Written by: Peter
Disclaimer: The Vampire Diaries are the property of L.J. Smith and the CW Network. I’m just writing about them for the fun of it.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Post-season 3 finale.
Pairing: Stefan/Elena
For a century, I've lived in secret.
Hiding in the shadows, alone in the world...until now.
I shouldn't have come home. I know the risk.
But I have to know her!
I am a vampire—and this is my story.
-Stefan Salvatore
Stefan stood in the morgue, his body as still as a statue. The emotions swirling through his body were almost paralysing him: fear, self-loathing, anguish, despair, sorrow, guilt—it threatened to swallow him whole. It was so tempting just to shut it all off, but he knew he couldn't. Not after how long he fought to reclaim them, and so he let himself feel everything. Every iota of pain—he welcomed it.
It was the least he deserved.
So he simply continued to stare at the immobile form of the woman he loved. Elena looked so calm—so peaceful, and yet it felt wrong to see her like this. Cold and lifeless, the fire in her soul snuffed out like a candle. Stefan wasn't sure it was possible for his heart to be shattered any more than it already was, but the truth of the situation told him the worst was yet to come. He could deal with his own pain. Compared to what was coming, that was almost easy.
Down the hall, Stefan could hear his brother enter the hospital, demanding to know what had happened. He listened as Doctor Fell explained to Damon the same thing she'd told him only moments earlier. Stefan didn't care, though—he would deal with Damon later. The only thing that mattered now was Elena.
It happened all at once. The wet sound of blood being forced through cold, dead veins—a sharp intake of breath...two brown eyes snap open, as Elena Gilbert springs to life once again.
She gasps, sitting up—her eyes will with panic and confusion. It only takes her a moment to notice Stefan standing over her, seeing the pain and anguish in his eyes.
“Stefan?” she gasps. “Where—how did...?”
Elena tries to move, wincing in pain as she does. Her hands go her her temples.
“My head...” she whines.
“Easy,” Stefan says, trying to soothe her. “Take it easy. We're at the hospital. Everything's going to be okay.”
Stefan takes Elena's hands in an effort to relax her, but his eyes betray him. One look, and Elena knows that everything is certainly not 'okay'.
“Matt?” she asks, fearing the answer. “Is he...?”
“He's alive,” Stefan reassures her. “He's down the hall, recovering.”
Elena feels relieved, but something's wrong. She feels strange. Empty. Her head won't stop pounding.
“I don't understand,” Elena says, confused. “I thought—I drowned, didn't I? How did I survive?”
“You didn't.”
Elena knows the next words, before Stefan even says them. Even so, she doesn't want to believe it.
“Elena,” he says, his voice breaking. “You're in transition.”
The news hits her with the impact of a bullet. This couldn't be happening. It was a dream—no, more like a nightmare. It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She wants to run away, to scream, to yell at him and demand he stop acting the way he is and to stop saying such horrible things.
But Elena can't do any of them, because all her energy has suddenly left her. The cold hand of fear grips her now-dead heart, as she shakes her head—refusing to accept it.
“No...” she whispers. “No. Oh god...no.”
Stefan grips the sides of Elena's face, looking her deep in the eyes.
“I'm sorry,” he pleads. “Elena, I am so sorry.”
The pain in Stefan's eyes—the guilt—makes the reality finally sink it. It was true.
She was turning into a vampire.
No longer able to hold it in, Elena began to tremble as sobs wracked her body. Stefan threw his arms around her, doing his best to comfort her.
But there was nothing he could do. Nothing either of them could do, except mourn for her lost humanity.
*****
“You turned Elena into a vampire?!?” Damon Salvatore snarled.
“Would you keep your voice down?” Meredith snapped at him, shutting the door to her office. “And for the record, no—that would be the person who killed her.”
Damon didn't know what to feel. The entire way back to Mystic Falls, he'd expected to come home to a corpse. This changed things, though—Elena was alive. Well, ok, not technically—but she wouldn't stay dead. That was what was important.
“Explain!” he demanded, trying to keep calm.
“Her injuries were too severe,” Dr. Fell recounted. “It would have required a life-threatening operation, so I gave her vampire blood in order to heal the cerebral hemorrhage. Normally I keep patients I use the blood on for observation at least twenty four hours, so it passes out of their system...”
“But we pulled her out early,” Damon groans in frustration. “How did she die?”
“According to Stefan, Rebekah Mikaelson ran her car off the Wickery Bridge,” she explains. “He's with her body right now.”
“Dammit!” Damon yelled, punching the wall—which causes the entire office to shake. “I told them it was a mistake to trust the Originals. But does anybody listen to me? Noooo...”
“Alaric told the council about you,” Meredith warns him. “It's only a matter of time before they realize you're here. The two of you need to take Elena and leave as soon as you can.”
Damon looks at her with wild eyes.
“Why are you helping us?” he asks.
“It's what Ric would have wanted,” Meredith confesses. “The real Ric, not the monster he became. And—because you're right. What's happening to Elena is my fault. I owe it to her to give her a chance.”
Damon is about to respond when he hears whispering down the fall. He recognizes the voices—council members.
“Guess the jig is up,” he sighs.
*****
Back in the morgue...
Elena sat there, her expression lifeless—still in shock by the situation she now found herself in. She was dead, and this time there was no magical spell or elixir that would save her from this fate. It was either wait to die, or let herself become the one thing she never wanted to be.
Stefan never left her side, despite how much his heart was breaking for her. This was his fault, he knew. All of it. He'd failed her.
“I should have saved you,” Stefan whispered. “Damon was right—I can't do anything. I couldn't even save you. I let you die—I always let you die...”
“No...” Elena gasps, struggling with her own despair. “Stefan, no...”
Before either one of them can say another word, the door to the morgue swings open, letting Damon and Meredith inside.
“We gotta go,” Damon announces. “Now!”
Stefan turns to his brother, the broken look on his face.
“Damon...” he tries to explain. “Elena, she's...”
“I know--I heard!” Damon cuts him off, turning to Elena. “Welcome to the club. We'll do the initiation later, but right now we've gotta get out of here. We've been made, Stefan!”
“Alaric told the council about you,” Meredith explains. “They've already sent someone here to kill the two of you.”
She looks at Elena sadly, and sighs.
“I mean—the three of you.”
The immediate danger is enough to snap Stefan out of it, and he turns to Meredith.
“Is there another way out of here?” he asks.
“The roof,” she tells him. “There's an exit through the back.”
Stefan kneels down in front of Elena, who still seems to be in shock.
“Elena, we have to go!” he tells her, but doesn't get a response.
“Stefan!” Damon insists. “They come through that door, I'm not playing by your rules!”
Stefan picks Elena up, preparing to carry her.
“Wait!” Meredith says before they leave. “Elena, I'm—you would have died without the blood. I didn't have a choice.”
Elena manages to focus enough to look Meredith in the eyes.
“Look after Matt,” she asks, weakly. “Don't let anything happen to him.”
“I promise,” Meredith agrees with a nod.
Stefan and Damon make their way to the back of the morgue, exiting into the stairwell.
“DOWN!” Damon yelled, as gunfire echoed from below.
Stefan held Elena close to him. No matter what, he was never going to let anything happen to her.
“The roof!” he suggested. “Hurry!”
Moving at full vampire-speed, the Salvatores raced up the stairwell, exiting onto the roof of the hospital.
“If they didn't know before--” Damon commented. “I could kill Ric for this. If, you know—he wasn't already dead!”
Stefan didn't answer. His attention was fully focused on Elena—gently touching her hair and whispering soothing noises to her.
“Shh, it's okay—you're going to be okay.”
Damon, however, has had enough. He grabs Stefan's shoulder roughly.
“Snap out of it!” he growls. “You can fall apart after we're someplace safe.”
“And where's that, Damon?” Stefan challenged. “If the council knows about us...”
Just then, the door breaks down, letting two older men onto the roof.
“Do you mind?” Damon complains, before breaking a piece of pipe off the wall and throwing it at their assailants like a projectile.
The council members dive to the ground in order to avoid it.
“Little trick I picked up from Klaus,” he comments. “Now jump.”
Still holding onto Elena, Stefan takes a running start—leaping off the roof, with Damon following close behind.
The two council members recover, running to the side of the building—only to find them gone.
*****
Later, at the Gilbert house...
Jeremy sits on the couch, his arms dead weights at his side. He wonders if he should try to call someone. Bonnie, maybe? What would he say, though? What could he say?
Elena was dead, and it was all his fault. She was gone, Ric was gone--probably Matt, too. There wasn't anyone left except for him. He was alone. He was sixteen years old, and he didn't have anyone in the entire world. It wasn't fair.
The tears stung Jeremy's eyes as he looked at the old photograph. His parents—Elena--before all of this. Now he was the only one left.
“Board up the windows, Jer!” Damon Salvatore's voice echoed through the house, as the front door swung open. “We're about to hit defcon four!”
Furious, Jeremy jumps to his feet—his pain transforming itself into rage. He glares at Damon—wondering if, maybe, he should have just let Alaric have what he wanted. At least then his sister would still be alive.
“I have nothing to say to you!” he spat.
However, as Jeremy looks towards the door, he sees Stefan enter behind him, carrying someone. Elena? No—he wasn't ready to see her body. He couldn't handle it.
“Jeremy?” Elena said, weakly.
Jeremy gasped. Elena—she spoke? That could only mean...
“Oh my god...” he said. “Elena!”
Elena freed herself from the safety of Stefan's arms, running over to Jeremy. The two of them embrace, tears in their eyes—both having thought they would never see the other again. Jeremy was almost in shock. She was alive! He didn't understand it but, for the moment, he didn't care.
Elena was alive. That was the only thing that mattered.
“I don't understand,” he said, moving back to look into Elena's face. “Alaric was—he was here, as a ghost. I thought that meant, I mean—I thought you were dead.”
At his words, Elena's face twists into a look of pain and despair.
“I am,” she cries. “Oh god, Jeremy—I am. I'm dead.”
This only served to confuse Jeremy even more. He looked towards the Salvatores, demanding an answer. His eyes fell on Stefan, who seemed dead himself—his expression, at least. It was the same one he'd been wearing just a few minutes ago.
Nevertheless, Stefan managed to speak.
“Dr. Fell,” he explained. “She—she gave Elena vampire blood—back at the hospital. That's why she recovered so quickly.”
As what Stefan said began to sink in, Jeremy turned back to Elena—a look of horror on his face. He shook his head in disbelief.
“No.”
“Jeremy...” Elena cries. “I'm sorry.”
“No!” he repeats, a little louder. “You can't be! Elena—tell me you're not one of them!”
Elena closed her eyes, wishing with everything she had that she could give Jeremy the answer he wanted. Her silence is deafening.
“How could you let this happen?” Jeremy demanded, turning to Stefan.
“That's a very good question, little brother,” Damon challenged, walking over to Stefan himself. “How could you let this happen?”
Stefan doesn't answer. He just stands there, paralysed by his guilt.
“What, no comeback?” Damon taunts. “No moral platitudes? You know, I'm starting to miss ripper-Stefan—at least he would have had a witty remark.”
“Damon...” Stefan says, weakly.
“From what I understand, the quarterback was in the car with her,” Damon said angrily. “Yet somehow he's perfectly fine. You mind telling me why that is, Stefan?”
“Stop...” Elena whispers, but her heart isn't in it.
Damon pays her no heed.
“You let her die, didn't you?” Damon accused him. “This is your fault, Stefan!”
“Yes,” Stefan tells him. “It's my fault. All of it—it's all my fault.”
Damon punches him. Stefan falls to the ground, not even lifting a finger to defend himself.
“Damon, stop it!” Elena yells, as the sight in front of her seems to shock her out of her daze.
Damon ignores her, lifting Stefan up by the collar.
“Fight back, damn you!” he yells at his brother, before punching him again. “Fight me!”
“No...” Stefan mumbles. “I—deserve this...”
“No argument here!” Damon snarls, before hitting him again.
“I SAID STOP!!!!”
Suddenly, Elena rushes over to the two of them, pushing Damon off of Stefan. Much to everyone's surprise, the act causes Damon to fly through the air and hit the opposite wall.
Jeremy's mouth hangs open. Elena gasps, staring at her hands in horror.
“Stefan?” she says, putting her hands on his face. “Are you ok?”
“No, Damon's right...” he whispers. “I did this to you...”
Elena shakes her head, refusing to accept that.
“So now you're defending him?” Damon asks in disbelief, climbing to his feet. “Guess love really is blind. I try to turn you, you hate me. Stefan actually succeeds...”
“Rebekah ran us off the road,” Elena explained. “Stefan didn't do anything.”
“You're right,” Damon said, sadly. “Stefan didn't do anything! He didn't save you. He saved that useless boy instead, and left you to die.”
“I made him do it!”
Her confession takes both Damon and Jeremy by surprise.
“I—I made him save Matt first,” Elena repeats, still not believing it herself. “It was my choice.”
She looks down, refusing to meet his eyes. Damon scoffs, shaking his head.
“Your choice,” he mocks, looking back between her and Stefan. “Well, congratulations Elena—because you're going to regret that choice forever.”
He takes a step closer to Elena, lifting her chin up to face him.
“Just remember one thing,” he says, softly. “I would have saved you.”
He starts to walk away.
“You really mean that, don't you?” Elena challenges him. “You would have let Matt die?”
“Of course I would have!” Damon exclaimed, as if the answer was obvious. “You—are the only one that matters to me.”
Damon looks at her, expecting a look of admiration—but Elena merely shakes her head.
“And you honestly wonder why I could never be with you?”
Her words hit Damon like a punch to the gut. He stands there, frozen, as Elena turns and heads up to her room.
*****
The first thing he notices is the solid ground beneath his face. For a moment, he wonders if it was all some sort of alcohol-induced dream, and he was passed out drunk outside of the Mystic Grill. But as he opens his eyes, that illusion is quickly shattered.
The ground outside the Grill was nowhere near this white.
Alaric Saltzman climbs to his feet, surveying his surroundings. Much to his surprise, he was—in fact—in front of the Grill. Or what looked like the Grill, at least. The building's colors were completely faded, as well as everything else around them. The sky, the trees, the parked cars—everything looked pale and lifeless. Mystic Falls was, in a sense, 'dead'.
“Jeremy?” he called out. “You here?”
No answer. Not that he was surprised, of course—the last thing he knew, he was in the Gilbert house. Then, all of a sudden, he was in some surreal colourless alternate Mystic Falls. What's more, he felt like himself again. No dark thoughts pushing him, no bloodlust...but how? And more importantly, where was he?
Alaric started walking down the street, noticing again how dead the town seemed. There weren't any moving vehicles, nor any birds—everything around him was completely still.
“Hey!” he calls out. “Is anybody here? Can anybody hear here?”
Again, no answer.
However, as Alaric tried to focus, something came into view. Blurred images, accompanied by voices—people! There were people in the streets, yet—they weren't really there. It was like he was looking at them through water or mist.
“Can you hear me?” he asks one of them.
In response, the person in question walks right through him like a—like a ghost?
“Of course you can't,” Alaric laughs bitterly. “I'm a ghost. I'm the one who's not really here.”
“Ric?”
Alaric froze upon hearing the voice behind him. Someone else was here with him, wherever he was. What's more—it was a voice he recognized. At first, he thought he imagined it, but the feeling of a hand placed on his shoulder confirmed the presence of another person.
Slowly, he turned to look at the face of someone he never expected to see again.
“Isobel?”
Alaric stands there, mesmerized, as he looks into the eyes of his dead wife. She smiles at him—not the condescending look of the heartless vampire, but the kind, loving smile of the woman he married.
“Is it really you?” Isobel asks, hope in her eyes. “I missed you so much.”
With that, she throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. Alaric doesn't even fight it. Somehow, all the feelings he'd let go of for her had suddenly returned. It didn't matter—here, in this moment, he didn't even care.
He was happy.
After the two of them have broken off the kiss, Alaric looks into her eyes, asking a simple question.
“Is this heaven?”
“No,” Isobel answers, shaking her head. “Far from it.”
She takes his hand, leading him down the street.
“We call it the other side,” she explains. “Think of it as a sort of purgatory, between the afterlife and the living world.”
“Yeah, Jeremy explained it—sort of,” Alaric recalled. “But he said Anna told him she was alone here. I shouldn't be able to see you.”
“Something changed after your witch friend sent everyone back,” Isobel clarified. “If I had to make a guess, I would say that before all the spirits of the dead were on their own separate wavelengths, and now it's been adjusted to carry the same frequency.”
Alaric raises an eyebrow.
“Sorry—I guess my mind's still on my research, even now,” she laughs. “We could really use your help.”
“Who's we?” he asks.
“Do you really have to ask?” she responds, as they enter what appears to be City Hall.
Standing there, in the muted council room, is a large gathering of people. Bill Forbes, Mason Lockwood, Vicki Donovan, some blonde woman he didn't recognize...and at least a half-dozen others.
One of them steps forward.
“Oh, great,” Alaric grumbles. “You know what—I change my mind. This has to be hell.”
“Nice to see you too, Ric,” John Gilbert retorts. “Welcome to the resistance.”