A/N: Hello everybody,

And welcome (back) to this story.

o.O.o

Chapter Fourteen, Hospital

There was a steady rhythm beeping when I came to, my thoughts sluggish and aimless and my eyelids heavy. I blinked blearily and at first, I couldn't make sense of where I was. The room was a pale green, the only light coming from the artificial lightbulbs at the door, while the only window around was hidden behind heavy blinds. My eyes were already fluttering closed by the time the door opened to reveal what I assumed was a doctor. I drifted in and out of alertness after that. I heard Uncle John whisper with the doctors and occasionally I thought I heard Aunt Jenna, Jeremy and Elena ask about my health too, but I wasn't sure.

Most of the time, I slept. And I dreamed, remembered. I didn't dream about what had put me in here but dreaming I did. I dreamt about the accident. Vividly remembered Elena climbing into our parents' car before I'd followed behind her. Remembered my parents funeral. I dreamt about the scratchy black dress I had worn and the tight braid Aunt Jenna had made in my long thick hair. I dreamt about the ceremony and the way I sat in-between Uncle John and Aunt Jenna making a serious attempt to break my uncle's hand. I could still remember all the details of that night when my dad's car had hydroplaned into the water and seeing their coffins being lowered into their early graves, made my grip only stronger.

I'd felt bad when I noticed the bruise that had formed later that night even if Uncle John had never been my most favourite person around. After the funeral, he'd stayed for several weeks, helped (or more accurately annoyed) Aunt Jenna settling in before returning to his apartment in Ohio. Yet, even from Ohio, he called and mailed us, especially me when I was in England for the exchange project it seemed and I'd never really understood his investment in my life. He'd told me countless times that I was too bright to throw it all away. That I was wasting my potential, but when I'd agreed to the exchange project, I'd apparently stopped waisting said potential.

My eyelids fluttered, lashes dusting over my cheeks and I could hear the steady rhythm again. I was also more aware now that I was lying on a stiff bed with scratchy sheets and the steady rhythm of the machine was quickening. When I awoke completely again, I'd gauged it must be several days after the accident. An accident that was rather hazy in my memory and I'd learned I had gotten eight stitches to close the cut on my forehead, had a light concussion and two broken ribs. My body was littered in various stages of blue-yellowing bruises and my right leg felt odd and heavy. I guessed when whoever had pulled me from my car, my ankle had gotten stuck and my saviour sprained it.

The number of pillows I had behind my head at least was comfortable. However, it took another few days before I felt fit enough to be awake all day and not only little parts. The sleepiness could also be blamed on the number of local painkillers they'd administered (and I guessed I would feel worse), but even I could tell there was something wrong with my leg. I guessed it was the reason — and because of the amount of blood, I'd lost — why the doctors were still keeping me there. I couldn't move it. Moving was difficult anyhow, with the ribs broken and all, but I couldn't even wriggle the toes.

I really wanted to ask what the fuck was wrong with it, but whenever I tried, the nurse visiting would change the conversation.

Which was how John found me that afternoon. Propped up against several pillows, bandage itching against my forehead, I was staring some television. The small device hanging from the ceiling was settled on a show I hadn't really bothered to watch, but the soft chittering eased my nerves. There was still a bit of dried blood streaking across my cheek and my neck and another bit matted my hair on the right side slightly against my skull. That itched too, but I guessed I certainly wasn't supposed to scratch.

Blowing a lock of hair out of my face, cradled my hands in my lap and blinked tiredly up at Sheldon, trying and failing to explain science to Penny. It was amusing enough but I was glad when the door to my room opened and Uncle John had stepped into her hospital room, a glass of orange juice in one hand, a colourful straw sticking out of it, and a girly looking magazine in the other.

It was odd how we'd grown close over a common goal and I smiled: "Hi, Uncle John."

"Hello kiddo," he greeted and sat down on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He looked quite serious and I winched slightly as I tried to sit up. "No, no, stay put." And he held the glass out to me.

I took it without complaint, although I narrowed my eyes at him and he fiddled nervously with the hem of his jacket, dropping the magazine on my lap. I swallowed several gulps of orange juice, before giving in to the pregnant silence: "What's going on, Uncle John?"

"You've been working with Katherine."

"I— oh," I mumbled a bit surprised, "Well, yes. I'd thought staying in her good books would be a better way than arguing and trying to stake her. Besides, as long as she thinks she has leverage I have one on her."

"Katherine is not someone to toy around with." He told her seriously and I nodded tiredly.

"I know," I admitted. "But I did find out quite a bit. I know why so many vampires are after Elena. I know who the main enemy is and I figured out there is a whole family of originals."

"I didn't want you involved."

I drew my thumb across my chin and wiped a bit of orange juice away: "You wanted me to keep an eye on things."

"Yes, keep an eye on things. Not getting involved like this." Uncle John gave me a look that made me feel a bit like a bad child.

"Besides, that ship has sailed." I shrugged awkwardly and winched. Hissing, rolling my hand over the stiff tendon, I pushed myself up against the pillows. "I can't really stay out of all of this when some ancient baddy is going after my sister."

I winched again when the door opened and I turned over to see who it was. It wasn't a family member, I'd low-key had been expecting, and a woman with long dark hair and greenish eyes stepped inside. She was dressed in an expensive leather jacket that creaked as she moved her eyes and she smiled.

"A bit of vampire blood would loosen those muscles in an iffy, you know?" She stated, grinning serenely and I let my eyes flit over my suddenly tense uncle and back to the woman.

"I must admit," I whispered groggily, slightly amused but not really meaning her next words: "I'm not entirely against that idea."

Her lips spread wide, eyes glimmering a bit and Uncle John breathed out heavily: "Sam, this is Isobel Flemming."

I frowned, the name sounding vague familiar yet I couldn't put my finger behind it: "Pleasure, I'm sure."

"Isobel came to see how you were doing."

"Oh," I answered slowly and finished the last of my orange juice, "that's nice I guess. Why does your name sound so familiar to me?"

Isobel smiled: "Because I'm your mother, Samantha."

My body tensed impossibly so and I felt my face blanch. I remembered now, where I'd read that name before. In Elena's diary not so long ago, and now I also understood why Jenna had accused me of knowing about 'her being alive'. I remembered now that Elena had written about the missing pieces of a device that tracked vampires. Remembered reading what a colossal disappointment Isobel had been for a birth mother and I— I didn't know what to say: "What?"

John wetted his lips and held up his hands. "I— I really don't want to get into this now, Sam. Listen and listen carefully, the accident did damage to your spine. The doctors are unsure if the damage is permanent, but—"

"What?" I interrupted and tried to sit up straighter. My sprained leg. The heavy feeling that wouldn't go away— It didn't feel like it was mine. I breathed out harshly trying to keep my heartbeat even. "I'm— I'm paralysed?"

"That is a possibility." Uncle John admitted, and I could see how it pained him. He turned to Isobel, his face so pale and I realised he'd actually meant it. Actually meant for Isobel to heal me. My vision blurred from the tears and I blinked repeatedly, fisting the duvet between my fingers.

Turning to the woman who claimed to be my birth mother. "And you are truly willing to heal me?"

She cocked her head to the side: "Yes."

I nodded, my short hair flailing around my face and Uncle John averted his eyes. I could still feel the magic course through my blood, but I had no idea how to actually do a healing spell. I knew they were tremendously difficult. Isobel sat down next to him, moving close to me. My heart was beating fast and painfully against my ribs and Isobel stared at my face.

"You look a bit like me." She stated simply.

I didn't see it, but decided against telling her that. I could freak out over my vampire mother another time and I shrugged apathetically. "I— I suppose."

She hummed and veins begin to bubble under her eyes, dark and strange and inhuman and then, she bit into the flesh of her wrist. Ruby blood pooled down the pale skin and she offered it to me. My reactions were sluggish, and she grabbed my arm, shifted until our shoulders aligned, my head lolled and she tucked it beneath her chin, before pressing her wrist against my mouth. I swallowed several mouths-full, eyelids fluttering against the odd taste, and let the warm blood trickle down my throat. It felt odd too. A slight tingle of discomfort against my temple, but at the same time a jittery warmth surged through my body, slightly like the feel of magic coursing through my blood and suddenly a sickening pop resounded loudly through the room. The bones in my back mended themselves and an odd shock of furious feeling shot down my leg.

"There, all chipper and healthy," Isobel sang and slowly she dropped her arm, patting me on my head; "that's a good girl."

I attempted to wipe the mouth away from my mouth as subtle as possible, but from the amused look on Isobel's face, I'd say I failed. It was coppery and salty and I swallowed several times to get rid of the taste. Carefully I patted one of my legs relieved with the shockwaves of feelings travelling up and down my calves and sighed, flopping back against my pillow.

"I thought you were Elena's mom," I started, wriggling against my pillows until I lay more comfortable and waited for her to expand, to explain. She was still looking happy and oddly satisfied with herself.

"Hm," she agreed, "I am."

"And you put her up for adoption."

"Again right," she agreed and I watched Uncle John's face pale quite a bit. "You were a parting gift."

"A— Ew— have you and your lover not heard of contraceptives?" I asked horrified and she laughed boisterously at that.

"You could say we had other things on our minds." And from my peripheral vision, I noticed Uncle John's face dust a dark pink even as he dropped his head into his hands. I gaped at him with wide eyes, finally puzzling together what everyone else must have known already. Why Aunt Jenna was so angry with him, with Elena with me at first too, because she had known we did not just have the same mother.

"You're my father," I hissed, not really meaning for it to come out as an accusation and pointed my finger at him. "That's why you're— Oh my bloody God!"

"Sam," he tried awkwardly as Isobel got to her feet and licked at the remnants of blood on her wrist.

"Don't Sam me!" I huffed back, sounding more like the parent than my uncle did and shifted on my knees so that we were on the same level. "How could you keep that from me? Especially while everyone knew!"

"No one knew," he assured me and I felt my face morph in an expression of disbelieve.

"Yeah right," I sarcastically retorted, "That's why Jenna almost bit my head off when I left before—" and I spread my hands elaborately out around me, "—this happened."

"Jenna only knew who your mother was."

"Yes, Auntie Vanilla," Isobel remarked dryly and wiggled her fingers in some sort of wave. "Well, see you. Good luck, John. I will compel a doctor to release her later this afternoon and— ah yes before I forget." She grinned, flipping out a cell phone and took a picture of my stunned face.

"Wha—"

"Don't worry," she grinned again and Uncle John was looking at her with the sort of universal exasperation that made me blink even harder, "I'd like something to remember you by. The girl who actually looks a bit more like me…"

"Isobel—"

"Bye!"

Uncle John stared after her retreating back in a way that made me think he was not happy with the cards dealt with him in life right now and I suddenly was hit with so many questions my throat itched and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Well?"

"I might have been your birthfather but it was Miranda and Grayson who raised you. I didn't want you or Elena to feel obligated—"

"You should have told me." I interrupted stiffly. "When you learned I already knew I was adopted, you could have told me!"

"I did not know how." He muttered back. "I already have one daughter who hates me, I—"

"I don't hate you!" I stiffly returned and wondered if there was truly one person I actually hated. "You might not win any awards for father of the year or even uncle of the year, but I never hated you."

"That makes one of you. Elena despises me." He whispered and averted his eyes. I was pretty sure beside Elena, Aunt Jenna and Jeremy weren't his biggest fans either, but I couldn't find it in me to voice that thought out. Wriggling my toes, I pursed my lips and twisted the duvet on my lap.

"So Isobel, huh?"

"Hm,"

"She's a vampire—"

"Yes."

"The monsters that hide in human form are the most dangerous of all." I drawled sarcastically and he cocked his head in acknowledgement.

"She wants to help save Elena. And you." John answered and I curled my legs under my chin. "She tries, in her own way."

"I'm not judging you, Uncle John."

He gave me a wry smile and I shrugged. I really wasn't and accepted my fresh orange juice to sip from, while constantly wriggling my toes and moving my legs. When the nurses returned with a meal that should have been lasagne but looked like a mashed tomato with slivers of cheese, I really wanted to go home — 'I'm sure it tastes fine,' Uncle John had tried before I'd pushed the plate in his hands — or the Grill (if that was an option too).

The hospital released me late that evening. I'd left behind several nurses and one doctor, who'd seen to me in the emergency room, with more questions than answers, but I couldn't find it in me to care. God, I would kill for a homemade meal. Even Jenna's cooking sounded eligible at that point and didn't give the accident a second thought. Or at least, I didn't until a week later, when I found myself at the Lockwood manor.

Tyler was noticeably absent and I stood, dressed in the world's itchiest black dress Elena owned, at the back of the room. With my arms crossed over my chest, I listened as Mrs Lockwood explained about the charity Historical foundation my mom loved so much. When called by her name, Elena stood up and stepped to the front of the living room, looking pretty and warm in her purple dress. Several portraits of frowning Lockwood ancestors, glaring down at her as she fidgeted lightly on the stage and I stepped further back in shadows. I really didn't need to be asked any questions, as technically I too represented the Gilbert legacy.

"The Historical Society was my mom's baby," Elena started and I nodded along, standing next to an irritable looking Jenna, "She considered all of you family and would be honoured and touched by this gift."

I nodded again because mom would have been honoured by any gift. She was always so wonderful. Caring and good, she believed in the good of people. She believed in second chances I was just trying to picture her smiling face when something made a horrible crunching sound.

I flinched when someone tumbled off the stairs and whirled around, my eyes widening and my face blanching, because there on the floor was Uncle John — my father, it still sounded odd — and my stomach twisted painfully against my ribs. My breath hitched in my throat and I stumbled over my own feet in my haste to get to his side. A small pool of blood had started next to his head and his pale skin just above his once pristine white collar was covered in more of it, the puncture wounds still visible beneath the scarlet liquid.

Stefan Salvatore was crouching down beside me trying to push me back (he'd certainly been in the shocked doctor category when I walked inside my kitchen after being released without even the slightest sign I'd been in a car accident only a week ago) and I viciously batted at his hand. He certainly got the message then and it was only because of Jeremy, grabbing my shoulder and promising me the Gilbert matriarch would be all right, that I let myself be whisked away.

With everything going on, with Uncle John bitten and humbling down the stairs, it didn't hit me immediately. Just that Tyler had been missing, that Liz Forbes thundered inside as I was pushed in the back of Jenna's car (who was acting incredibly odd) and that Elena did not come home that afternoon. A horrible feeling had settled in my tummy as if I was missing something, and it only hit me fully when I stumbled in my bedroom. The door closed harshly, so harshly an old journal tumbled out of my bookcase, making a soft thud when it fell on the rug-covered floor.

It was a journal I used to keep three years ago, covered in bright green leather. An idea of Miranda, possibly wondering if I too could be persuaded to start a writing carrier in the future, and I slowly crouched down beside it. Several pictures of the summer after I'd turned thirteen were littering the floor and I picked them up one by one, freezing when my fingers slid over Tyler's boyishly grinning face. We were propped together in an overstuffed chair at the Lakehouse, the desk in front of us completely covered with drawings and we were both smiling. That, however, was not the thing that stood out the most to me. Near Tyler's hand was a well-drawn picture of a wolf and my eyelids fluttered.

I remembered then. Right after the old red chevy truck before me suddenly swerved to the right. I'd watched the taillights disappear and make a place for the wet figure of a girl with long light brown hair and a feral expression. I hadn't recognised her then—

But I remembered now—

Jules the Werewolf girl, mason's friend, had caused the accident.

She had almost killed me— and my blood boiled—

To be continued…

A/N: And I'm ending this chapter on a cliffhanger as well. Mostly because the chapter became too long otherwise, but still quite a view things happened. Did you all enjoy it? Got any tips, questions or feedback? I'd love to hear from you. I'd love to get feedback— constructive criticism makes for a better story, after all.

And how about the Isobel and John turn. I'm sure people saw it coming right? I'd say it is believable. Because wouldn't it just be like teenage John and Isobel to have a lovers rendezvous one more time? That and I have a reason for Samantha being Elena's biological sister. I'm afraid it will take super long before that will be explained. Really, really long!

And Isobel acting creepy? That seemed very Canon-like to me.