AN: This is one of my favorite outtakes personally! I hope ya'll enjoy it.
Also omg anon that's so crazy! I honestly picked a Texas border town at random! Weirdly enough it recently came up in another story I'm writing! Clearly I need to visit!
Anyway, enjoy!
Addendum: Outtakes
Referenced in Ch. 22
Tupelo
Mississippi: December 2016
It's the gray area of time between Christmas and New Year's Eve, Elena Gilbert is nineteen years old, and John Winchester won't let her order a drink at the bar they're in.
"She'll have another sweet tea, thanks," he says to the waitress firmly.
She nods, dead on her feet from a double shift and uninterested in their tense dynamic, leaving them to each other without a moment's hesitation.
Elena gives him an irritated look, but John stays firm. She has a split lip and a scrape high on her cheekbone, visible injuries she explains away as being from a car accident. John is the only one aware that her perfect posture is because of the large bruise on her ribcage. He's got a shiner and his back aches just enough to remind him of his age; he's not in the mood for any of her snark or her charm.
For her part, Elena is just as irritated with John's presence. A week ago, she was sitting Bobby Singer's living room with Dean wrapping Christmas presents at midnight while Bobby and Jeremy were passed out upstairs. John appeared the day after Christmas to send Dean to Ohio for a poltergeist case and drag Elena down South for her visit with Klaus. Then a case in Mississippi distracted him. The ghost of Francie Inez had done a number on them both, and John just wants to enjoy his beer and his burger and figure out how to explain her injuries when they get to New Orleans.
"Dean would let me have a drink," Elena points out mulishly.
"Because you'd get the bartender to give him a free drink too," John points out.
She steals one of his fries. "You don't like free drinks?" she asks with just enough innocence to be a pain in his ass.
"No, I don't," he says shortly.
"You do realize Klaus is going to pour me a glass of bourbon older than you the second I step into the compound so really, your prohibitionist rulings have no effect on how drunk I'll be in a matter of hours. Why even bother trying to stop me?"
He just barely manages to hold in a laugh, covering it up with a swig from his beer.
"If you keep talking, your lip's gonna start bleeding again," he says stoically. "So why don't you shut your smart mouth and start thinking of a way to explain to Klaus why you look like he oughta be eating me for dinner."
She makes a face, stealing another one of his fries. "I'm a hunter, sometimes the monsters are gonna go for the face. He should just get used to it."
"That you are," John agrees with significant patience. "But we want him to continue thinking that I keep you locked in a motel room doing research, not out in the world where ghosts can throw full grown men into you like a bowling ball, pinhead," he adds, reminding her of events that took place only the day before.
She gives him a playful glare for the honorific. "I'm pretty sure that hurt you more than it hurt me."
He gestures at her with a fry. "Your ribs are bruised," he reminds her. "You're definitely worse off than I am."
She cocks her head to the side. "Oh yeah?" She gestures at the condiments just out of his reach. "Don't you want some ketchup for your fries, John?"
He glares at her, and she glares right back, both aware that he's too stiff to reach that far.
"Truce?" he finally says, begrudgingly.
Over a year in her company has taught him that she can outlast him in pretty much every argument. In that time, he's gotten better at bending when it comes to their petty squabbling, saving his strength for the bigger battles.
"Truce," she agrees, grabbing the ketchup and handing it to him.
"So, does that mean I can have a drink?" she asks after a moment.
He scoffs. "No. Be a lush on someone else's time."
Sure, he likes free beer as much as anyone else, but it's the principle of the matter. And Elena's right, she'll be drinking finer bourbon than John's ever tasted sooner rather than later.
John is attempting to catch their waitress' attention for the check when Elena finally reveals why she's been fixating on the bar for the last ten minutes.
It's the subtlest thing in the world, just a tap to his elbow and her chin pointed in the direction of a couple at the bar, but it takes John less than a minute to understand.
The girl is a pretty thing, blonde hair and a worn-out smile, the kind of girl you usually get as a waitress in LA: perpetually waiting on the next big thing to finally happen to her until it wears her down into dust and she returns home a shell of a woman, ready at last to be a mother. The man talks too loud, gestures too big, and can't quite hide the blood in his eyes when he catches sight of the fluttering pulse at the blonde's wrist.
Dammit, a vampire. John takes a deep breath, prepared to tell the harried waitress that they want another round, but Elena interrupts him.
"Just the check, please." She smiles and the waitress relaxes for just a moment, smiling back a little goofily.
She puts their bill down on the table.
"What exactly are you thinking, Elena?" John asks after the waitress leaves, speaking between gritted teeth, keeping his voice below the din of the bar, but not tense enough to stand out to the vampire.
Elena smiles at him, ignoring everything he just said. "Thanks for dinner, Uncle John," she says at regular volume. "It was nice catching up, I'll see you at Easter."
He gives her a distinctly puzzled look but takes out his wallet to pay the bill. The waitress comes back for it as Elena stands up to hug him.
"Wait for me out back," she breathes into his ear, her tone dismissively light.
She steps out of his embrace, leaving him only on the verge of understanding. He starts for the door, glancing back at her.
It comes together as he watches her unlatch her necklace and shove it into her coat pocket. It's the witch-chain carrying her parents rings, the chain a practical and thoughtful gift from his son. Without hesitation she sucks her lower lip into her mouth and delicately nips open the split with her own teeth until it's gushing blood again.
The vampire's attention snaps over to her immediately.
Elena raises her hand to mouth, appropriately embarrassed to bleeding in public and not nearly scared enough for someone bleeding in front of a thirsty vampire. She hurries over to the bar, stopping right next to the vampire and the blonde he forgot all about at the first whiff of Elena's blood. He eagerly holds out a napkin to her.
Elena flicks her hair, not fully flipping it over her shoulder, just enough to suggest the line of her throat and the flutter of her pulse – not enough to reveal her scars – and smiles helplessly at him, blood staining her mouth and sliding down her chin, garishly vulnerable and utterly bewitching.
And it's funny, for all her helpless act – and John knows that's exactly what the vampire sees: wounded prey – Elena has never looked more dangerous to him. With a shake of his head, John continues out the door, towards his car and the weapons locked in his trunk. He has just the stake in his arsenal for their new friend.
The vampire hadn't wanted to wait, apparently, because they are already in the back alley by the time John gets there. It couldn't have taken him longer than five minutes to find a stake and circle around to the back, but the vampire is already fangs-deep in Elena.
If he had time to speculate, he'd guess the vampire must be pretty young, he's sloppy and using more force than necessary. That, or he just hates humans to the point of gleeful cruelty.
He has her pressed up against the dirty brick, shirt and jacket torn open to bare one shoulder, his teeth buried in her flesh. Body molded to hers, driving her into the bricks with every swallow, making the blocks rattle within their mortar alarmingly. He's got one hand tangle in her hair, pulling her head to the side at a painful angle, and one hand up her shirt.
John feels bile rise in his throat, fury hot in his veins. Elena sucks in a pained breath, locking eyes with him.
He has the stake angled to rush forward when she subtly shakes her head. She must have felt something – a respite in the pulling sensation as he swallows down her blood – because only a moment later the vampire raises his head to press his mouth hungrily to hers.
Elena gives no indication that she is uncomfortable, her hand from her uninjured arm drifting up to lace firm fingers through his hair, holding him in place.
A twitch of her fingers in John's direction and he strikes.
The vampire keels over, skin graying before he realizes what's happened. His hand, still tangled in her hair, nearly pulls her down with him, but she manages to dislodge his stiff fingers in time.
Elena's mouth is bloodied, distinct cuts marking her lips, revealing that he didn't bother retracting his fangs when he kissed her, her shoulder is a mess, but she doesn't seem to notice. She gulps down air, trying to catch her breath.
"He must've taken you straight out here," John observes uneasily.
She nods. "He tried to compel me pretty much as soon as you were out the door." She attempts to pull her ruined shirt and jacket up over her shoulder, to no avail. "I couldn't exactly let him know it didn't work, now, could I?" She can't quite meet his eyes, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
John can see that he snapped her bra strap too, an unpleasant tightness in his chest. He kicks the vampire's corpse out of the way with more force than necessary, moving closer and pulling off his jacket to wrap around her.
She relaxes a fraction now that she's properly covered, but she still can't seem to catch her breath, every breath labored and pained.
John's sorting through his emotions, finding himself both proud and furious.
She must see it in his face because Elena rolls her eyes, leaning back to rest against the wall before he even opens his mouth to berate her.
"He already had a target, you didn't have to bait him like that," he says calmly. "He wouldn't have been so intense if you hadn't wound him up like that."
She raises an eyebrow, giving him a cold stare.
"Take everything you just said and imagine saying it to a real victim so you can realize how much of an asshole you're being right now," she snaps, slipping her hand under his coat to press against her bleeding wound, trying to even out her breath to hide the wheezing.
He flinches, unable to argue. "He already had a target, Elena," he says between clenched teeth.
She looks at him head on, bloodied mouth, chin tipped upward stubbornly. "And I gave him a better one. What vampire is going to resist a bleeding girl?"
"You unnecessarily put yourself at risk," he continues.
She interrupts. "To save her," she says shrilly.
This, at last, silences him.
"She didn't have to experience this. By baiting him I sped up the process, he got sloppy, and now he's dead. No harm, no foul."
He raises an eyebrow at her. "How are your ribs?"
He imagines she would blush if she could, but she's lost too much blood, so her cheeks continue to be bleached of color as she struggles to breathe.
"They're probably broken now," she admits begrudgingly.
"How in the hell am I supposed to explain this to Klaus?" he asks bluntly.
Klaus has an uncanny ability to know when Elena has had vampire blood, and a deep distaste for anyone giving her blood that isn't him, but it's looking increasingly like John's just going to have to deal with the fallout of that; because Elena doesn't look like she's going to make it to the car, let alone the five hours it takes to get from bumfuck, Mississippi to New Orleans.
She waves her hand, slick with her own blood. "Just get me to a motel, I'll take it from there."
She's starting to slur her speech, alarming him. John grasps her face between his hands, her eyes somewhat glazed, but something in her gaze tells him she's more lucid than he's giving her credit for.
He kneels, ripping the bottom half of the vampire's shirt off to use a makeshift bandage for Elena's shoulder. Once he's stemmed the blood flow, he scoops her up like a child, carrying her to the car, adrenaline allowing him to barely feel the strain this puts on his battered body.
After he loads her into the front seat and the vampire's body into the pickup bed, while he is driving, she talks to him. Telling him about her parents with uncharacteristic childlike trust that makes him grip the steering wheel too hard. Everything she says makes perfect sense, no wandering off topic, just a steady stream of speech about people who are long dead and buried.
"Daddy used to take us to Virginia Beach in the middle of January. It was always empty and freezing but the smell of salt in the air and the empty beach was like heaven."
He can see that she's trying to reassure him, not give him a moment to worry over her, but her chosen topic twists his stomach.
"Mama wore magnolia-scented perfume; Daddy had it made for her from the tree in our backyard. Spring in the South is the worst time of the year. I can't even breathe without thinking of her, without missing her."
Unable to ignore her words, he finds himself remembering the scent of Mary's perfume.
Elena would never tell him about her parents if she was in her right mind. She's holding herself together heroically, but this is a level of vulnerability she keeps well hidden from him.
"Aunt Jenna had the best laugh. It was so mischievous and a little bit dirty, but you never had to feel bad when you told her secrets. Even if it was embarrassing and she laughed, it was like she was telling you she'd already been there and done that – and made a much bigger mess of it than you did. Like she'd never judge you for any of it."
If pressed, John would swear that his blurry vision is from exhaustion, not grief.
"And Uncle John – you know, I never liked him. My entire life, I just couldn't stand him. I don't even really know why. He tried hard, bought me presents, remembered what classes I was taking, encouraged my writing. But it was like everything he tried to do to make me like him made me resent him more. He always said the wrong thing, even if it was the right thing coming from someone else."
Finally, he finds a motel, pulling into the parking lot and coming to a stop in front of the reception office.
"You sit tight, Elena," he tells her, gripping her uninjured shoulder to keep her attention. "I'll get a room and then you'll tell me what the hell we're doing about this."
She smiles distantly at him, face still smeared with her own blood.
When he remembers this night in the future, he won't recall anything about the woman who checked him into the motel. He won't remember moving the car closer to their room, or carrying her inside, how in the hell he managed to open the door with her dead weight in his arms, but he will remember every labored breath Elena takes.
He will remember the hideous floral bedspreads and how leeched of color they look compared to the garish red of Elena's blood. He will remember the way she clung to his neck with only one arm, the other dangling uselessly, her wheezing, pained breath in his ear as he laid her down.
He will remember how she gently pats his hand and then extracts her phone from a hidden pocket.
"Klaus?" Elena's gaze stays on John. "I need you," she says, and John will always wonder if she's faking the terror in her voice as she tells him where she is, or if she knows that she is dying.
And she is dying. Months later, Klaus will tell him that he could hear the blood in her lungs. He will look haunted by this, and John will never forget it, how human she makes him.
She is dying, dying for a blonde in a bar because she never wants her to know how it feels to be prey, not like this. She is dying for a girl who will only remember her with blood on her mouth, stealing the cute guy at the bar away from her, unaware that Elena was her savior. Unaware that she owes her life to a girl who never hesitated to save hers, even at the cost of her own.
It seems to be only minutes before Klaus appears, the door moving so quickly that he never sees it open, just the sound of it closing, and then Klaus is there. John moves away from Elena so quickly he is suddenly across the room, or Klaus moves him, and he never notices, never feels the moment he touched him.
He watches as Klaus gathers Elena up into his arms, in the same moment he bites open his wrist. He is on the bed with her in his lap with her mouth latched onto his bleeding wrist in a blink of an eye.
"Shhh, it's all right, darling, you'll be all right," Klaus soothes, stroking his free hand down her hair. "What happened? Who did this to her?" he directs at John.
"It was a vampire," John starts, but Elena pulls away to explain.
"He saved me," she tells Klaus, mouth wet with his blood. John's lost track of the ways this monster has marked this girl. "If it wasn't for John, that vampire would've killed me." She leans her head back, resting it on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded, looking far too relaxed in the monster's embrace.
"Is that right?" Klaus asks, shredding the makeshift bandage on her shoulder with an impatient flick of his fingernails. Now that he can clearly see the wound healing before his eyes, he relaxes, tucking her closer against him, making John's fists clench involuntarily even as he realizes that she might've marked him too – in a way that doesn't leave any visible marks, but still finds a way to announce its presence within his actions.
Klaus looks over at him. "It seems I owe you a debt."
With great tenderness, he wipes his blood from her mouth with his fingers, knuckles dragging across her cheek, causing her own blood to flake off her skin. John stares in detached fascination. There on Elena's face, their two bloods mingle: the ingredients to make a hybrid.
In less than an hour, Elena is rosy-cheeked and alert, carefully spinning the tale of John's rescue.
It all sounds perfectly plausible to John's ears, and he was there. It's a marvel, how she turns her risky behavior into an act of salvation on John's part. Now, Klaus seems to feel indebted to him and Elena has hidden her reckless behavior from him flawlessly, healing every wound without having to tell him their true origins.
It's times like this that John is terrified of what Elena could do to his son, given the inclination. When she makes the truth sound like a lie and twines a monster around her fingers like a girl coyly toying with ropes of pearls wrapped around her pretty scarred throat.
An hour ago, she unblinkingly risked her life for a stranger in a bar, and now she spins the situation into an advantage. There is no relief, no time to reconcile that selfless, heroic girl with this calculating, shrewd one.
Before the hour is up, Klaus has a car waiting for them and is telling Elena about the spectacular New Year's Eve bash he has planned in her honor and what foods Hayley has been craving at this stage of her pregnancy as the driver loads Elena's things into the car.
Elena gives John his coat back and promises to let him know when to come get her. Klaus reminds him again that he is now in John's debt.
Klaus tucks her neatly under his arm and leads her to the car. To anyone else, they would look like the perfect couple, nothing in Elena's body language suggests she is uncomfortable. But playing on a reel in John's head are a hundred – no, a thousand times when Dean has thrown his arm over Elena's shoulder, pulling her into his side to comfort or tease or for no other reason than to have her closer. He can see it clearly in his mind's eye, the way Elena's face lights up every time, whether she means it to or not.
Her face is full of rosy color in the dim parking lot light, flushed with life, but not love. He supposes this is a good thing, that as well as she can fake being comfortable with monsters, she equally cannot hide her love when he's the one pulling her closer.
Klaus releases Elena from his grip to help her into the car, looking back at John one last time to nod farewell before following her in.
John watches them drive away, then goes back to his room, seeing it as if for the first time. The blood on the other bed is the only evidence of their presence. He's still covered in Elena's blood as is his jacket, it will take him more time than it's worth to get out the bloodstains. Vaguely he thinks of the way Elena can't help but mark everything she touches – whether she's bleeding or not.
It's a full hour after they've left that he feels the stiffness in his back, coming back with vengeance. It's then that he remembers the vampire's body in his truck. He stands, thinking of a vacant lot they passed on their way into town, business as usual.
AN: I think of this as the moment John realized he cared for Elena. The Klena was just for me, as usual.
The next outtake is longer than all of the others put together - and every individual chapter of the main story - it's a doozy! So stay tuned if you want a bunch of Petrova lore in the most aggressively traumatic way possible and some stuff from when Dean was training Elena! As I mentioned in the main story, these are both so long I might need another week to edit but I'll try to have them up as soon as I can!
Thoughts? Questions? Please leave a review!
xoxo
-Pixie