Elena sat listlessly in the armchair, back slumped against the cushions. Her arm was draped over one side carelessly, the other tightly gripping her glass. She heaved a sigh, her mind swirling with information.
Denial had found her first, and she was fighting herself, stuck between the alarming sense behind Damon's words and her own experiences of Stefan's usual benevolent nature.
She turned to Damon, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I know him, Damon." She was searching him for signs of humour. "Stefan wouldn't do this." This would be far even for Damon, but she couldn't ignore the hope she felt. This was Damon's forte. He stirred trouble, told poor jokes. She was waiting for the sarcastic quip. It didn't come.

He said nothing at first, his sarcastic attitude replaced by a much calmer demeanour. Elena was surprised at his sincerity.
He could see the worry eating at her. His chest did this weird tightening thing, and he was confused by the feeling. Was this empathy? He'd gone so long pretending he didn't care.

"I know it's not what you expected." He said finally, reaching for her empty hand and letting his thumb trace the divots in her knuckles. His eyes softened as he regarded her worried face, eyes tense and searching. "We'll help him, Elena." His jaw clenched. "I wanted you to know first. No more secrets."

"Know what?" The door swung open behind them, smacking the wall with a crack. Elena jumped, dropping the glass on the floor. It shattered.

Stefan ambled in, eyes furious. Elena caught a glimpse of the anger she'd seen radiating from him earlier, and found fear creeping up her again.
He strolled over to the drinks cart, taking an uncoordinated swig from the contents of one of the bottles. "Know what, Damon?" He ignored her entirely, poisonous stare fixed on Damon. "What does she know?" She could see the veins twitching under his eyes again.

"I had to tell her, Stefan. You couldn't possibly think the sheriff wouldn't notice your blood buffet." Damon stood up suddenly, moving to steady Stefan with both hands. Elena could see him swaying on his feet. "Ugh, since when did I have to be the boring brother?" Damon quipped, pushing him into the armchair and snatching the bottle from Stefan's hands.

"Stefan, what have you been drinking?" Elena looked imploringly at him, her hand moving to find his. He seemed even less coherent than before. They couldn't have been gone that long, surely. He flinched at her touch, pulling his arm away.

"You had no right." Stefan ignored her, the anger dissipating, replaced by an exasperated tone. Remorseful, even. He held out his hand patiently, waiting for Damon to return his drink, too uncoordinated to attempt snatching it back. His eyes were fixed on the floor, other hand raking his hair.

"I think you've had quite enough of this." Damon threw the bottle in the fire. It roared hungrily. "And I had every right, Stef. Your play tonight could have killed us both. In fact, it still could." He grabbed Stefan by the scruff of his collar, pulling his head up to face him. It lolled on his shoulders. "Look at me." His tone was venomous, commanding. "Look. At. Me," He growled, the words low and dangerous. Stefan's unfocused gaze moved up to find his.

"You are not going to screw this up for me." Damon's hands pinched either side of Stefan's face, keeping it firmly fixed on him as he watched the words sink in. "You need to sober up. Now." He let it drop and Stefan's head lolled to one side. "Where can someone find coffee in this place?"


Matt was outside on the balcony, a lit cigarette between his fingers. He let his eyes stray to the obscure shapes in the darkness, comforted by the silhouettes cast by the moon that rose high in the sky.
He turned, seeing a glimpse of a black dress running through the halls, heels clip-clopping on the ground. "Elena?"

She paused, leaning against the doorway. "Matt," she breathed, relieved to find a familiar face in the maze of hallways. She took a moment to catch her breath. "Sorry to interrupt. I don't suppose you know where I can find some cof-" she stopped mid-sentence, noticing Matt's dishevelled appearance in the dim light. His tie was askew, the suit spattered with blood. She realised his nose was bleeding, and he had a cut on his cheek. She crossed the distance between them.

"What happened to you, Matt?" She could see the tiredness in his eyes and wondered if he could be concussed. Her hand took his cheek, hoping for a better look.

"I had a fight with Tyler." He puffed, the smoke dissipating in the breeze. "He got with my mom, Elena."

"He- What?"

"Yeah," Matt said quietly, offering the cigarette to her. She shook her head slightly and he shrugged. "Not sure who I'm more mad at."

"Oh, Matt. I'm so sorry." Elena hugged him, arms careful to avoid anywhere that was sore. "How badly are you hurt? Should we get someone-"

"Nah, I'm okay." He waved her away. "He roughed me up a bit, but I'm fine."

"I think we should still check you out. You could have a concussion, Matt. That eye doesn't look too good." She'd thought it was a shadow at first, but now saw the deep purple hue around his socket. Matt only shrugged.

Damon burst through the halls, breathless and sweating. Elena could see a blood stain on his shirt. She wasn't sure whose it was. "He's gone, caved. We have to find him," Damon's jaw clenched.

"Find who?" Matt asked, dazed. He puffed once more.

"What do you mean, gone? Damon, you were supposed to be with him!" Elena's eyes darted around frantically, unsure of what to prioritize. Matt stood there, dazed and confused, probably concussed. And then there was Stefan—the unpredictable vampire on a blood binge.

"Yeah, well. Stefan's not himself right now, in case you didn't notice," Damon quipped, irritated. "He stabbed me, then busted the window. We need to find him." He grabbed her wrist. "Now."

"Stabbed," Matt said vaguely. It wasn't entirely a question, more like a whisper. "Who's been stabbed?" His brain felt like wet sand. He was struggling to keep all the elements from slipping away.

Elena watched him, concerned. "We can't leave him, Damon. He's hurt."

"Oh, alright," Damon stooped, lifting Matt over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "I've got you, wonder boy." He turned to Elena. "You find Alaric, tell him to get his tools, and meet me outside."

Elena nodded, throwing off her heels and sprinting off back down the corridors, towards the main room.


Stefan was strolling the gardens, his head pounding. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up there, only that his shirt was covered in shards of glass. He was aimless, eyes wandering over the features of the estate. His eyes caught the long vines of an old willow tree, its branches cascading over him gracefully. He leaned against the trunk for support, his fingers turning over the vine in his hand. He could feel the growl in his insides more acutely than before, a reflex he'd tried so hard to ignore, and yet he was so familiar with. Thirst.
The feeling was unbearable, and there was no liquor now to placate the angry pulse in his stomach- Damon had burned his precious whiskey- there was only one remedy left.

A blurred shape weaved between the cars that lined the driveway. Stefan spotted the drunken lurch of a man too inebriated to walk straight. The man was fumbling with his keys, dropping them carelessly on the pavement. He stumbled to the floor, hands searching for them in the darkness. Stefan thought he saw a familiar pair of shoes, his vampire sight focusing like the scope of a sniper. Italian, he recognised, smiling to himself. He appreciated the poetry of the moment that was about to be.


"Alaric." Elena caught the hem of his sleeve, pulling him to one side. The music was still pumping the room, people scattered around the dance floor.

"We need you," she said quietly, throwing a glance to Jeremy and Jenna, who were dancing energetically, oblivious to her presence.

Alaric regarded her thoughtfully, brow forming a thin line. "What is it, Elena?"


"You're okay, you're okay." Damon leaned Matt up against the stairs, eyes scanning him for other injuries. He unbuttoned his shirt slightly, taking stock of the deep bruising underneath. He sucked the air through his teeth. "Ouch," he hissed sympathetically. It looked painful.

"What's going on?" A voice called from behind them, her voice tinged with alarm.

"Liz," Damon sighed, relieved. "Boy, am I glad to see you."

"What's wrong with him?" She moved towards them, taking her place beside Damon. Her face was full of concern.

"He's concussed." He said grimly. "You. Stay awake." He said, shaking Matt slightly, whose eyes were beginning to droop. "Can stay with him? I'll go get help."

Liz nodded. Her hand stroked Matt's face kindly, as if he were her own child. "What happened to him?"

"Not sure. I found him on the balcony all banged up."

Damon moved quickly up the stairs, urgency driving his movements. He needed Alaric and Elena now. His mind raced with potential disasters. Exposure, murders and his brother getting staked were at the forefront of his mind. He wasn't sure which of the possibilities were worse.


Stefan took a moment to collect his thoughts. He'd always savoured the chase. Predator and prey, moving in tandem but tracing parallel lines. Both were inebriated, both were alone. He admired the beauty of it.

He stalked towards the cars, alcohol muddying his accuracy. It wouldn't matter in the end, he thought. There was no need to be neat. The town wouldn't miss a bigot. It would be just desserts. The man would get his comeuppance, after all.

He blurred behind the man, who was still grasping the ground hopelessly for his keys. He stumbled forward on the ground, startled by the sound. "Who's there?" His voice shook as he scrambled backwards, his back turned to the car. He had seen enough horrors that evening not to ignore the shadows of the night.

"Come here alone?" Stefan appeared through the air, his feet landing on the car's roof that dented under the force. "Let me guess. Your wife is at home, in the kitchen where she belongs?" He quipped sarcastically, venom and disgust coating every syllable.

The man whipped around, searching for a face in the darkness, but he found none. There was a whooshing sound and he leapt around once more, desperate to locate the source. "W-who are you?"

Stefan appeared in front of him, fangs extended, eyes red. Hungry.

"Y-you're t-the man from earlier," the man gasped, face white, his breath caught in his chest.

Stefan laughed a hollow laugh. He felt the humanity seep from him. "I am no man," he said quietly, leaping forward, fangs clasping the man's neck viciously.

"Stefan, stop!" Elena appeared amidst the cars, accompanied by Alaric and Damon who both bore crossbows in their arms. Elena lowered hers, a gesture of trust. She moving towards Stefan slowly, hands outstretched, palms facing him. She meant to show him she meant no harm.

"Elena, get back," Damon snapped, inwardly kicking himself for involving her. She had always been far too trusting. It was why he loved her, but also her biggest weakness. "Brother, kindly release him before we shoot you," he said, bored. "And don't think we won't," he added, raising the crossbow to aim for Stefan's face.

"Let me try, Damon," Elena's eyes looked pleading. She was still breaking the distance between them and Stefan, determined to resolve this peacefully. "Stefan?" She tried again, searching him for any humanity that was left. "Stefan, please," she begged. "This isn't you."
Stefan seemed oblivious to them all, an animal guzzling ravenously on the man, who was turning whiter by the minute.

"Move!" A voice barked. Wooden pellets whizzed by, barely missing Damon who leapt to the side, pulling Alaric with him. Elena ducked, but too late. The bullets grazed her arms and waist, tearing the dress as they continued their trajectory, plunging into Stefan. "Elena!" Damon barked, crawling over to her.

Stefan whipped around, eyes frenzied and wide. More bullets came flying through the air, and Damon pulled Elena to the ground. They turned to see John standing behind them, gun in hand, the barrel pointed squarely at Stefan.

Stefan snarled, pulling as many of the wooden points out of him. He took one last look at the man before ripping his head clean off; it rolled disgustingly on the floor. He cast one glance at John before whizzing haphazardly into the trees.

John lowered his gun. "Get her out of here," was all he said, before he moved once more towards the house, without a backwards glance.