author's note: cheesy summary, i know. i've had this idea in my head for the longest time- it feels like almost three years now. and what started as a simple "what if" scenario snowballed into the actual motivation to write it out. i wrote, and wrote, and wrote for a long time. scattered pieces, wherever inspiration came, but it burned out suddenly and i was discouraged. seven months ago while talking to my girlfriend, i mentioned this idea to her. even let her read some of what i had previously written. and with her endless patience and encouragement, i started writing again. so this is a long fic, one which will basically rewrite what happened on tvd. lots of things won't be the same; some people who died won't be dead anymore and others who survived won't make it out. i don't have too much planned in regards to what will happen, and nothing is set in stone. i'm just sort of writing as i go, trying to make this as authentic as possible and not forced. i hope you give this fic a chance, though i don't blame you if it ain't your cup of tea! happy reading ~

Rays of sunlight softly illuminated the room, washing over unfamiliar white walls and unfamiliar furniture. The muffled sound of singing birds greeted my ears as I rose—since when do birds ever sing around here?—,muscles stiff from sleep. I surveyed the room with bleary eyes, though not bleary enough to not see how blatant it was that I was not in my own room. Seconds passed in silence—a silence I was deeply unaccustomed to. No cars passing? Honking? An ache began to form in the pit of my stomach. This isn't…where was I? A swift knock knock knock to my right answered me, breath catching in my throat.

"Breakfast is almost ready! Caroline will be here in twenty—are you dressed?"

It took a moment for me to settle myself. Lips parted automatically, yet no sound escaped. They only trembled slightly, the dryness of my tongue making it hard to swallow. Breathe, just breathe. There's gotta be an explanation for this, right? Think now, freakout later. But the outright unfamiliarity of the situation—the utter surreal-ness of it—hurt me to the core. Jagged pains cut across my chest, every breath a struggle to shudder out. A quick glance down revealed a comforter wrapped around my pant-less form. Half-naked and frozen in fear, knuckles white from the strain of trying to anchor myself to the bedsheet, I choked down a pitiful, strangled whimper.

"Are you still in bed?"

Eyes flickered around the room and back to the door again, legs curling toward myself apprehensively. There was no other means of escape besides the door and window to my left. I wanted so desperately to be calm, to stay level-headed, but the instinct to run was bigger.

"If you're not up and ready in five minutes, I am going to come in there and drag you out of bed myself. You hear? Time starts now."

There was a soft pitter patter of feet, blatant mumbling, and then nothing.

I sat there, no less than terrified. Would the fall from jumping out the window break anything important? Even if it did, I'd still be able to call for help, right? What if there aren't any other houses outside? Could this be a staged neighborhood? Is this even a real house? What if—

With a sound halfway between a groan and a sob, I carefully pulled back the covers and slipped out of the bed, taking extra care to not make any noise. Tiptoeing to the window, something out of the corner of my eye unexpectedly moved. I couldn't help but turn as fast as I could to face it. Staggering like a fool, I realized I was staring into a full body mirror.

An oversized shirt, underwear, and nothing else made up my outfit. Something which did not make very good escape material. A frantic glance around the room didn't help much, as I grasped soon after that there was no other clothing out in the open for me to wear. I shook my head before snapping out of it and focusing back on the window.

It was locked. Maybe I was still drowsy, but I couldn't find where the latch was. My fingers fumbled over the sides, on the smooth glass, and even around the window itself. I huffed in annoyance, gritted my teeth, and threw my hands in the air in exasperation.

Standing in the middle of the room, watching the door, it was obvious; there was no other way out. Either I open the door now, or whoever shouted at me would—and I preferred to not be caught off guard by a possible murderer.

My hand hesitated above the knob—I realized the door wasn't even locked—and let my skin slowly descend upon the foreign metal. There was a hushed clink, quiet groan, and then silence. The hallway was dimly lit, the curtains having been drawn closed.

I took a tentative step but recoiled when I heard a voice.

"Dammit—we're out of strawberries."

I could hear someone—the same person from before—muttering to themselves. Something closed with a thud, and a shadow moved across the pale kitchen wall.

Moving as if cement blocks were tied to my ankles, I flattened myself in a corner of the room, suddenly becoming intensely aware of the fact that I was not wearing a bra. I managed to, after a brief pep talk, make my way along the wall and to the kitchen, where the hefty smell of pancakes—which in any other situation would make me salivate—made my stomach churn. I took a deep breath, prepared myself, and peeked around the corner.

It took a lot for me, in that moment, to not stumble back idiotically and fall right on my ass from the shock. Because the girl in this kitchen wasn't just some average joe who kidnapped people for a living, or some twisted thing like that—it was Kat Graham.

And let me tell you, waking up in the home of a celebrity out of the blue isn't as glamorous as people make it out to be, either on the internet or anywhere else in general. It's much scarier. And illegal. With a touch of insane. Oh yeah, not to mention, I have no recollection of ever meeting her before today. So, add that to the list.

Yet, even as my heart threatened to crawl its way up my throat and past my teeth, Kat did not seem…normal. There was something seriously off about her. Of course, I'm not one to judge (I suppose a possible hostage situation grants me some judging rights, though), but she looked oddly young, and like… holy shit, she looked very young—too young.

She stood in the middle of the brightly lit kitchen, carton of milk in one hand and a bottle of syrup in the other. She set them down, almost like a cat (no pun intended)—careful, yet fast. Facing my general direction, eyes scanning the fridge rapidly, her mouth curved unevenly into her signature, perpetual almost-smirk. Frustration wrinkled her forehead; there was a black flutter of hair whipping around her head, like some sort of halo, as she nudged a cabinet door closed with her knee. A soft snort of laughter escaped her too, one which sounded oddly familiar in that way that makes your stomach sink, and I couldn't help but back away, eyes wide.

This wasn't a decade younger Kat Graham, here, in a random kitchen, in some house, in a place god knows where—no, this was Bonnie fucking Bennett.

A fictional character was less than five feet away from me, and despite my reeling mind still stumbling over the similarities—I knew. I just knew. It's not as if knowing didn't stop me from freaking out, though. I all but practically ran back to where I woke up, choosing instead to hide then to confront whatever nightmare I'd been thrown in to.

With the door closed and locked, I let myself crumble to the ground, unsure of how to proceed. A small part of me still wanted it to be Kat Graham outside, but to be honest, that didn't make the situation any less terrifying. I knew it wasn't. I was a huge fan of Vampire Diaries, especially the first six seasons, and I could tell this was not the actress—no, it was the character. And that explained how she looked younger. Yet this explanation left me with a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

Swallowing thickly, I tried to calm my trembling which gradually worsened and closely resembled the turmoil going on inside my head. I was somehow in a strange room, with a fictional character standing right outside, and I was supposed to be ready or else she was going to come in here and—

Caroline.

She'd said Caroline earlier. She'd said Caroline earlier.

I couldn't bring myself to get up. Instead, I allowed myself a moment to pull on my hair before squeezing my eyes shut and focusing. I didn't know where I was, why I was here, why there was a fictional fucking character in the kitchen, or what was happening. How lovely.

Last night was clear—I had slept early because I wasn't feeling well. After drinking tea and refusing to accept possibly becoming sick, I shut myself in my room and burrowed under a ton of blankets. So… how did I get here? And where is here, exactly?

If Bonnie was in the kitchen, and Caroline was on her way, then this must be Mystic Falls—as ridiculous as that may sound. I was in Virginia, apparently. Somehow, despite having lived in California all my life, I ended up in a fictional town overnight.

The window overlooked a front yard, plain and green; there were a few cars parked by the sidewalk, and no one was out. An alarm clock by the bed showed the time: 7:30AM. There was a calendar above a small work station in the corner. The month was April.

No, it was March.

In my haste to flip through the calendar, I caused it to fall. The year on the front cover was 2009.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat again. No—it was 2018. It must've just been an old calendar that was never replaced. Nine years, though…whoever slept in this room needed to update their things. Keeping a calendar hung up that was almost a decade old? And here I thought I was a mess.

Shaking off the creeping feeling of unease, I began searching the drawers by the bed to see if there was anything of use—maybe something familiar. Something I could use—as for what, I didn't know.

While elbow deep in a drawer full of shirts, something gleamed and caught my eye—a phone.

I grabbed it, fumbled for a second, and watched in horror as it clattered to the ground. Dropping to my knees, I cradled the phone and let out a shaky breath when there was no sign of scratches or a cracked screen. Get it together.

It was an iPhone, and the picture that lit up when I pressed the home button was of Bonnie, Caroline, Elena, and finally, me.

Yes, me. Me. I was there, leaning against Bonnie with Caroline's arm around my waist on my other side, and Elena's body against my back. She was trying to climb onto me, her head just above mine, and I remembered— I remembered. Matt wouldn't stop laughing and hold still enough to get a clear picture, and I had to bribe him with food to get him to calm down.

The memory flashed vividly, ran its course, and faded into the background of my mind. The whole time I sat there, confused, while I watched the events play out. I knew—I remembered—but how? How…if this entire thing—waking up in a room I didn't recognize with Bonnie Bennett making me breakfast in a town that definitely didn't exist was just so not right?

My thoughts became a jumble of curse words, and as I curled myself into a ball, wishing everything would go back to normal, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Food's ready! Are you dressed?" Silence. "If you don't answer me, I'm going into your room. Don't test me!"

Half-sitting up, unsteady hand pushing my hair from my face, I said the first thing I could think of. "I don't feel well."

My voice was croaky, rough, and low. The words echoed pathetically through the door and to the other side, and I heard shuffling from Bonnie.

"What do you mean? Are you okay?"

Her concern made me frown, and I managed to pull myself up on unstable legs and clutch the drawer.

"Feel sick."

"Sick? What kind?"

The knob turned, stopped short, and was slightly jingled.

"Don't know. I want to sleep."

The knob was turned once more. "Let me in so I can check on you. Do you need something?"

"Can't, in bed. It's cold." I paused. "Just need rest."

There was a sudden stillness on the other side. I shifted nervously from foot to foot—the fear that she would somehow know something was wrong, that I was wrong, that this entire fucking conversation was just plain wrong and she'd do something, something that involved me possibly being murdered—weighed heavy on my shoulders.

"You sure? You don't want me to make one of Grams' teas? I think she left some of her herbs here a few days ago. Those always make you feel better."

Grams. She was still alive. It had been a while since I had seen any old Vampire Diaries episodes, seeing as I used to watch only when it aired on TV, and didn't re-watch any past seasons. I also stopped watching after a while. The show went downhill, ruining my favorite characters along with it. I remembered how and what season Grams—Sheila Bennett—died. But I had no idea what the timeline was. I knew every season wasn't a new year, but I didn't know the exact dates. If that calendar was actually accurate…then April 2009 didn't ring a bell. I didn't know what point in time I was in.

"No—I'm just tired."

"Okay. I'll tell Caroline, then. We'll have to reschedule."

I hummed in response. My mind was beginning to whirl again.

"Get some rest, Sam. I'll check on you in a bit."

Blood thrummed in my ears, my vision faded momentarily, and I almost choked on my own saliva.

She knew my name. Bonnie Bennett knew my name.

I crawled onto the bed and piled blankets onto my trembling body, hoping desperately that when I woke up, I would be back home.

It was wishful thinking.

There was a soft knocking on the door, and I kicked off the covers with a start—

I was still here.

Eyes closing to ease my building panic, the disappointment was enough to cripple me. This was a nightmare.

"Hey Sam, you doing alright? Need anything?"

Bonnie's voice made me feel intensely empty inside. Some part of me still hoped it was my mom on the other side, and in the span of a blink, my surroundings would become the same four walls that have housed me for almost all my life.

"No, I'm fine."

"Alright. Caroline says she hopes you feel better soon. Even said she would make you cookies." The warmth in Bonnie's voice made my face crumble. It felt all too familiar—but that was something for me to worry about later.

"Oh… that's sweet of her." At my awkward pause, Bonnie laughed softly.

"Yeah, that's Caroline for you. She left a while ago. I'm surprised she wasn't disappointed we cancelled our plans."

"Sorry about…that."

"Don't worry about it. You sure you don't need anything?"

I nodded even though she had no way of seeing me. "I'm sure."

"If you say so. I'll be back soon."

And with that, she was gone.

Bonnie returned a few hours later, bearing cookies and tea. The sun had begun its lazy crawl down the pale sky, something I still managed to find beautiful despite my predicament. Once Bonnie had left, quiet footsteps fading away, I snatched the tray she left me. My back hit the wall farthest from the door as I slumped down, half sitting and half crouching, a trembling hand curled around a warm ceramic mug.

The floor, covered in scattered clothing, served only to remind me of how desperately my fingers had gripped each and every piece of fabric—hoping, wishing, praying—that something, anything, wouldn't fit so goddamn perfectly.

The ache was returning, causing my eyes to sting with heat, the threat of tears nearly overwhelming. I couldn't let myself cry, though. There was nothing to gain from it—except swollen eyes and a trash bin full of tissues. I extended my legs, letting myself fully stretch, tea almost spilling over the rim. A spoon rolled off the end of the tray, clattering loudly in the harsh silence. It clinked against the smooth metal of a picture frame off to the side—one I had flipped over in order to escape what my mind, still reeling from shock, could not comprehend. Caroline and me in roller skates. Elena, Bonnie, and me eating bright pink cotton candy. Matt and me soaking wet next to a waterfall—

I ignored the spoon, opting instead to pretend it never existed, and took a shaky sip of tea. The taste of warm honey, smooth and thick, slid down my aching throat. I hadn't realized how thirsty I had been, my attention having been focused elsewhere since waking up here. Shallow breaths, eyes squeezed shut— I knew I needed to come to grips with what was happening. This wasn't a game, some ruse to mess with my head. This, in every sense of the word, was real. And I was caught right in the middle of it.

Darkness crept along the walls, at first slow and steady, the change in the room almost imperceptible—but then all at once, I was shrouded in dull, fading light. The tea, no longer warm and silky, caused a cold pooling sensation in my stomach. Upset and still hungry, the mug clattered to the floor along with the tray as I stood, shoulders hunched and eyes bleary.

Before I knew it, my fingers were clawing at the sides of the glass window, desperate and slightly crazed, unwilling to accept my fate—whatever it may be. A sharp, slicing ding from a phone—my phone— somewhere on the ground made me almost scream, heart hammering so loud it drowned out the sound of my uneven breathing.

The device, small and smooth in my hands, was hidden under a messy pile of shirts near the bed. The vibration which followed after the sound gave it away. Pressing the home button, the screen lit up brightly, a new message covering the lock screen photo which made my eyes sting ever so slightly.

Hey, are we still gonna go on our run tomorrow?

It was from Matt. I stared stupidly at his message, torn between asking myself if this was a regular occurrence, and how I was supposed to unlock the phone. Two sharp dings answered me.

Caroline told me you weren't feeling well. You still under the weather?

By the way I helped her make cookies, hope you liked 'em.

I smiled fondly for a brief moment, touched, before my lips curled into a frown and I flung the phone away. I couldn't even let myself think about it. It skittered across the hardwood floor until a few socks prevented it from going further. I stared down the offending piece of technology, scowling, but my facade was ruined when another ding sounded loudly. Reluctantly, and feeling a bit like a child, I grimaced before lifting the surprisingly still intact phone.

If you don't feel like running, you mind still spending the day together? Sorry for the spam.

The smile appeared again, warm and affectionate, brightening my eyes for a few seconds. Of course, my mind seemed to whisper, I'm always here for you. A surge of emotion coursed through me then, like a rush of water, filling my chest, lungs—making it hard to focus on anything besides the jump in my heartrate. I didn't know what was happening, unable to move or break out of the sudden spell which had taken hold of me. As if by their own command, my fingers typed out a four-digit passcode—0816—and I blinked stupidly as the phone lay unlocked in my hands, Matt's messages greeting me.

My fingers…they had moved so quickly, with the kind of precision someone has after knowing their password by heart for so long that it ceases to be a password and becomes a rhythm. A certain movement. Biting my lip, the nervous twitch of my hands starting again, I wondered—how did I know it in the first place? I chose to ignore it, for now.

In a matter of minutes, the walls that'd been sunset-painted became swept by dark moonlight. I sat there, contemplating what to do, how to respond. The phone screen must've dimmed about 15 times, the frantic tap tap tap from my fingertips bringing it back to life.

My temples throbbed along with my eyes. I knew what I had to do, what choice I had to make. Staying hidden in this room, although preferable, was not ideal. It wouldn't get me anywhere. And this—Matt—might give me something. Anything. I was desperate, and as my fingers began to type, it occurred to me that I never really had a choice in the first place.

Hey, Matt. I'm feeling better. A run sounds good, actually…

author's note: so. hope you liked it so far! this is an unoriginal concept, i know. there's a plethora of fics out there with a similar premise. but i aim to make it original in its own, unique way. many thanks to my beautiful girlfriend Isabel (princelesthottie) for being the beta for this fic and dealing with my constant negativity, huffing and puffing, and overall mess of a writing style. i wouldn't have been able to do it without her. so blame her for letting the light of day see this and also practically threatening me on multiple occasions for almost giving up. this won't be perfect by any means, but it's a chance for me to improve my writing and explore something that... that i've always wondered about. so yeah. enough rambling on my part ~