A/N: This takes place after 2x12 (The Descent) - after Rose's death, before Tyler's conversation with Jules. My first TVD story, so feedback and comments are very welcome and appreciated!

Pairings: Stefan/Damon and others in future chapters.

Rating: M for brief violence, bloodlust and future sexual content.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. These lovely characters belong to the awesome folk behind TVD – I'm just glad to borrow them to play with.

x x x

A light rain was falling through the murky windows of the Red Rum Motel – an intended joke, I guess, which unfortunately fell flat when the place was entirely congruent with the grim origins of its name. I could see it in the fading light coming through the unnamable stains on the glass from years of one-night tenants who had preceded us. I remember the rain, the accompanying chill and the pain as I sat digging for the hundreds of tiny shards of wooden shrapnel in my chest and belly. I remember the drinking glass my brother thrust in my hand, the rancid aftertaste of the warm amber liquid he'd found in the dead mini-bar and had me toss back the entire bottle of; the burn in my throat as he told me Elena was dead.

And then he was gone, too fast for even my senses to make out where or how, before his words sank in. And then they did.

I remember stumbling blindly after him, slamming into doors and walls and lockers, and eventually that damn termite-bitten corridor rail that broke under the impact, and had me falling eight stories and onto my face in the lot. The pain was instantaneous – and a blessed respite, as was the unconsciousness that immediately followed it.

But I woke up, of course. As I always do, clawing for awareness, though I never understand why afterwards. In a pool of vomit and blood I woke up and turned onto my back, feeling my neck and head sink back into the sticky, sour stuff with a faint sucking noise.

Ah, Christ. Fuck. A lingering soreness infiltrated my bones, but they didn't feel broken anymore. The physical pain was gone, and with it, my relief.

I looked at the just-lightening sky and realised it was almost dawn – I wondered vaguely how many times I'd drowned in my own vomit and come back. My head was still fuzzy; it had always surprised me that we could get drunk. You would have thought accelerated healing might extend to digesting alcohol before it invaded the bloodstream, but no. An oversight of our mythology if ever there was one. Why in hell was I laughing? Where the hell was Damon? Where was everyone else?

It didn't matter, I supposed. Elena hadn't gotten to say her goodbyes; I could forgo mine, too. I closed my eyes and pulled off my ring.

x x x

When I came to this time, it came as a surprise. I ran sore, itching fingers down my arms as the last of the burns faded from my skin. I stifled a curse: someone had saved me. I looked around – I was back in the Red Rum, only in a different room. Instead of the acid stench of vomit I smelled shampoo and laundered cloth: someone had bathed and changed me, and put me to bed.

"Hello, brother." He sat next to the bed, just beyond the headboard and out of my line of sight. "What, no hello kiss? And here I've been keeping such vigil."

"What the fuck, Damon?" My voice was hoarse. My throat was scratchy and sore. How far had the sun burned under my skin?

"I could ask you the same question. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," I said, closing my eyes. "Let it go."

In a flash he was by the bed, hands on my throat pressing me into the mattress. "Let it go? My baby brother tries to kill himself, which is fine by me, except he decides to do it in the middle of the fucking parking lot of our motel. Leaving me as clean up crew. That's pretty goddamn high profile if you ask me, for a bunch of people trying to keep a low one."

"I said I was sorry."

"We're on the run, Stefan, in case you failed to notice."

I shook my head, looked up at him. "What's the point now?"

"The point is not all of us are suicidal. Not me, not all these idiots you had me drag out of Mystic Falls."

I covered my eyes with one hand. "I'm sorry." And this time I meant it. Grief, unbidden, welled up again, and it was all I could do to let it. My hoarseness was nothing to do with my burns. "They were vampires, for Christ's sake, Damon. How can she be dead?"

He ignored this. "You know, there are far less slipshod ways of ending yourself that don't involve me getting caught. I'd be happy to demonstrate." His fingers tightened on my windpipe.

"Get your hands off me."

"Really."

"Get your fucking hands off me." I took his wrist and twisted it hard enough that his elbow wrenched. He backed away, holding up both hands.

"Alright. Keep your panties on. Thought you had a death wish, is all."

Footsteps in the corridor signalled company just before the door opened to admit Matt and then Caroline, who stopped short at the sight of me, then came over in a rush of tears and flying hair, landing hard and throwing her arms around me, sobbing repeatedly, "You're okay, I'm so glad you're okay."

Overcome and bewildered by the outpouring, I simply stroked her back. Mumbled soothing things. Eventually she lifted off me and sat back on the sheets, subjecting me to scrutiny with that frank gaze of hers. "Are you okay?"

I opened my mouth, but couldn't find a truthful answer that would satisfy her, and we were thankfully interrupted by the arrival of the rest: Bonnie, Jeremy, Alaric, Tyler – all of whom I'd dragged out of Mystic Falls. Torn from their home and their lives. All of whom Elena had wanted me to keep safe. The very thought of her made me want to push it all away, to turn it all off – or, even better, to join her – but the alcohol had gone, and with it the sweet relief of self-interest. My grief – what a strange word, to encompass what I felt, such a common word – had to wait. Dying was too easy: Elena had left me a responsibility.

Klaus was after us. Elijah was after us. The werewolves were after us. Rose had said something to Elena before she died – something about fighting instead of giving up, and for some godforsaken reason it had struck a chord with her. And it had all gone to shit from there. Someone had shown up at the house, compelled, and shot first Jenna and then himself through the head. The werewolves had come for us, seeking vengeance for what we'd done to Mason. Matt had been attacked. He'd had a hard time coming to terms with everything when Elena had revealed to him her – our – secrets. And she'd decided to run. I supposed I should be grateful – at least it'd cured her of her martyr streak and given us a little more time together. Together, hiding out in motels, afraid, on the run – for a few weeks. And ultimately dying anyway, only not on her own terms. Yes, I supposed I should be grateful.

Like Rose before her, and Trevor; like Katherine, she had decided to run, and when Damon and I hadn't been able to talk her out of it – when, in fact, she had given us the slip and taken off on her own – we did the only thing we could have: protect her. Except we hadn't.

"I can't believe she's gone," said Caroline, softly.

Matt put his head in his hands. "And we only made it to – oh, God, we didn't even make it to D.C."

Damon smiled, coldly. "What's the matter, Matt? Montclair not doing it for you? Not loving the high life on the I-95?"

"Are you making fucking jokes, man?" Matt lurched towards him, fists raised, and Alaric tried to restrain him, but neither he nor the kid had a chance. Damon had Matt in a stranglehold before he was halfway across the room. He clutched at the vice-like forearm around his neck, gasping for breath as we all jumped to our feet – when, all of a sudden, Damon let go and fell to the floor, groaning, gripping the sides of his heads with both hands. Matt stumbled free, and all eyes turned to Bonnie, who was staring at Damon, spelling her aneurysms, advancing on him.

"Alright," I said. "Enough."

"That's right," said Bonnie, releasing him from the spell. "That's enough. Elena is dead," she said, her voice breaking on the word. "We need to stop doing this."

"You little bitch," snarled Damon from the floor. "I'll kill you myself."

Bonnie raised a finger in warning, and Damon kicked the footboard of the bed in frustration. "You watch your back, witch."

"You watch yours, if anyone else gets hurt again."

"I've heard that before."

"Stop! Please, just stop." Jeremy came between them as Bonnie started forward, his eyes red from crying. "This is crazy. This isn't the time for this." He kneeled in front of Damon, surprising us all. "I saw them, Damon, it was vampires. Why would they have killed her? Klaus needed her alive. What happened?" My brother said nothing. "Come on, you at least owe us that much."

"Fuck you, Gilbert. I don't owe you anything."

"Damon." Alaric shook his head warningly.

"She was my sister."

Damon looked at Jeremy for a moment, then at me, and climbed up off the floor and sat back in his chair by the headboard.

"She's dead. What do you want me to say?" he said, acidly. I knew my brother: his pain poured sharply into my awareness. "You know what happened. They came for us, we all scattered. They were Klaus' lackeys, by the way. I got that much out of them." He laughed, without humour. "I was feeling pretty damn good about it. Staked the three goons I tortured it out of. Conquering fucking champ. And then…" His eyes became vacant. "I went looking for the others. Pulled a couple off Rick. And then…I found Elena. Cornered. She stabbed herself," he said, wonderingly, as though he couldn't comprehend his own words.

"What?" My own voice was a raw whisper.

He looked at me, and I saw the grief and confusion plainly on his face, a mirror for mine. "That's not possible, Damon."

He nodded. "And yet the fact remains."

"Why?" whispered Bonnie. "Why would she have done that?"

"Because she was a fucking martyr, Bonnie. She led us all on this merry chase only to end up doing exactly what she wanted to do in the first place: die."

"And get Klaus off our backs," said Jeremy.

"Ten points to the kid." But his voice was no longer hard.

"Except for the fact that – I'm sorry, but someone's gotta say it – that by dying now," said Tyler, holding up a hand in apology, "she's really fucked up his plans. Hasn't she?"

Damon stared at his hands. "She has."

"And this Klaus guy is meant to be like, a vengeful a-hole on crack, isn't he?"

I nodded. "He is. So we've got to keep moving." Seven faces turned to me in surprise. "We won't be safe till we reach Rochester."

"You still want to go to the safe house?" Bonnie was incredulous. "Elena's gone."

"And I made a promise to her. To keep you safe. That doesn't change. We've been delayed here for long enough already–"

"You're welcome, brother."

"–Thanks to me, I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't in my right mind last night. Klaus will find out soon, if he hasn't already, and they'll be coming for us. We've got to move."

x x x

I smelled the blood from a mile away. It curled into my nostrils, clinging around my consciousness like a fog, clogged my senses, flooded my awareness with nothing but the scent and the sound of its warm, luscious pulsation. Fresh. I followed it like a lost animal.

It didn't take long to find. Damon squinted up at me, wincing in the sunlight pouring in from the open door of the motel basement, where he was crouched in the darkness. A girl lay in his arms, naked, blonde, dazed and languid, smiling, moving slowly against him, red smeared across her throat and chest as he drank from and caressed her; another was propped against the wall behind him, bleeding and already unconscious.

I sucked in air through useless, constricted lungs, a human instinct that never quite faded. "You can't do this, Damon," I breathed, fighting to get myself under control.

"Yeah?" The euphoria, the challenge in his feed-reddened eyes, in his bloodied grin, in the taunting thrust of his hips, was almost irresistible. "Come on in and stop me."

Their heartbeats pounded in my ears, called to me: I was conscious of pleasure that they were alive – dizzying – but the pleasure came from the fact that it meant flowing blood. Warm, pulsating, metallic. Sickened and overwhelmed, I turned away. I thought of Elena's blood – God, I thought of Elena – and the agony of her loss sliced through the bloodlust like a balm.

I sped down the steps towards the girls, breaking the skin on my wrist, rubbing it desperately into both their mouths, needing their wounds to heal - for my own preservation as much as theirs. Snatching them into my arms, I fled the basement, and deposited them hastily in the relative privacy of the motel's laundry room. Damon didn't try to stop me.

x x x

"Big fuckin' hero, huh? So what are you, like, field leader now?"

I turned from taking inventory of our weapons supply to find Damon lounging against the doorframe, clothed and cleaned. I went back to my work.

"Seriously? You couldn't find another room?"

"Oh, I could. Just wanted to spend some time with my baby bro."

"Afraid of the dark, Damon? Oh, wait."

"Relax. I was going to patch them back together anyway."

He came over to where I was crouched by the bed, and stooped till he was level with me. I cleared my throat. "Something I wanted to ask you. What–" I swallowed. "What happened to her body?"

He pursed his lips. For a second I thought he wasn't going to answer. "I don't know. I got in there and checked that she was – you know. Then more vampires showed up, and by the time I was done with them and got back to her, she was gone. I figure they took her body back to Klaus as proof."

"Looks like it." I nodded.

"So," he said, watching me examine some of Alaric's newer inventions, "when are you going to give up the tough guy act?"

"I don't know, Damon. Maybe when my big brother shares my motel room and shows me the concern he hasn't shown me for a hundred and forty-five years. Maybe then."

"Who are you trying to kid? It's me. You trying to pretend you've turned it off? Doesn't work that way, Stef. You turn one part of your humanity off, you turn it all off – and yet here you are, still trying to road trip the bunch of them away from their inevitable death."

"I'm dealing with it. The best I can. Don't overanalyse it."

"And when you finally go off the deep end and leave me high and dry babysitting the Scooby gang? Can I analyse it then?"

"Back off, Damon."

"It's Elena."

"Hey." I rounded on him. "I get that you're in pain. Don't put it on me."

"I'm in pain? You were a blistering hunk of raw flesh when I found you this morning in the lot."

"I said back off."

His eyes snapped to Alaric's stake gun, which I hadn't realised I was holding up, pointed at his heart. Delicately, he directed the tip of it away with an index finger.

"Alright. Go ahead, little brother. Deal away. And when the time comes, you can be sure I'll be right there saying I told you so."

x x x