" Elena continues, " How do you know about vampires?"

"I'm a werewolf." The woman's eyes gleam in recognition and Elena's blood goes cold. "I know you. You're one of Tyler's friends?"

The way she says Tyler is bitter and almost regretful. Elena would analyse it more if the sound of the brunet's name didn't send a fresh wave of agony through her heart and remind her of the heavy weight of the phone she turned off in her bag.

Instead, Elena tilts her head, casts her mind back to that sense of deja vu that she felt at the echo of the werewolf's voice. "Yeah. Her. You're . . . you're the werewolf friend of Tyler's. The one with the whole hybrid . . . plot."

Elena remembers in stark clarity the aftermath of that plot: the murder of twelve hybrids, the drowning of Carol Lockwood, and the tears on Tyler's face that had nearly drowned him too.

The werewolf—Holly? Hope? No, Hadley! —shifts on her feet, lips pinching: her only admission of guilt. "I had my reasons."

"Don't we all," Elena comments drily. The sudden groan of one of the men encircling them reminds Elena of where she stands. "I should go."

Elena turns on her heel, shoving her hands in her jacket and makes her way down the alleyway, sinking back into her thoughts because it's really the only place she's safe—

"Wait!"

Elena pauses, turns around and fixes Hadley with a confused stare. "What?"

"Let me pay you back," Hadley says, treading past the unconscious men like they're more insignificant than the dirt under her shoes, "You saved me, I owe you, and I don't like owing people. Is there anything I can do?"

Can you bring back Jeremy? Matt? Jenna? John? My parents?

"Lunch," Elena blurts out so suddenly it takes her a moment for her mind to catch up with her mouth, "I-I mean proper lunch—in a restaurant. Not . . . y'know."

Hadley raises a brow, and her mouth opens as if to say why? but she shakes her head as if shaking away the thought and nods. "Sure. I got some cash on me. Anywhere in particular?"

"McDonalds," Elena says, having spied one a couple blocks back. Craves the familiar taste of fatty, greasy fast food because it reminds her of better days when the highlight of her week was her parents bringing home takeout and not when making a day without nearly dying is a good one.

And there's a strange hunger. A hunger in belly unlike the burning in her throat. It reminds her of brighter days.

Hadley nods and leads Elena back down the alleyway, bypassing the men again. The sunlight dances across Elena's cool skin and Hadley says, "I'm Hayley, by the way. Hayley Marshall."

Ah .

ELENA HAD FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH she had loved McDonalds.

She devours her Big Mac, teeth tearing through her chicken nuggets and fries, nearly moaning at the greasy taste. Before the death of her parents, the Gilbert family would treat themselves to take out once every couple weeks, her father's profession dictating that they stick to a healthy diet. Honestly, if it weren't for their mother pushing and prodding at her father to just give in, Elena has no doubt she would've reached eighteen without even a taste of fast food.

As it was, even after her parents died, the takeout her and her friends usually got was pizza or from that Chinese place a couple blocks down. Caroline boasted a personal vendetta with the McDonald's chain after they skimped her out of half of her twenty chicken nuggets, gave her a cheeseburger instead of a quarter pounder, and swapped her small fries for large ones.

The thought nearly makes Elena burst into tears.

"What happened?"

Hayley watches Elena critically. The vampire hums in question, still chewing through her burger.

"I mean, what happened to make you leave? Last I heard, you'd turned your humanity off and was royally pissing everyone off."

"Well, I was," Elena responds, thinking, wondering, plotting on how to phrase her words, "Then Stefan and Damon Salvatore killed my childhood best friend and first boyfriend to turn it back on. I left after that. There wasn't anything worth sticking around for. Not . . . not after that."

The words stick in her throat, viscous and thick but she forces them out. They make her bleed as they fall from her mouth.

"What about you?" Elena asks, "I doubt you're here just for fun."

Hayley shrugs and her gaze ducks to the table they sit at. Like if she meets Elena's gaze, she'll show the vampire everything she doesn't want to give. Elena knows the feeling. "I'm . . . I'm looking for my family."

"And they're here in Farmville?"

"No," Hayley scoffs, tilting her head up as she shakes her hair out. She still doesn't meet Elena's gaze, "I mean—I was adopted when I was a baby, and since I'm a werewolf, that obviously means I have werewolf parents. The whole reason I went through with that whole hybrid plot was because Shane said he could give me answers about my family. That fell through."

"I'm sorry," Elena says and isn't sure why. Does Hayley deserve an apology? Maybe not. But Elena has done far worse than Hayley ( defied Nature itself and created something that was never meant to be ) and she knows— knows the feeling of somehow missing a piece of yourself because you're somehow missing the people that gave you the colour of your hair, the shape of your hands, the calcium in your bones.

Her parents ( her parents because they raised her and nurtured her and loved her ) had carved a hole in her that only yawned open ever wider when she learnt the truth of her heritage ( of the colour of her eyes, the curve to her waist, the magic in her blood ) and she couldn't help but feel lied, betrayed, swindled.

Felt cheated because after everything that happened in only a handful of months, she deserved something good and the only prize she won was an absentee, violent uncle that loathed her boyfriend for his teeth and claws and perhaps even hated Elena a little bit for kissing Stefan so easily.

Elena cannot find it in herself to hate Hayley. Knows that craving for a home, that call for arms that should've held you for decades and not moments.

Knows what it's like to feel lost and unmoored in a storm of your own creation.

Besides, Elena can't exactly judge Hayley for engineering the hybrid sacrifice because Elena did horrible things too ( if Damon hadn't killed Matt, she might have drained him dry anyway ) and even with her humanity off, she still did them. Still got her hands dirty with blood and thievery, smashed hearts under the toe of her high heels just because she could.

She doesn't even bother to try to scrub herself clean. She's done it before, and all it's achieved is rubbing her raw.

Hayley chuckles bitterly and chews on a fry. "Don't bother. Anyway, after that clusterfuck, I ran, except I had Katherine Pierce after me because I was a 'loose end'. I got in contact with Klaus—"

Elena's hearing whitens out after hearing his name.

( "That's it, love. Just like that." )

She swallows, trying to ignore how her heart picks up, thrumming like a nightingale's wings. That night —that night she's decided to neglect to think about if not forget entirely ( like she could ever forget it ). When she had given into her most primal desires, let herself fall victim to the lodestone that had been pulsing in Klaus' gut, calling her closer and closer ever since they first collided.

Elena wrote it off as a side effect of the sacrifice—of their blood mixed together on that grass and in those flames. When their very selves stitched so tightly together it nearly suffocates her.

She may be eighteen, but she's not naive. She knows her and Klaus are bound in ways that even she can't understand, that what they share is something greater than galaxies. After all, if it wasn't for each other, perhaps neither one would have existed.

( She is finding how much of herself is directly tied to Klaus: after all, perhaps the only reason she was born on the twenty-second of June 1992 was so she could be the next stepping stone in the path towards hybrids. )

Pushing and pulling like two stars orbiting one another, Elena had always found the strength to deny the call between them. It helped that Klaus ignored her too, looked at her with nothing but hate and disgust and anger , but that night when she saw something other , saw something almost human—

She herself was no longer human that night, and saw no fault in having a bite at what lay between them—just a taste. Maybe it would lessen the pull, unbind the knot.

( It only seemed to fasten them closer together. )

( Not only does Elena know what his blood tastes like, how much his violence and aggression and contempt sting , but she also knows how his body ripples against her, how his nails dig into her thighs, how his tongue— )

Yet, by sleeping with Klaus, she not only betrayed her morals— herself —she betrayed Jenna. Jenna with her warm smile, quiet affection, and drive to protect her charges.

Now, one of those charges was dead, and the other . . . the other . . .

( The other was worse than. )

Elena swallows, ignores Hayley's critical gaze and asks, "Sorry, what was that?"

"I got the hell out of dodge after the whole hybrid murder plot, but Katherine and I . . . connected in New Orleans. When all was said and done, she decided that I was a loose end that needed cutting. I got in contact with Klaus and he offered me protection if I gave him information on Katherine. I agreed, we met up a couple days ago, I spilled my guts, and he gave me a clue."

Elena ignores the twinge in her heart at the mention of Klaus' name, and questions, "What kind of clue?"

"About my family." There's a pause, like Hayley's inwardly debating on how much of herself she wants to lay bare to this stranger-yet-saviour. "I have a birthmark on my shoulder. Klaus said that it belonged to this old werewolf line that originated in Louisiana."

"And you believe him?" At Hayley's softly surprised face, Elena clears her throat and tries again. "Sorry. What I mean is—well, no. Why the fuck do you think he's telling the truth?"

Something like a smile skitters over Hayley's red mouth. "Because it's something. Yeah, maybe Klaus is just leading me on, but I haven't got any other option."

"Fair enough," Elena comments and finishes off the rest of her burger, much to her dismay, "Well, I hope you find them, wherever they are."

"Thanks."

A silence descends over them, heavy with awkwardness and unspoken things and spoken things that should never have been said. Elena guzzles down the rest of her chicken nuggets and fries, and abruptly stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Her phone smashes against her hip through the fabric; it's silent now.

"Thanks for this. Bye," Elena says, moving towards the door but something makes her pause. Something makes her turn back around and open her mouth ( because the drive to run away has never been stronger ) and she asks, "Can I ask a massive favour?"

Hayley twists in her seat, humming in question as she chews through her mouthful. Now confronted with the werewolf's shrewd-hazel gaze, the words die in her mouth, tasting like ash on her tongue. But, just like her that fateful night when the fires were as tall as the sky, they jump back to life. "Could I come with you to Louisiana?"

Hayley's mouth unhinges just so in perplexity. "W-What?"

Elena swallows, pushing down her fear and finding a shard of courage in the bloody mass of her chest. It's the first real thing other than grief she's felt in a while. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask someone, but I need to get away from here—like yesterday . If I wait any longer, my friends'll find me and they'll drag me back like they always do. Just . . . can I come with you?"

The incredulousness on Hayley's face melts away into scepticism, those wolf eyes of hers cruising over Elena's frame as she could pick the vampire apart piece by piece and survey them individually to see if she could find the truth hidden in the flesh.

Elena takes a step forwards, and Hayley's gaze tracks the movement like an animal calculating their getaway. "I can help you find your family, if you want? I-I know something about finding family. I'm adopted too."

It's a truth Elena never wanted to confess, has never really mentioned it since she found John splayed out on the stones of the Boarding House doorway. Despite the time that has passed, the wound still feels raw.

( Elena the Human will always be the daughter of Greyson and Miranda Gilbert. But Elena the Vampire is starting to feel more and more like the daughter of John Gilbert and Isobel Fleming. )

( She hates it. )

At the confession, something flickers over Hayley's face, but it passes too quickly for Elena to decipher it. She hopes it's sympathy, hopes it's commiseration, hope it's pity just so long as Hayley takes Elena's hand and runs away with her.

( She is not old enough yet to do it alone. )

( She is not prepared to become Katherine just yet. )

Hayley's mouth pinches and she slings Elena one last critical glance before she says, "I have conditions if you do come."

Elena considers, sighs, nods. "Fine."

"One: you help me find my family at any cost."

"I'm not dying for you, but I'm willing to use compulsion and have my neck snapped once or twice."

"Fair enough. Two: you don't hunt around me. I don't need to see that."

Elena's heart twinges, hears a deep burr in her ear but ignores it, and pats her bag. "I've got blood bags."

"Finally, you're gonna have to get our getaway things. I mean a car and money. We're gonna be driving around a while in Louisiana. Do we have a deal?"

Elena takes a moment to pause, to breathe, to say goodbye to the last of Elena Gilbert who wanted to be a doctor, a writer, a teacher. Says hello to the Elena Gilbert who is now on the run and feels the wind in her hair and searching for a likely-extinct werewolf line.

"We have a deal."

They are not friends, but they are allies. Elena doesn't mind—it's the kind of relationship she knows how to navigate the best.

( And for the first time in a long, long while, she finally feels like she's done something right. )

AS PER THEIR AGREEMENT, ELENA is the responsible party for providing their getaway materials so after Hayley finishes up in McDonalds, she directs Elena to closest car dealership while the werewolf ducks into a nearby convenience store to spend the last of her money on a new map and a couple snacks for the road.

( "Y'know, since blood doesn't sit right in my stomach," Hayley had quipped wryly before she had disappeared into the shop. Elena had watched her go, standing listlessly next to the front window, wondering if Hayley will stick to their agreement or if she'll take the opportunity to slip out the back and disappear into the wind, shaking her head and laughing at the crazy vampire-girl who wanted to join her. )

( Thinks about running from Hayley too. Wouldn't be the first time she turned her back on a deal. )

Elena follows Hayley's directions diligently, winding up in a parking lot assorted neatly with shiny new cars she never bothered to learn the names of. She wanders around, eyes traversing over the vehicles, trying to find one that's most suitable for a long car ride.

It doesn't take long for a sleazy-looking salesman to sidle up to Elena's side with a smile he assumes is charming. His pin labels him as Jim.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?" Jim asks ( "Like that, sweetheart?" ) and Elena widens her eyes and brings her shoulders inwards and pushes her bottom lip out to mimic that image of soft, shy girl. Jim looms in closer.

"I would like that car please, sir," Elena says, pointing out a sleek black car.

Jim's pale-blue gaze follows the direction of Elena's finger and he laughs, shakes his head like she's a little girl who doesn't know right from left ( she knows exactly where to strike to pull his heart out ). "Sorry, gorgeous, but I don't think a car like that would be a very good fit for you. Maybe for you daddy. Here, how about we look at these ones over here—"

"But, sir —" Elena stretches her voice out into a whine, grabbing onto Jim's arms and yanking him to face her again with perhaps a tad more strength than is believable. As a precaution, she snares him in her gaze and finds a lick of joy at the sight of his face falling slack and obedient. He is clay victim to her mould. "I really want that car. For free. As well as all the money in a safe you likely have lying about somewhere. And don't tell anyone what you're doing."

Jim nods dutifully and wanders away. Elena supposes she should feel guilty for manipulating someone so easily, for eradicating their sense of self and free will and God knows what else, but she's too excited to care, heart thudding fast and hard against her ribcage.

She has never felt more alive since Meredith Fell laid out her death warrant by infecting her with Damon's blood and Rebekah signed it with the water of Wickery Pond.

Jim's return breaks Elena from her thoughts, handing her a duffel bag that she unzips to see the mounds of cash piled within. He hands her the car keys and Elena smiles at the chirp of the car unlocking. She returns her attention back to Jim who stands dutifully in front of her. She erases his memory of their meeting and slips into the car.

Hayley seems surprised to see Elena rolling up to the sidewalk and Elena can't help smiling ( how good of backstabbers they have become—predicting prophecies until they become self-fulfilling ). Hayley swipes up the duffel bag full of cash as she slides into the passenger seat, flicking through the contents as Elena pulls away from the sidewalk. "You did good."

"I try."

Elena drives out of Farmville, her bag in the backseat full of blood bags and missed calls and the further and further away she gets from Mystic Falls, the lighter she feels. The air doesn't seem so thick and her shoulders don't seem so heavy and ever since she was at the top of the pyramid during cheerleading practice just before the accident, she feels weightless.

( You should me now, Matt , she thinks to the sunset that paints oranges and pinks across its blue canvas, you and I would've had the best time. )