Love Takes Hostages -- Part Four: Consequences -- Chapter Twelve

[scorpiod1]

Déjà vu was painful.

There was something exceedingly familiar about laying on the cold ground, Elena dead and slipping into transition next to him, Damon close to unconsciousness beside him and a vampire hunter-one of the Founding Families-dragging them all into the wagon.

Not wagon. Van. It was a van.

When Stefan closed his eyes, it was a wagon and he was dying and Damon was dead and Katherine-

He hated Katherine.

He opened his eyes and Elena was dead.

He was in the back of a van and John was roughly shoving Damon’s limp body in and Isobel-he had no idea where she had come from-was gently placing Elena’s body next to his. Stefan couldn’t see her face, couldn’t even move his head to look at her-his limbs were heavy and his head was swimming and the only thing he was really sure of was that Elena was dead.

Stefan closed his eyes.

He was dying and it was his fault. He watched the life fade from Damon’s eyes and then they both died, cold and alone in the forest, spurred by their father as traitors and failures. He got Katherine captured, and he got his brother killed, and he got himself killed, and all he wanted was peace with his brother, all he wanted was his forgiveness.

All he wanted was Elena and peace with his brother, any way he could.

Elena was dead and it was his fault.

The van was moving.

Isobel and John were talking, low intimate whispers and Stefan heard what they were saying but he could not comprehend them, meaningless white noise. Isobel might have been driving. She might have been crying as well. John had a gun he couldn’t stop turning around in his hands.

Somewhere far away, Elena was smiling at him. She was nestled into Damon’s arms and they were both looking up at him, Damon’s smirk inviting and Elena was overjoyed and giggling and Stefan was so in love. He wanted this so badly, under all his protests, fucked up and in love for them both. It was warm in between them and Elena made Damon so much brighter than Stefan ever could, and together, they were home.

Somewhere else, Katherine was smiling at him. It was cold and sharp-like her teeth, like her smile-and she’s gloating about Elena’s death.

Somewhere else, Katherine held him down and fed on him and took his free will and his ability to make a choice. Her smile was bloody and he wanted to scream and recoil from her, and then she looked him in the eyes and replaced his horror with mindless adoration.

Somewhere else, Katherine destroyed him and his brother, ripped them apart for her pleasure and watched with a as they both fought like dogs.

Elena brought them back together.

Katherine was dead and all he could hear was her laugh.

He opened his eyes.

Elena was right next to him, her body slack, with no expression on her face. Her body shook slightly as the van moved. She could have been sleeping but she had no heartbeat. He was looking right at her, so close that if he had any strength in his body, he could lean in and kiss her.

He was staring into Elena’s face and she said she loved him. They were outside on the cold ground, and he was dying. They were in a van and Elena loved him, and she was dead.

He was in the cell and she was holding his hand and leading him out, because she had so much faith in him. She shone so brightly with her love for them both.

It was all happening at once. The threads of destiny, past and present and the future tangled up together in his mind. The repeating patterns were more prominent than ever, ebbing and flowing like the tide, until he finally drowned within them.

He was terrified he’ll never see the light in her eyes again.

Elena was dead. Stefan wanted to travel back in time and stop it. Find some mystical device to that would restore her life and humanity. Press a reset button. Undo it. Make it stop. Make it not true.

“Elena, I am so sorry,” he said. The words were less like speech and more like pushing out feeble breaths, raw and aching and barely audible. It hurt so much to talk.

There was no reset button. There was no erasing this.

The vervain was still working its way through him, coursing through his bloodstream, his body aching and limbs so heavy and all he could see was Elena.

He was pulling a girl out of the water. She had Katherine’s face and he was so terrified, the resemblance uncanny and disturbing. He was so scared that she was Katherine. He had to know her. He needed to know her.

She was so sad and he just wanted to make her feel better. He just wanted her to be happy. He wanted to make her happy.

You won’t be sad forever, Elena.

She was dying and he saved her life, and he loved her. A year later, she was dead.

“Elena,” he whispered.

“Stefan,” Damon said. His brother’s voice was stronger than his, but still noticeably, painfully strained, broken glass and sandpaper rough. He couldn’t see Damon clearly-he was on the other side of Elena. Damon gave a meager twitch at movement, raising his arms up for a second before it fell back down.

“Stefan, I promise,” he brother assured him and Damon was being ridiculously, confusingly soothing with him. “We’ll be fine. The three of us.”

Elena’s eyelids flickered. Her wound was healed. Her neck had probably healed as well. He could still smell her blood, rich and heavy in the air, but it longer quite called to him the way it used to, no longer quite as appetizing as it used to be. No longer prey.

“Elena,” Stefan murmured.

She didn’t open her eyes, but it almost looked like she was trying to and they were simply too heavy for it.

The van stopped. Then the doors opened and two shadows fell over them both. They grabbed Damon first, pulling him out.

“Isobel, you bitch,” Damon snarled-or made an attempt to snarl, it didn’t come out as menacing as he wanted, low and weak. There was a loud, smacking noise of flesh meeting flesh and Stefan could taste Damon’s blood in the air.

And then someone was dragging him outside as well.

“Elena,” Stefan muttered, her name instinctively leaving his lips.

She didn’t quite move, but Stefan thought he saw her twitch a little, a small sign of her revival.

Damon was talking, saying something, but Stefan couldn’t hear him. He thought he may have been calling Isobel a traitor but he was so far away and his voice was like cotton in Stefan’s ears. Moving was dizzying and confusing and made him want to throw up but he hadn’t vomited in over a century.

It was easier to close his eyes against it and just let John haul him around like a ragdoll. It was easier to just let them take him.

“Stefan? Stefan, can you hear me?”

He opened his eyes.

He and Damon were on the floor, both of them on their sides, facing each other. The floor was cold and dirty beneath his cheek, and reminded Stefan of concrete. They weren’t outside anymore and Stefan wasn’t sure how he got here.

Something was wrong. This was all wrong.

Damon was staring at him with wide, concerned eyes. His body was slack and heavy, Damon otherwise not moving, but he looked alert. He was blurry in front of him, fuzzy around the edges, like he wasn’t quite real.

Damon was dying on the cold ground and Stefan couldn’t save him. Stefan failed him. He disappointed him. Damon was weak and dying, and Stefan had to save him and he would do whatever it took, including damning him.

“Stefan?” Damon repeated.

They weren’t bound, their limbs free but it didn’t matter; it was so hard to move.

“Damon,” he moaned, blinking his eyes to see clearly.

“Stefan, they’re going to kill us.”

“Why?” he asked, wincing as he spoke. Talking was so difficult, like trying to get words out through a molasses barrier, like his mouth was numb and stuffed with honey and fluff.

“They think we killed Elena.”

“We did,” Stefan muttered, shutting his eyes and Katherine was snapping Elena’s neck, over and over. “I did.”

“Stefan,” Damon groaned. “Now is not the time for you perpetual guilt.”

Stefan opened his eyes. His brother's imaged blurred in front of Stefan. Damon's forehead was creased, face twisted in a grimace and everything was a strain for him.

“I don’t want to die, Stefan,” Damon said, shaky as he spoke.

It was like there were several Damons and they were all dying before his eyes.

Stefan tried to nod but it didn’t come out right at this angle. “I tried to save you,” he said, trying to breathe and he didn’t know why he was breathing. “I tried to save you and you hated me for it. I am so sorry for what I did to you, Damon,” he gasped and every word was a strain on his body, made everything in him hurt.

“Stefan, what-”

“I am so sorry for hurting you, Damon,” he breathed and he was, but he knew he’d do it again if he had to, if he was given a redo-but there were no redos, he was stuck with what he wrought, with the consequences-because even now, he still couldn’t stomach the idea of living without Damon.

“I love you, Damon.”

Damon went utterly still, visibly shaken. “You’re drugged out of your mind, Stefan.”

His throat felt strangled-like his own body was trying to choke him, like invisible hands had him by the throat and was squeezing.

It hurt to even think about her. It hurt to say her name.

“Elena,” he finally managed. “She loved you too.”

The vulnerability in his brother’s eyes was beautiful and painful to look at, blue eyes raw and exposed, trying to blink back whatever emotion in him that he tried so hard to bury.

“Stefan, I-”

“I can’t watch you die again.”

He just watched Elena die-and Stefan deserved whatever he got for that, deserved death for saving a teenage girl, and then leading her to her destruction-but couldn’t do this.

Everything was happening all at once. Damon was dying. Elena was dying. Stefan was failing them both.

There was a loud, slamming sound as a door was opened and closed violently. Someone was coming. Stefan tried to raise his head and look over Damon’s body to get a closer look but he could barely lift his head, barely move his body.

He got a better look when John Gilbert grabbed Damon and slammed him against the wall. Damon winced and groaned, body tensing up in pain.

“Damon,” Stefan said, growling at John, though it came out more garbled than anything else.

John shot him a glare.

“You finally decided to kill me?” Damon said, voice strained even as he joked. “What a shame, I was beginning to enjoy our camaraderie.”

“I told you, if anything happens to Elena, I’ll kill you both. And I fully intend to keep my word.”

He dropped Damon and he crumbled to the ground, landing with a painful thump. John turned around and grabbed something he’d left on the steps; cans of kerosene.

“Elena,” Stefan whispered, closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, John was right in his face, glaring at him.

“Because of you, Isobel has to go and hide our daughter’s body for someone to come find her so when she’s discovered, no one can link her to that house,” John hissed, his fury stark and real on his face, eyes blazing. “We have to cover up our own daughter’s death.”

“You’re hiding her?” Damon asked, voice soft. John didn’t answer him, went on ranting at Stefan.

“As far as I’m concerned, you killed her,” he said coldly. “This is your fault.”

Stefan could only nod helplessly. “Yes,” he agreed. He saved Elena’s life only to get her killed.

He was dying in the forest alone.

He was watching Katherine kill Elena.

Their history all came to catch up with them, swirling around in a twisted, tangled mess and they would always end up here-with someone he loved dead and the blood on Stefan’s hands.

They were all dying.

“No,” Damon said. “You really think Isobel is hiding her body? I bet that was her idea, wasn’t it?”

John paused from what he was doing, turning his head slowly to arch an eyebrow at Damon. “What are you talking about?” he asked quietly, keeping his voice even.

Only Damon could do this now, grin wide and smug at John as he poured kerosene around the room. Damon was tired, he was so visibly tired and weak, paler than normal and face sunken slightly and yet, he was still taunting John.

“Do you really trust Isobel not to lie to you? To share everything with you? After she didn’t tell you her plans to kidnap Elena in the first place?”

“Damon.” John started to advance on him, his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck are you saying?”

Damon’s smirk was triumphant and it made something inside Stefan burn.

“Just how close did you look at her body?”

*****

Waking up was hard.

Her body felt too weak to move at all at first, something dragging her limbs down. Opening her eyes took so much willpower, let alone sitting up. And when she managed that, it almost wasn’t worth it at all because everything inside her hurt.

Her head felt like it was going to explode. Her skin felt like it was wrapped around her body too tight, like clothes she’d outgrown, constricting her. Her gums hurt. Even noises hurt, like sound was suddenly too much for her ears. There was this ache bone-deep inside her, something tugging and pulling within her. It was small, but it was there, and she thought it would just grow bigger.

She had no clue where she was. It was dark and small and cramped. For a second, Elena thought she was still in the basement and she wanted to scream.

She thought she did scream for a minute, a loud undignified squeal of pain and fear. Then she noticed her surroundings and it was most definitely not a basement.

She was out.

Relief only lasted a second when she realized she still had no clue where she was. It looked like maybe the back of a van and-

Stefan had been here. She had the vague memory of him talking to her, but it was all jumbled up in her head and there were holes in her memory. She remembered Stefan said something to her, but not what. She remembered hearing her name from him and Damon whispering.

She remembered a bullet wound to her gut and Stefan feeding her his blood, and she wasn’t quite sure what happened after that, but she felt sick when she tried to think about it.

She could still taste his blood in her mouth, salt and copper and thick like honey.

Elena whined, clutching her head. It hurt, like she had a migraine, her skull pounding and throbbing, ears aching. Thinking was hard. Trying to come up with anything coherent felt like it was far too much to ask of her.

Her mouth was so dry.

The doors opened and Elena jumped, letting out a shout as she did so. She blinked, her vision swimming briefly, until she could see clearly in front of her.

Isobel was standing there, a somber look in her dark eyes and a determined set to her shoulders. She had a gun, aimed at Elena.

Elena would have recoiled but there was nowhere to run, stuck in a cramped van.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded and she wished her voice could be strong, angry, and fierce, but it was mostly just little-girl terrified, threatening to choke her on a sob. This day just kept getting worse.

There was nothing on her mother’s face to indicate malice, or indifference. She wore a steel mask of strength and resolve, but her eyes were soft and Elena wanted so badly to trust her.

“Elena,” she said softly, gently, like a mother should, like everything Isobel wasn’t. “This is for the best. You’ll thank me for this.”

“Why?” she gaped, stumbling over her words in shock and fear and an anguished sense of betrayal. “You try to help me and now you’re going to kill me?”

“Elena, look at yourself.”

Elena glanced down. It was then she noticed her clothes were bloody. There was a small, panicked moment before she remembered the gunshot wound and Stefan-

“No, Stefan healed me with his blood-”

Isobel shook her head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Katherine already gave you her blood.” Isobel paused as she sucked in a deep breath. “I am so sorry for that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you remember how you got here?”

“I-”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

It was so hard to think-her head was pounding, her body throbbed with a low muscle ache. There was a steady, growing something in her stomach-like pain, but more than that, something tugging and pulling.

“I’m hungry,” she muttered offhand. The last time she ate-she didn’t know if it was this morning, or yesterday morning and suddenly, keeping track of time was extremely difficult-was maybe this morning and she threw it up.

She was really hungry.

“Elena, think,” Isobel said with a growing sense of urgency.

“I don’t know!” she shouted. “Damon and Stefan were there, and then we were outside, and…”

Then things went black. She couldn’t remember what happened afterwards, only that she woke up here.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Elena remembered a glimmer of pain in her neck, a sharp crack sound and then black.

“What happened?” she asked, shaking out of pain and dread. She rubbed absently at her neck and it hurt but it hurt the way everything else hurt, there wasn’t any specific pain.

“What do you think?”

She didn’t want to think. It hurt and she didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to over-examine things. She just wanted to go home and not worry about this shit anymore.

She didn’t want to think about what the fade-to-black meant for her.

Elena shook her head. “No, I don’t want to.”

“Elena,” Isobel said with a note of reproach in her words, but she was shaking her head sadly. “Think.”

She didn’t want to. Blacking out just meant she’d been unconscious. She made it out. She made it out, right?

Katherine fed her blood and Stefan did but that didn’t mean anything-she was here, she was alive, her heart-

Oh god, my heart.

Elena couldn’t hear the beating of her heart. She couldn’t even feel it, no matter how hard she tried to pay attention.

“Oh god,” she sobbed quietly, reflexively curling into herself, wrapping her arms around her knees.

This was transition. She was in transition. Oh god, she didn’t want this.

“Do you understand what I have to do?” Isobel said.

Elena opened her mouth to agree, because this is not what she wanted-she never wanted this-but-no. No, she didn’t.

She gaped at Isobel, her sense of betrayal and fear and horror renewed.

“You’re going to kill me for that?” Elena yelled. “It’s your fault!”

“Elena,” Isobel said very reasonably, calm despite the shaky look in her eyes. “This kind of life…it’s not meant for you. It’s not a good way to live-”

“I thought you liked being a vampire.”

“I do,” she said. “But I don’t want this life for you, you deserve-”

“What the fuck right do you have telling me how to live?” she spat out, suddenly enraged, all the fear and panic and uncertainty merging together until Elena could see nothing but red. Anger flared in her veins like an old friend, giving her strength.

“You abandon me, ignore me when I try to contact you, send a man to kill himself in front of me to scare me away, and then you kidnap me and you have fucking balls to tell me what you want for me? Fuck you.”

“Elena, do you want to be a vampire?” Isobel said, lifting an eyebrow.

As quickly as it had come, anger melted away and she wanted to cry.

“I don’t want to die,” Elena said softly, taking a shuddering breath. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I wanted to escape alive and-”

“Elena.” Isobel stopped her. “You’re already dead.”

“No,” Elena moaned, shaking her head furiously. “No, I made it out.”

“You didn’t. I’m sorry. I really am.” Isobel’s voice broke on the last few words. Her eyes were wet and Elena was shocked to see tears. “I didn’t want this to happen to you at all. You were-you deserved a normal life.”

“So you’re just going to kill me?”

“It’s for the best,” Isobel explained, frighteningly reasonable. “I don’t think either of us wants to see what would happen if you lived.”

“But-”

No. No, this couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t end like this. Not after all that happened. Not after dealing with Katherine and being so scared and paranoid all the fucking time. Not after finally getting out of the basement. She didn’t escape just to wind up here.

Her life can’t end here. This couldn’t be the end of the line. There had to be more.

“Stefan and Damon-”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you never met them,” Isobel hissed.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you’ve never helped Katherine!”

Isobel shook her head and leveled the gun at Elena’s heart.

Elena stared at Isobel, wide-eyed and disbelieving, and hated her. Her anger and hatred felt like a black cloud choking her head and her heart.

“Where are they?” she hissed. Elena needed to focus on this. Worrying and thinking about her condition was going to drive her out of her mind. She needed something to hold on to, a purpose.

“They were here, I know they were.”

Isobel didn’t say anything and pulled the trigger.

Time stopped. Or rather, Elena moved faster than time. She moved faster than she ever thought she could-she didn’t even have to breathe through it, just move. It strained her to do so-her body ached more than ever and something within her was screaming but it didn’t matter, she was alive. Elena reacted on sheer instinct alone and lunged away from the bullet. She heard it rush past her-a slight whirring sound-and collide with the window that separated the back and the driver’s seat.

Elena was pressed up against the right side of the van, closer to the open doors-to Isobel-than she had been seconds ago. She and Isobel stared at one another, Isobel’s eyes wide and surprised, like she hadn’t seen that coming. Like she expected Elena to lie down and die. Isobel didn’t know her at all.

Elena didn’t think about her next move, just reacted, letting her instincts guide her to survival. She tackled Isobel before she could get off another shot.

They both hit the concrete hard, Isobel groaning as she did so and Elena grunting. The pounding in Elena’s head magnified, like something was trying to come out of her skull but she wasn’t going to die tonight. She refused to lie down and die.

Taking the gun from Isobel was easier than she had expected. It had slipped out of her hands when Elena tackled her to the ground and it wasn’t hard for her to snatch it before it skidded too far; the sudden improvement in her reflexes made the act even easier. Isobel’s amazement at Elena’s actions also helped-Elena took advantage of her hesitation.

Isobel’s hand went for her throat-and for once, Elena had enough momentum to jerk away from her before her hand closed over it. She stood up, aiming the gun at her mother’s heart.

“Tell me where they are,” Elena demanded. She didn’t come off as menacing as she would like, her hands shaking like mad and her voice wavering in anger and desperation.

Isobel cocked an eyebrow. “You aren’t going to shoot me. Kill me and you’ll never know. And you don’t have it in you to shoot-”

Elena pulled the trigger on impulse alone.

Isobel let out a shriek and jerked as the bullet hit went through her stomach. Elena winced at the sound, the gunshot painful and hurting her ears. She hadn’t been aiming for the heart but she figured that the stomach would at least hurt.

Isobel was gasping, looking up at Elena cautiously, like she’d gone from scared little girl to someone dangerous.

“Tell me where they are!” She shouted.

It was barely perceptible, but Isobel’s eyes flickered to the left.

They were in an alley. In front of Elena, there was a building and towards the left, a door not too far away. If Elena looked to the right, she could see the entrance to the alley and farther ahead, the streets of town. But as far as they were concerned, they were alone.

“Are they in there? Are they in the building?” she asked. Isobel said nothing, watching Elena evenly, blood dripping out of the corner of her mouth.

“Tell me!” she shouted.

“Yes, but-”

Elena didn’t stick around for more. She darted into the building as fast as she could, leaving Isobel wounded in the dust.

She ran into a maze of white hallways. It looked like an office building, but every room she tore into was abandoned, empty.

“Stefan!” she shouted, ragged and anxious. “Damon!”

There was no answer and Elena kept checking doors as fast as she could, which was considerably a little faster than normal. She ran past one door and there was something different about this one. Elena could smell faint traces of kerosene and blood, and this was where they were, she knew it.

She went in, and there were steps that went down-another fucking basement-but she ran down them and-

John was there, standing over Damon with a can of kerosene. Stefan and Damon were on the ground, limp and immobile and so weakened, it made her heart ache. Stefan looked the worst for wear-he wasn’t even sitting up, lying face down on the ground, his head tilted to the side to face her. His eyes were glassy and distant but there was a glimmer of recognition in his face when he saw her and his face twisted into an expression she couldn’t decipher.

“Elena,” he murmured weakly. “Elena, no.”

Damon was sitting up-albeit, leaning against the wall for support-and he’d been glaring at John before she got here, his jaw jutting out belligerently, mouth curved into a vicious smirk. His face lit up when he saw her, smirk turning into genuine pleasure.

And John was going to kill them both.

She leveled the gun at John.

“Let them go!” she said, wincing at the sound of her own words, overly emotional and more like a distraught girl rather than someone who should be taken seriously.

The look on John’s face was pure shock, eyes wide and unblinking as horror dawned on his face. He didn’t seem able to breathe for a moment.

“Elena,” he said softly, shaking his head slowly, looking at her like she was painful to gaze upon. He didn’t even seem to notice the firearm.

“What did you do to her?” he said with both anger and sorrow in his eyes, his features falling in grief and regret. Elena didn’t know what to make of it and it was too much to think about.

“I did nothing,” Damon drawled, eyebrows knitting into scorn. “This is what happens when you let your vampire ex-girlfriend kidnap your daughter.”

“I didn’t let her do anything,” John hissed but he didn’t look away from Elena.

Damon scoffed. “Sure you didn’t.”

“John, please,” Elena said, softer this time, appealing to his better nature. “Please, just let them go.”

Her hands were shaking. They wouldn’t stop shaking. Her eyes were messy and red with tears. Her chest hurt. Her head ached. Her entire body was in a low-level state of pain. She must have looked utterly pathetic.

“Elena, I can’t do that,” John said, matching her tone. He was gentle. For the first time in her life, she could see kindness and warmth in his eyes and in the lines of his face, even as he was looking at her like a lost cause to be mourned.

“You’re transitioning,” he said, muted. He almost wasn’t looking at her-looking past her, looking through her rather.

Elena didn’t trust herself to speak. She nodded.

The silence that followed was painfully stark, harsh and grating.

Stefan’s eyes were wide and somber as he stared at her.

Damon was trying to get up, but he stumbled and fell back against the wall. He seemed to be in pain as he moved, cringing and biting his lip to keep from making any noise.

“Are you going to complete it?” John asked, still speaking low and quiet, like any louder would be too much for him.

Elena took several deep breaths, before she realized she didn’t need to anymore and the thought made her eyes burn and sting, blinking back tears.

She didn’t want this. She never did.

“I don’t want to die,” she gasped out, shaking her head frantically. “I’m seventeen years old. I don’t want to die.”

“Elena,” John responded, very slowly. “You’ve already died, it’s too-”

“Don’t say that!” she shouted, and her hands shook even harder, the gun trembling dangerously. “I’m not dead, I’m not.”

She was crying. She couldn’t stand to see the look on Damon or Stefan’s faces. John was bad enough, the pity and remorse playing over his face with enough force to gut her.

“Elena,” Stefan muttered once more. His arm twitched feebly, trying to extend it towards her but still too weak.

“I’m sorry, Elena,” John said and it sounded like the words were being ripped out of his chest, like he hurt as much as she did. “I truly am.”

John’s hands moved to his pockets and pulled out a lighter.

“No!”

The next few things happened very quickly, so quick Elena could hardly keep track.

She pulled the trigger, completely by accident, her shaking hands and worry and fear driving her to squeeze it. She didn’t mean to do it. She didn’t want to do it. She just needed to stop him.

The bullet hit John in the shoulder and he gave a loud pained cry, stumbling backwards and falling over.

Damon grabbed him when he hit the floor, snarling inhuman and vicious as he sunk his teeth into his neck.

“Damon, no!” she cried, taking a hurried step forward.

The scent of blood hit her nostrils and everything stopped.

She’d never smelled anything like it, strong and pungent, enveloping everything around her until all Elena could smell was the sharp, coppery tang of blood in the air, her body demanding more, the real thing. It set her nerves alight and made her insides tingle, push and pull at her for more than just the scent, wanted it hot and alive in her mouth.

She was very aware of the sound of John’s heartbeat, pounding deep and slowing down as Damon fed. Aware of the sound of blood rushing through John’s veins, the soft sucking noises Damon made, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed down the blood, the low groans that vibrated through the skin.

She couldn’t move. She was too stunned, too thrown, too scared by the need that overwhelmed her. Her body was vibrating like she was going to fly apart, and every cell in her body craved it.

She wanted a taste. That was all she could think about, how much she wanted, needed to taste it. This was why her head was throbbing. This was why her body ached. This was why her stomach felt like it going to tear itself apart. She craved it with a terrifying intensity.

She never wanted anything this badly before.

Elena dropped the gun. It slipped out of her hands. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

Damon, in turn, let John drop to the floor and stood up. “I was right, you really don’t put vervain in your coffee,” he said.

Damon hadn’t taken everything. John was still alive, still breathing, heart still beating-even if it was softer now, even if he was barely conscious.

Damon turned to her, a smile on his face. His eyes had gone dark with blood, save for the blue of his iris, and his fangs were out and bloody. There was blood on his chin, blood on his mouth, blood on his teeth and it should have been disgusting and disturbing.

It used to be disgusting and disturbing but now-it sent a shiver down her spine, to see him like this.

“Elena,” he purred as he stalked slowly towards her-and he was still a bit wobbly on his feet, not quite fully healed yet.

“Damon,” she breathed, her insides squirming and shivering.

Stefan made a low sound of protest, but Elena couldn’t hear him-not with Damon standing like this in front of her, the blood dripping from his lips like an offering.

“Do you want some, Elena?” Damon asked, a broad grin on his face. He stood before her now and he was right there, the blood was right there, all over him. He ran a finger down her cheek, smearing blood over her pale skin and Elena shuddered.

“I’m not going to shove it down your throat,” he stated firmly. “You’re going to have to make the choice. You’re gonna have to come and get it.”

“Oh Damon, fuck you,” Stefan snarled weakly, but Elena wasn’t listening to him. She couldn’t take her eyes off the blood around Damon’s mouth-bright and messy and it smelled so good, like it would be sweet in her mouth and her body ached for it.

“Damon,” she gasped, taking a deep, shaking breath and the blood scent just got stronger, so strong she felt a little dizzy just inhaling it.

Elena couldn’t remember why she was here. Or how she got here. She could barely remember who she was. None of that mattered. Control didn’t matter, identity didn’t matter, just this: blood, life, this thing she craved desperately. Her entire world had narrowed down to the blood around Damon’s mouth, the blood in his mouth.

“Yes, Elena?” Damon said; everything about him was inviting.

She was hardly aware of herself when she walked towards Damon, when she got close enough to grab him by the hair and bring him to her, close enough so Elena was nose to chin with him, inhaling deeply.

Her tongue darted out to taste it and she whimpered, the taste hitting her like an atom bomb. Damon sighed softly as she ran her tongue over his chin, collecting ever last drop, each one sending little shockwaves through her body but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough. She needed more, so much more, and-

Her mouth hurt. Pain flared in her gums and then around her eyes and she broke away from Damon, panting, gasping at the sensation. Damon’s arms were suddenly around her, holding her, whispering soothing words Elena couldn’t understand because it hurt, pain was everywhere, she hurt inside-

And it stopped. She was panting and she didn’t think the ordeal lasted very long, but-she was still hungry. Her body, her being, her soul wanted more, unsatisfied.

“Elena?” Damon asked.

She had Damon on the ground beneath her, pinned to the floor and the whole thing took seconds. She let out a giddy laugh right before she kissed Damon, eagerly licking into his mouth. He kissed back, open-mouth and wet, his hands on her waist as she rocked above him but the best was the blood in his mouth, still fresh and Elena wanted it all. She could feel something like energy, sharp and electric and alive sparking through her body at the taste, travelling down her spine and coursing through her body, from her skull to her feet. And it still wasn’t enough; Elena was still ravenous and desperate for more.

She tried to nip at his lips, to tear and draw blood with her sharpened teeth. Damon grabbed her by the hair and hauled her up. She broke the kiss with a soft, rumbling growl as she stared down on him.

“You don’t want my blood, Elena,” he said gently, the grip on her hair turning into a caress. “There’s still vervain in my system.”

She made a low whining sound in her throat, before she caught the scent of more blood; there was a bleeding body inches from her and it was vaguely familiar but all Elena saw was blood.

“Go ahead,” Damon said, nudging her towards the bleeding body. “That you can have. And he’s fresh.”

She scrambled over to him and he was warm beneath her, still living and so full of pulsing life and flowing blood and she needed this.

She heard someone-someone familiar-mutter a feeble, broken no.

The body beneath her protested, arms straining against her weakly, saying something Elena couldn’t comprehend, too hungry to comprehend. There was a small glimmer in her, something tiny saying no, no, you shouldn’t, you can’t, not him, but it was so minor and hunger overpowered everything. She didn’t care.

Elena dug her fangs in his throat, next to the marks Damon had made-and she liked these new teeth, sharp and deadly and perfect in her mouth. The skin tore easily, like biting into ripe fruit, and a miasma of hot, living blood exploded in her mouth, moaning as the taste hit her in full force.

There were no words to describe it, warm and thick in her mouth, salty sweet as it poured down her throat. There was nothing like it, nothing to compare it too. It was like drinking in liquid ecstasy, or liquid sunshine, like taking in someone’s life into her, her entire body aflame as she fed.

Her conscience evaporated in seconds, replaced with something hungry and utterly unrepentant. Elena was ruled by instincts, left with nothing, but a feral, vicious drive to feed.

She liked the way it felt. Elena thought she could get addicted to this: the warm body beneath her, his heartbeat beating so loud in her ears like the sweetest music, the flutter of a pulse in her mouth, slowing as she drank and drank and drank. She fed until there was nothing left, until there was nothing more to take, until the heart stopped beating.

She rolled over on her back when she was done, trying to catch her breath out of habit, panting as if she’d ran a marathon. She was staring at the ceiling and she could see every crack in it, no matter how miniscule.

She could hear Damon moving around-she could hear everything, Elena realized. Soft footfalls, rustle of fabric, cars passing by far away. Everything was clearer somehow and a small, giddy laugh slipped out of her mouth, shoulders shaking as she did so.

“I’ll take that, can’t have you coming back to life now,” Damon said. Elena titled her head to the left, glancing at Damon. He was twirling a ring around his finger, large and obtrusive and kinda ugly.

Damon caught her staring and he grinned at her, outstretching the ring at her. “For you,” he said sweetly, almost gentlemanly as he held it out to her. Elena took it from him, staring at it closely. She recognized this ring, it was her Uncle’s ring and-

“Elena,” someone groaned softly, sadly. Stefan was down on the ground, on his side, watching her. His voice was raw, broken, like it was painful to speak. There were dried tears on his face and he wasn’t moving; he didn’t seem able to.

“Stefan,” she said, getting up to go to him. “Are you okay? What’s-”

“He’ll be fine as soon as we get him out of here,” Damon said, moving to pick him up. “C’mon, help me get him up.”

Something was bothering her, a push in the back of her mind, too weak to be insistent but there and pulling her down. Something was wrong, something bad had happened to her and Elena needed-

No. She wasn’t going to think about it right now. Damon was right, they needed to get out of here.

She got up, tugging Stefan up with Damon. He was easy to pick up-not light, Elena could feel his weight and muscle as she grabbed him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Elena was just happy to be close to him again.

There was a heaviness in Stefan’s eyes, an almost physical kind of sadness as he stared at her, something that cut deeply into her. She didn’t think she could look at him like this.

“I missed you,” she said, wrapping her arms his waist and tucking her head under his chin.

He stiffened at first but then he sighed, relaxing against her and a sniffed her hair, whimpering.

“Didn’t you miss me?” Damon asked and then abruptly froze.

Elena heard soft footfalls coming towards them-she never closed the door, she realized and the footsteps were getting close. They were light on the ground and Elena had to strain to hear them.

Damon grabbed the gun that Elena had dropped on the floor, moving with an easy grace.

Isobel walked through the door and Damon had her pinned against the wall within seconds, the muzzle of the gun digging into her chest.

Isobel didn’t even react to it, face in a steel mask. She scanned the area, her eyes landing on the corpse on the ground.

“John,” she muttered in a low voice and then she turned her eyes to Elena. Her jaw dropped slightly, her face crumbling as she took her in.

“Oh god, Elena.”

Elena narrowed her eyes and glared at her.

“Hey, Isobel,” Damon said in a lighthearted voice. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.”

Isobel snapped her attention back to Damon, features going hard and cold again.

“Elena is still alive,” she said, keeping her eyes on Damon.

Elena actually snarled, anger drawing the noise out of her instinctively, because minutes ago, Isobel was aiming that same gun at her with the intent to kill her and she wanted Damon to pull the trigger so badly.

Damon glanced back at her, a slight smile on his face before he turned back to Isobel.

“Hmm, not good enough,” he snapped. “I don’t want to leave loose ends.”

“The material John had on you,” she said quickly before Damon did anything else. “I know where it is, all of it. I can take you to it. Or else, it’ll all go to the Founder’s Council.”

Damon went silent, assessing. “Fine,” he said. “I’m gonna get my people home, then we’ll talk.”

He pulled the gun back and Isobel nodded, moving to get away.

Damon slammed her back against the wall. Elena heard something like bones crack, Isobel hissing at Damon, fangs out in pain and anger.

“But if you fuck with me, I will personally chain you in my basement and starve you for the next hundred years. I brought you into this world and I can take you right out.”

After a few seconds, Isobel nodded and Damon let her go.

Together, she and her boys walked out, both of them holding Stefan up. Isobel shot her a look as they walked away, sad and full of regret, eyes wet, but Elena didn’t care.

They took the van back home. Damon wanted her to ride up front in the passenger seat with him, but she didn’t want to leave Stefan alone in the back. The back was cramped and small, and too dark and Elena wasn’t sure why she was suddenly terrified of it, why it made her want to crawl back in the front with Damon and burrow her head in his chest-but that was exactly why Elena couldn’t leave Stefan alone there.

His company made things easier anyway, even if he didn’t say anything the entire way. They were both on their sides on the floor, lying next to each other, Elena watching Stefan. He faded in and out of consciousness, eyes closing and opening every few minutes.

On a whim, Elena ran a hand through his hair and even that felt different than before-softer, smoother in her hands and she could almost feel every individual strand. She understood why Damon and Stefan never stopped touching her during sex, never seemed able to keep their hands off her, when just touching Stefan’s hair felt this thrilling.

Stefan opened his eyes, his body shivering. Stefan extended his arm out towards her, delicately pulling the hair away from her face. He was shaking the entire time and the act looked like it cost him so much, his face pained.

“You should get some rest, Stefan.”

“I’m so sorry, Elena,” he whispered. The look on his face hurt, raw and painful for them both.

Elena shook her head, dismissing it and distanced herself slightly from him. She didn’t want to think about this. The way Stefan was looking at her was making her too uncomfortable and-

“What day is it?” she asked suddenly.

Stefan was quiet. He seemed to be genuinely confused by the question, eyes unfocused as he tried to think. It took him a while to answer.

“It was Sunday when we left,” he said finally. “I think it might still be Sunday.”

“So,” she began. “The dance was yesterday?”

Stefan nodded.

Yesterday she was dancing and smiling and laughing in both their arms, like nothing could touch her. Yesterday she was at a school dance with all her friends-her friends, Elena wanted to talk to Bonnie so bad right now. Yesterday was a good day and she was happy and she felt safe with them.

It was a little difficult to comprehend that she’d only been gone a day-and now things were so different, she felt different. There was blood on her hands and on her face and in her mouth, the taste still lingering. She ripped out someone’s throat-

She ripped out Uncle John’s throat. It left a cold feeling in her gut; it wasn’t quite remorse she was feeling, just...cold.

And still, underneath all the giddiness, the high of feeding, she wanted to do it again. She needed to do it again, over and over.

Elena only spent a day with Katherine. Just a day.

Suddenly, Elena felt Katherine’s hands on her, snapping her neck. She could feel her own crunch of bone. She could even feel Katherine’s glee in her touch as she murdered Elena.

The thought made her feel like she might throw up suddenly, a wave of so many-too many-emotions were threatening to burst out of her in a gulf and it hurt to feel them. It made her insides hurt; anger and terror and grief warring inside her, tearing her apart, like a Molotov cocktail of pain and if she let them, they would tear her apart. They would destroy her and break her and she wanted to scream and-

She wouldn’t let them. It was easier than she thought to put a lid on them, to just shove them down and bury them until she felt more stable, less like she was going to fly apart, a peaceful emptiness.

Elena pressed in closer, tighter to Stefan until she was nestled in his chest. Even taking in account how he must be staring at her, his body was still comforting against hers, instinctively curling himself around her.

“It feels like longer.”

*****

It was a tired blur as Damon drove them back home. It took so much out of Stefan to just talk and move, his head spinning.

Looking at Elena and the blood around her mouth was fucking with his head. He kept seeing Katherine. He kept seeing Katherine murdering her. He kept seeing her death and his failure and it was ripping him apart.

Damon and Elena carried him inside-and the strength in Elena’s hands surprise him, made him ache-taking him upstairs. Stefan let his eyes close and when he opened them, they were laying him down on their bed.

Elena was affectionate the entire, nuzzling him, but she didn’t look in him in the eyes. Stefan was ashamed to admit he was grateful for that.

Elena curled up next to him on the bed, her arms wrapped around him, her head placed against his chest and it was so familiar, so normal, it almost made him sob.

Damon didn’t stay, but before he left he pressed a soft kiss to Elena’s forehead and stroked Stefan’s face. When Stefan finally passed out unconscious for hours, it was such a relief to not worry, not to feel, to let darkness overtake him, the taste of oblivion soothing.

When he woke up, Elena was gone.

He panicked for a moment-worried that she went out to feed and hunt on her own, that Damon took her away, that she left them both or worst of all, she had done something to herself-before reason caught up with him and he focused intently on the sounds of the world around him. Stefan could hear movement downstairs, soft and faint, Elena already adjusting to her predator’s grace.

Elena was a predator now, just like them. It broke something inside of him to even think that.

Stefan walked downstairs, as quiet as he could. He found Elena in the kitchen, messily pouring human blood from the blood packs into a glass.

She’s going to drink human blood. She’s already had human blood and Stefan knew just how deep that craving went, just how much it gnawed at you when you first turned. Stefan didn’t know if he could stop her-not when she already had a taste. Not when Damon breathing down her neck, and pushing her to feed, and Stefan knew firsthand just how difficult he was to resist.

He chased the thought of Damon away because he was so angry at Damon for his role in this but Stefan didn’t want to think about that now. This wasn’t about Damon, it was about Elena. He needed to focus on Elena.

Elena stopped in what she was doing, her spine straightening. “Stefan,” she said, soft and breathy in the air.

She turned around to face him. She’d washed off the blood around her mouth. Stefan was grateful for it; it was already so painful to look at her and the blood was just another reminder and worse yet, an appetizing one.

Stefan didn’t know if he could do this. If he could watch someone else he loved turn into a monster before his eyes, unable to stop it.

“How are you?” he asked. His throat still hurt from the vervain, but it didn’t strain him so much to speak anymore.

“I-” Elena began, and cut herself off. She bit her lip, shifting uncomfortably. “I want to go home.”

Stefan held in a breath. He was afraid she would ask that. He didn’t know how to tell her she couldn’t. How would he tell her it was too dangerous, that she could hurt people, she could kill them, that she’s already killed her father? How would he tell Elena that she was now bound to them for eternity, as stuck with them as he was stuck with Damon?

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, forcing himself to look at her. “You can’t.”

Elena shook her head, dismissing what he was saying. “No, I want to go home.” There was a faint edge of hysteria in her voice, threatening to spill over. Stefan wondered how long it had been building.

He wished he didn’t have to be the one to do this-that this didn’t need to be done at all but he supposed he’s earned it.

“Elena…”

“Why can’t I go, Stefan?” She asked, louder this time. “Tomorrow is a school day, and I have to go to class and I need to call Jenna, she’s probably worried sick about me and Jeremy, too. Kath-my cell phone is gone and-”

“Elena,” he interrupted her semi-frantic spiel with a soft word, quiet and gentle.

Christ, Jeremy, Stefan thought. He had completely forgotten about him and everyone else who had gone with them to rescue Elena. Jeremy was still at the Gilbert house, waiting for them to bring Elena back home. Waiting to see if they saved her.

Stefan didn’t even know what happened to the rest of them-Bonnie, Alaric, Anna, Harper. If they made it out. If they were wondering where Elena was, where they were.

There was anger on Elena’s face, but it was shaky. Her hands were clinging to the marble counter with a white knuckle grip-he could hear it cracking under her strength.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go home.” He couldn’t bring himself to add on not ever at the end of it, it was far too cruel.

“Why?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears and staring at him like he had all the answers, like he could save her. She’s never looked any younger. Idly, he wondered how long it would take for her to lose that. “Tell me, Stefan. Why can’t I go home?”

Stefan gazed at her, feeling his insides clench painfully tight within him; all he wanted to do was take her home.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Elena. This should have never happened to you.”

“Why? Tell me why!” she screamed, and pieces of the counter broke under her hands.

“Because you’re a vampire,” he finally explained, even as it broke his heart to say the words, even as they turned weak and strained with anguish. “Because you’re dangerous now. Because you could hurt people. Because you’ll want to hurt people.”

Elena gasped, drawing away from him, retreating into herself, but there was nowhere to go. She placed her hands over her mouth and whispered a soft no.

Stefan wasn’t sure if he should go over and comfort her-there was no comfort for this and he didn’t know if Elena even wanted to be near him.

“I’m not going to go to Prom,” she said as if it was just dawning on her, the realization terrible. Elena sunk to the floor, as if her legs couldn’t hold her anymore, her voice breaking on the words. “I’m not even going to graduate.”

And Stefan didn’t care if any comfort he had was insufficient, he ran over to her, kneeling down and pulled her into his arms.

“She won, Stefan. I’m dead,” she cried, the tears flowing freely and undignified now, clinging to him.

He stroked her back soothingly and kissed her forehead and held her as tight as he could without hurting her. He tired to say something helpful, something like ‘no, Katherine didn’t win’ or that ‘it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,’ but it all sounded like lies. He didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ didn’t seem like enough, it wouldn’t fix this. ‘I’m sorry’ was meaningless, but it was all he had.

“She promised I wouldn’t get out alive, Stefan,” she sobbed into his chest, horrible wracking sobs where her words broke up and he couldn’t understand parts of what she was saying. Elena had to take deep shuddering breathes just to get the words out. “And I wanted so badly to get out alive and I’m not.”

“I’m sorry,” he said stupidly, whispering the words into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I wanna go home and talk to my family, and talk to Jeremy, and hang out with Bonnie and Caroline, and I can’t.”

She didn’t say anything more after that, just cried in his arms. He wanted so bad to help her. He wanted so bad to make it all okay for her, make it better somehow but he couldn’t. He was helpless. They both were.



Chapter Thirteen // Back to Masterpost