I cannot say the talisman will prevent death from fatal wounds or even resuscitate you if you do happen to die.

Grey clouds clustered together in the sky, the only indication of the sun setting being slivers of orange tinted yellows and hues of pink far in the horizon. For the first time since I arrived in this universe, the rickety window in my room was open. The smell of freshly cut grass and flowers breezed in, cool and gentle. Traffic began to pick up as the day sputtered to an end, passing cars becoming a rhythmic hum.

The talisman, as bright and smooth as the day I removed it from its box, laid against the windowsill. Fear had settled in my stomach a while ago, which was to be expected. The guilt, though, was a surprise. The necklace, if I had been wearing it, could've saved my life. It could've prevented my entire altercation with the witches, could've made me strong enough to stop Damon before he even managed to look in my direction. I felt guilty because if I had read the letter sooner instead of postponing it, if I hadn't been so afraid of coming to terms with reality, then I would've known this. I could've used it to my advantage, and also, I wouldn't have taken it off.

I definitely wouldn't have taken it off.

It felt as if I'd betrayed my mom and everything she'd worked for. So much effort put into keeping me safe and there I'd gone, like a complete and utter moron, not wearing it and effectively getting my throat ripped out in the process.

She must've known this, must've known I hadn't listened, because she had been there with me in that inky black void. She knew I died, and had to intervene to keep me from making (or rather being forced to make) a deal with Esther and her posse of old cranky dead witches. She didn't even reprimand me for it. I wished she would've at least done that.

"Ponte el collar cuando te despiertes."

Kind, even when facing your dumb child and processing their death. That was my mom for you. Always so kind.

The guilt, as surprising as it was, was outweighed drastically by the fear and the lingering question of what brought me back?

Actually, it wasn't so much what but how. I'd ignored the answer to the first question since I woke up in the Salvatore boarding house, covered in dirt, my own blood, and feeling the faint echo of Damon and the witches on my hypersensitive skin. Of course I knew what brought me back. It was magic. My mom's magic.

I could perfectly picture the black spidery veins that crawled up her arms and neck and eventually her face, the white of her eyes unlike anything I'd ever seen before. But...that was just it though, I had seen it before, just not in real life. Bonnie, in like the third or fourth season, looked just like my mom did: all black veins and white eyes. It was the association that had me nervous, stomach upset just at the thought. Bonnie was using dark magic, something that led to her downward spiral later on in the show. And jesus—my mom was using dark magic. My own mom.

Is this what killed her? Was it not a heart complication but this instead?

A sob threatened to work its way up and out of my throat and I had to slam my good hand down on my thigh, nails digging into the meat of it. Tears sprang into my eyes and I gritted my teeth. I will not have another breakdown. I will NOT.

There was noise just on the other side of my bedroom door, the harsh tinkling of pots and pans in the kitchen mingling with the growing clamor of voices. I have to talk to Sheila. I have to tell her everything. But...it has to be alone.

The voices died down a while later and before I could question myself too much, I wandered outside, the hood of my sweater pulled up and my footsteps light.

Caroline was no longer on the sofa, her missing blanket an indication that she'd gone somewhere more comfortable to lie down. The kitchen was empty and Bonnie's door was closed. I had the sudden irrational fear that I was all alone in the house, the spreading shadows on the wall playing tricks on my mind.

It was quiet, almost eerily so. Sweat began to bead on my forehead and upper lip, nerves making me jittery. Outside, the sun had fully set and the street lamps were on. Just as I was reaching the front door, the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

I turned around so quickly my sock-covered feet slid haphazardly on the smooth hardwood floor. The table next to me was the only thing that kept me upright.

"Oh," I breathed, sagging in relief. "Oh, it's you."

"Are you alright, dear?" Sheila asked, eyebrows pinched in concern. She must've seen something in my expression because she put her hand on my shoulder, slow and cautious as one would approach a wounded animal—or a feral one. "Did something happen?

My face twitched. "We have to talk."

Immediately, her back straightened. Her features hardened but did not lose their warmth. "Of course. Would you like some tea?"

I nodded on reflex, shuddering against the wooden door once she was out of sight. My bones felt cold, yet my skin burned with heat. I fiddled with my hoodie, a loose string around the wrist cuff.

I (briefly) considered running. Just the thought of it made my entire body buzz with untapped energy. I wanted to run, and run, and run until I couldn't think about anything but the pain and sweat and the expanding of my lungs. I wanted to run out of this town, past the next, and the next, and the next. I wanted to end up somewhere unfamiliar where no one knew my face or my past, and I wanted to sleep alone at night without worrying about carrying so many people's lives on my shoulders.

The clattering of teacups snapped me out of my daydream, not having noticed that my hand had been planted firmly on the door handle, fingers a bloodless white.

"Grams," I rasped, releasing my death grip and flexing my fingers. "Who's here?"

Where's Stefan? was my unspoken question. They'd been attached at the hip (unwillingly, of course) ever since I woke up in the hospital, and his sudden absence unsettled me.

"Stefan's friend arrived an hour ago. She thought a walk would do him good, with the fresh air and all. I also wanted to give them the privacy to talk."

I missed Lexi? I hadn't even heard her voice.

"She really cut it close," I said instead, finding myself reheating the food I'd abandoned hours earlier. "The sun didn't set that long ago."

"She doesn't have a daylight amulet, I suppose?"

I shook my head.

Sheila smiled tightly, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she turned to face me fully. "Well, she had good reason to. As of yesterday, Stefan's been mute. I don't believe she wanted to prolong her arrival any longer."

"He'll be fine," I muttered, a phrase I'd been chanting to myself the past few days. It still fell flat to my own ears. So much for faking confidence. "Lexi will be able to help him get back on the wagon. It'll just take time."

The kettle began to whine, a long, high-pitched whistle filling my ears. The sound pleased me, though I didn't know why.

"Who...else is here?"

Sheila began pouring the water, steam rising so high it curled into her hair. "Rudy took the girls out, said they'd been cooped up inside for too long. He wanted to take you too, but I convinced him to give you space. He's not going to be so patient forever, Sam."

I barked a laugh. "I know that. I've already lost patience with myself."

Sheila set the kettle down, sliding a teacup across from her seat and in front of an empty chair. "Tell me what's on your mind. I can practically see you wrangling up a storm in there."

The ceramic bled blessed heat into my bones, but made my palms clammy. I stared into the honey colored liquid as if it might hold the solution to all my problems. It stared right back, silent. Behind me, the microwave beeped, the reheated leftovers having already lost my interest.

"Were you ever going to tell me about my mom performing dark magic?"

My voice hung in the air, palpable despite not holding an ounce of accusation or anger.

"I thought she would want to tell you herself, in her letters." Sheila lowered her gaze, but did not waver. "I owed your mother that much."

"Well," I scowled, raising my chin up defiantly, "she didn't. I found out myself."

The pause was heavy as Sheila organized her thoughts, the soft wrinkles on her face deepening. I immediately regretted my tone, knowing that she wasn't the one to blame. Calm yourself. She is not the enemy.

"How did you find out?"

My mouth twisted into an almost sneer at the question. I directed it at the table, not wanting Sheila to think it was aimed at her. "When I died…" I trailed off, the word still tasting foreign on my tongue. I flexed my jaw, hoping I could loosen the strangeness of it out from my muscles. "I saw her. She and my—my aunt rescued me. From Esther Mikaelson and her attempt at recruiting me for some master plan. And I know there's a lot to unpack there but—but—like," I rubbed a hand across my face, contemplative. "She's the reason why I'm here. My mom brought me back through dark magic—which, is that even allowed?—and it wasn't the necklace because you and I both know I wasn't wearing it."

Sheila met my eyes steadily, sure. I was thrown off by her calmness, by the smoothing of her forehead in what looked like relief. "I was surprised to discover your mother was still using dark magic, even in the afterlife. It seems she'd rather stay with your grandfather's bloodline instead of with the other Bennett witches. I understand her decision, although I worry about the consequences it will have on her spirit. She deserves to rest."

Without thinking, I slammed my hand on the table, startling both myself and Sheila in the process. What happened to calming down? Get a fucking grip, Sam. "Ah—I'm sorry. I'm just…" I leaned back into my chair, making myself small. "What's with the split bloodlines thing? What's the big deal?"

"Mixed bloodlines are looked down upon by the more traditional witches who believe that a bloodline should be kept pure instead of 'tainting' it with others. To them, it causes split alliances and problems in the future." Sheila reached across the table, placing her hand atop mine. I hadn't realized I'd been picking at the skin around my nails until the warmth of her palm seeped into mine. "I don't regret my decision to pursue a romantic relationship with your grandfather, Sam. I don't regret having your mother, either. What I do regret is not considering just what exactly I would be putting her through. Exclusion and hatred are things she had to deal with, especially when she decided not to choose a singular bloodline. She embraced both the Bennett and Santillan names wholeheartedly, and made enemies by doing so."

"The book," I whispered, picturing the box of my mom's things which I kept hidden under my bed. "My mom gave me a book with my ancestor's history. I...haven't had the chance to read it."

"You should," Sheila agreed, patting my wrist. "But only when you feel ready. She put a lot of care and research into it. Your aunt—your mother's half-sister from your grandfather's side—she loved your mom. Incredibly so. She and your grandfather both. As did your father, but he couldn't stand the social and familial pressure. He left to continue another line that wasn't mixed. Your mother told me, years after he left, that he married and had children with a human woman who had not a drop of supernatural blood in her."

"My father?" I asked, resenting the trembling of my voice the moment I spoke. "I don't remember him much, other than what my mom told me about him." I hesitated, averting my eyes. "He's a witch, isn't he?"

"Yes. He's from a bloodline named Laris."

"Is he still alive?"

The question fell flat even to my ears. I bit the inside of my bottom lip, embarrassed.

Sheila smiled, eyes filled with mirth. "The last I heard, yes. But that was years ago. I haven't heard anything regarding his bloodline in a while, dear."

"Well," I began, only to stop halfway. Right, I thought. Sara's trauma is now my trauma. There must be something about her—our—dad that upsets her. Not that abandonment issues aren't valid enough. "What about him?"

Sheila didn't comment on my moodiness, continuing on with her explanation as if there wasn't a break in conversation at all. "Your father, along with your grandfather and aunt, all helped your mother gather the information she needed. She began documenting it all in an attempt to discover what her place in the witch world was. Once she had her answer, it became a suitable gift for you."

I jumped at the opportunity to distract myself, asking, "Why dark magic? What happened?"

Sheila sighed, but lowered her head down a little to meet my eyes. "The Santillan witches are a respectable and strong bloodline with a colorful history and ancestry. Except, the practice of dark magic was incredibly common and sometimes even encouraged. Your mother embraced this as she would any other aspect of being a witch. Santillan witches were convinced they found the perfect balance between natural magic and dark magic. If that's true, I don't know. Your mother seemed convinced enough and I believe that's all that mattered to her."

The ceramic had cooled down enough that it was no longer searing to touch. I held it between both hands and took a shaky sip. "Was she...did that—is that why she died?"

"No, baby. It's not." Sheila spoke very quietly, so quietly that I felt myself choke up with unexpected emotion. "Your mother's heart was weak, it couldn't pump blood throughout her body at the rate which it needed. Her organs started to fail her. It's rare for someone so young to be afflicted with something so severe, but it's still possible. Your mother was unfortunately one of those people."

A restlessness took hold of my bones, clawing its way deep down into my marrow. My nails dug into my palms, body taut to prevent myself from doing something irrational—like knocking over the table or throwing a chair. I wanted to cry, to scream, but it felt as if the air had sucked itself out of my lungs. I blinked to clear my vision, tasting tears.

"Doesn't—doesn't heart failure like that take years? To progress?"

Sheila's face suddenly crumpled, and it struck me that this wasn't just my mom we were talking about—but Sheila's daughter, also. Lost to a disease at a young age, the child that was left behind a huge responsibility for her to take on.

"She...found out soon after you were born. I believe that it's part of the reason why your father left. He loved your mother so much, and with his family pressuring him to choose a bloodline and her news of her failing health, he let that guide his decision. She spent your entire life preparing for her death, for herself and for you. She considered creating a spell in order to cure her of her illness, but found it went against the Santillan rules for balancing dark and natural magic. She did not want to risk losing herself forever in order to extend her lifespan, especially since she was so young and inexperienced. She chose the safer option."

I refused to wipe my eyes, refused to acknowledge how hard it was to talk. "Do you think she made the right choice?"

"I do." Sheila sounded sure, absolute. No traces of doubt or hesitation. "There was no guarantee the spell would work. I would be the only one who could perform it, and I myself was inexperienced with dark magic. She did not want to put us both at risk."

I flicked my eyes up at her, brows pinching. Something isn't adding up here. This doesn't make sense. "But you performed the spell for the talisman. That seems far riskier than just trying to cure her illness."

And then—there was a trace of guilt in Sheila's expression. Her previous unwavering certainty was gone. She drank some of her tea and kept her gaze on the table, her reluctance to meet my eyes worrying. "I believe, as time passed, your mother grew desperate. She loved you so much and would do anything to be with you. She almost gave in and created the spell, but her instincts told her she'd never be the same again if she had it performed." The light above flickered, yellow shadows playing across Sheila's features. I suddenly felt nauseous. "Her sister and father had passed away by this point for different reasons. She had no strong connection to her Santillan family, but a trusted cousin advised her against it."

There was an opening for me to speak, to say something, anything—but I froze. I asked for this. I asked to know this. Now I gotta listen.

"Eventually, your mother, deep down inside, understood and accepted the fact that she had to die. I don't know where she got the idea from, how she came to rationalize it to herself, but she was sure of it. Fate needed her to pass away, according to her. She spoke of visions, of vivid dreams. She drew art while asleep and, one night in a fervor, created the spell for the talisman. She didn't remember doing so, just that she came to and it was there, in front of her, in her own writing.

"She tried to explain it to me, but I couldn't comprehend it. I thought it was the illness taking its toll on her body, and due to her witch nature it was manifesting in strange ways. A friend of mine, a fellow witch, told me that what was happening with your mother was uncommon, but not unheard of. She explained it as 'the spirit needing to transcend the physical form in preparation for something greater.' I'm still not sure if that was the case or not."

My head was swimming but I pushed forward, knowing I had to be strong. I had to at least do this.

"Grams," I began, pausing only briefly. "Who performed the spell?"

Sheila looked pained and her eyes squeezed shut. "It was supposed to be me. I was supposed to perform it after your mother's passing, in order to acquire her ashes. But our arrangement changed. Your mother insisted she had to perform the spell herself. It felt redundant, due to her persistence in refusing to cure herself in order to avoid completely succumbing to dark magic. I was upset because she could have saved herself. I would have been willing to perform the spell to cure her if it meant saving my daughter, if it meant saving you from losing your mother. But she refused."

I swallowed thickly, eyes misted. The words about to roll off my tongue burned my throat like acid. "She wanted to die, didn't she?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Sheila nodded. I stared at the fruit magnet on the fridge door just over her shoulder, memorizing the rigid detailing and where the edges had faded with age. "She said there was a prophecy. That she had to fulfill a prophecy for you. I attempted to convince her otherwise and she went hysterical."

She finished her tea, fingers trembling against the pale ceramic. I couldn't meet her eyes anymore, couldn't really process what was going on over the static in my ears.

"Baby, I want you to know that I believed her. I gave in because she was so earnest, so devoted to this and I had the opportunity to see her in a rapture-like state many times when I began living with you both. She was serious. And my instincts told me to put my complete faith in her."

There was a pause as I collected my thoughts, the kitchen filled with the humming of the refrigerator. "What...did she do?" The question was vague but Sheila immediately knew what I was asking about.

"She performed the spell alone, sacrificing herself in the process. Part of her spirit is tied to the talisman, part of it to the other side. I helped complete the finishing touches, but it wasn't anything that required dark magic."

Silence. The air felt so heavy, so suffocating. I wondered what Sheila would do if I got up and went outside, if I started running down the street and was never to be seen again. I had no real money to my name, my only prized possessions what my mom left behind for me. What if I ran away, into the night? What if I slept in abandoned buildings and worked low paying jobs and moved from place to place, never really staying somewhere for long? It was a romanticized fantasy, an aesthetic more than a reality.

I'd die almost immediately if I left right now. I'm an outsider. Unwanted. I can taste the back alley fights and slurs already. I wouldn't survive a week.

"Do you want to know what the witches told me, after I died?" I tried to laugh, but it came out more like a half-sob, partly from the conversation and partly from the half-truth about to roll off my tongue. "They told me I was gifted because I can see the future years and years in advance. They told me I was unique because of it. Can you believe that? So many witches out there who have visions and premonitions and are extremely powerful and talented, yet I—a kid—knock them all out of the park with something that I didn't even want."

I didn't want any of this.

"Have you had any current visions?"

Sheila's question pulled me from the pit of self-deprecation I'd been about to jump into. I wasn't expecting her to ask that so bluntly, or so soon. I faltered, breath getting caught in my throat. The words I was about to say—the secret I'd been holding back, hiding in the hollows of my insides—were shoved down. Don't be stupid. Keep your mouth shut. I stared blankly at a scratch on the table for a moment—tracing the faint splinters and cracks as it faded into smooth wood—before answering. "No," I said quietly. "I think I'm broken."

I hadn't been planning on admitting that out loud, the words spilling freely from my lips as they do when someone's had too much to drink. Internally, I relaxed at the reveal of an insecurity rather than my secret, understanding a trade off had to be made in order to keep myself in check. Too much unspoken emotion had been brimming within me, ever since coming home from the hospital. I could feel it clawing at my chest and begging to be let out, leaving red raw grooves on my insides that ached for hours. The last thing I needed was to slip up because of it.

"Oh no baby, please don't say that. Come here."

I was being gathered up tenderly in Sheila's arms before I could respond, her perfume faint and whisper soft. I forced my eyes open wide to keep them from filling with tears, teeth grinding so hard my jaw pulsed angrily from the effort. I had the irrational urge to scream; my temples kept me focused, calm, the sharp spikes of pain an anchor.

"I don't know what to do, Grams. I messed everything up." My breathing hitched at the end, but I bit on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. "How do I know what the witches are planning? What about Damon? How do I know Stefan isn't going to fall hard off the wagon? How do I know I can keep everyone alive? That I've even made a difference?"

"Shh, shh, my sweet child." A soothing hand ran along the back of my head, smoothing my hair down in even, rhythmic strokes. My eyelids fluttered, heartbeat slowing down. "I cannot imagine how overwhelming everything must be at the moment, but what I can say for certain is that we will figure this out together. You are not alone in this."

It doesn't feel like it, I wanted to say. I'm keeping so many things from you and I'm so sorry that I can't tell you. I'm so sorry because I might fail at stopping it, anyway. I'm so sorry, Grams.

"I will try to contact the witches, Bennett and Santillan alike, to see what Esther Mikaelson is up to. What did she say her master plan was, dear?"

I seized up, my throat closing in panic. Fuck fuck fuck. If I lied to Sheila, and the witches told her something about Klaus, about me admitting to know about it, then that was it. Game over. But I couldn't be honest, either. I couldn't risk it.

What the fuck am I supposed to do?

"She didn't," I lied, the words passing my lips without my permission. I relaxed fractionally, relieved that my subconscious made the decision for me. "She really thought threatening me was the key to gaining my cooperation, so she didn't even get to the explaining part." I paused, before adding, "Too bad for her though because I'm pretty sure my mom kicked her ass."

Sheila, despite herself, laughed. It was such a warm sound, bubbly in the otherwise silent, creaking house, so warm that I huffed in response, hiding my smile on her shoulder. I ignored the part of me that felt guilty in favor of believing I had made the right choice.

"Dear, I can't promise that everything will be alright, but I can promise that you won't have to carry all that weight around yourself."

Sam Bennett,

"You just have to be more honest with me and the others. Keeping things to yourself will only cause further harm to you. We're in this together, remember that."

We want you to kill Niklaus and his siblings.

"No secrets," I whispered, picturing the moonstone as I spoke. Shame churned low in my stomach, making my next words taste like bile. "I promise. Thank you, Grams."

—

—

"You look better."

The moon shone brightly, only slightly blocked by the tree in the yard. It made my skin look dull and pale, as if it were washed of its color and rung out like a towel. I didn't turn in the direction of the voice, but smiled anyway.

"I'd hope so. Or else all that sleep would've been for nothing."

There was a soft snort, followed by Caroline folding herself neatly beside me, long legs tucked under herself in one smooth fluid motion. Her skin, unlike mine, glowed in the moonlight. She didn't appear human, looking far too ethereal with her white-blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the pink of her lips faint yet no less lovely. I grimaced.

"I'm...not going to ask you how you are because it's probably already been asked by everyone else, but I do want to talk. Are you okay with that?"

It was nearly midnight, Rudy having arrived with Caroline and Bonnie hours ago. I had finally managed to eat actual food, cry in the shower (quickly, for once, so quickly I wondered if I had even cried at all), and have my angsty moment in front of my window for long enough to make my knees cramp and lower back ache.

"That's fine."

I gently straightened my legs out, wincing all the while. I'd almost managed to open the box under my bed, but felt like Damon was the priority for now. I had to come up with the skeleton of a plan and then, after that, I could take it out and have a look.

"I wanted to let you know that...Bonnie, Stefan and Sheila—they told me about everything. About vampires, witches, magic, and...you. About what's been going on with you, what you've been doing."

I'd been expecting this. Before The Incident (which is what I'd decided earlier to start calling it from now on) we did a poor job of letting Caroline in on what was happening. She deserved to know, and we failed to tell her before shit unceremoniously hit the fan.

"How are you dealing with it all?" I asked, voice low and eyes faraway. "Do you still have any questions?"

Caroline leaned against the leg of my bed, lips pursed in thought. "I was terrified at first." She bowed her head momentarily, hair tumbling over her shoulders in a rush and obscuring her face. The movement caught my gaze, kept me transfixed until she combed it back into place. "I mean...I'd seen my best friend come back to life right in front of me—I was having a lot of trouble processing that...but once the shock left and everything from that night started to come back, I pieced together what I could."

She stared at me, head tilted to one side. I could see her in my peripheral, hesitance radiating from her so palpably I could almost choke on it.

"I'm doing better now," she continued after a brief pause. "I think I've had enough time to think it through and sleep on it."

Her hand, warm and light, suddenly rested atop mine. I still didn't look at her, but instead curled my thumb around her pinky.

"I don't doubt it. You're incredibly strong. Always have been."

Caroline scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as if to say No, I'm actually not. You're ridiculous, but I half-turned and caught her smiling.

"What is it like, knowing what's going to happen in the future?"

I frowned despite myself, going stiff. A cloud in the sky floated over the moon, and I had the sudden urge to reach out and see my hand become swallowed up by the intensity of its light. Maybe even pretend my hand was the cloud that could almost touch the moon. "It's not what it's cracked up to be in books, I'll tell you that."

"You don't like it?" Caroline asked, angling her body toward me.

I sighed, yet attempted to soften my expression for her. "Not exactly. It's more that...that it's just so stressful. And I don't deal with stress well, as we've all seen from like. My entire life. I'm a fucking train wreck."

"You like to think you're a train wreck. It's a front so you can deny actually obsessing over everything."

I smiled involuntarily. "Overthinking is what makes me a mess. I can never think straight enough to do anything productive because I overwhelm myself from the start."

"See, you're so in denial you don't even know how organized you can be. And thoughtful. You don't have the healthiest methods, but they work and you get by."

"You're probably right," I whispered, mind trailing off. "Just can't see it yet."

Caroline hummed in response, and we said nothing more. The room darkened as the moon became half-obscured again by a rogue cloud, and I subconsciously leaned toward Caroline.

Earlier on in the living room, I had seen the bag she'd been using these past few days to store her clothes fully packed, an indication of her returning home soon. I thought it would be tonight, thought I wouldn't get a chance to just. Exist in the same space as her.

But here she was, and she radiated warmth. My bones no longer felt cold, and I was grateful to her for that. She caught my eye, and something in her features made my stomach twinge. She seemed sad, tired almost, but more importantly there was a brightness there that could either indicate shock or tears—I couldn't tell which.

Her fingers tangled with mine, holding on tightly as if we might be separated at any moment. We sat there together, staring out the window and watching the sky. From time to time, our shoulders would brush against one another, or we'd lean into each other's space. The moonlight made the room come alive, despite how much it seemed to drain from me. Boring picture frames and wooden furniture now brimmed with new life, new color, and the white walls became a beacon of light.

Eventually, in a heap of tired limbs, we stood and organized the room. The blankets on the floor were moved onto the bed, smoothed down with practiced hands. The pillows were next, and I let the curtain fall, making sure the window and bedroom door were locked. In the dark, I thrived. I felt comfortable and safe. Everything weighed less on my shoulders, lightened enough that I barely noticed it.

The sheets were cool against my skin, and I melted into the mattress. Caroline laid beside me, facing my direction while huddled under the blankets. I could feel her breath against my face. I smiled gently, knowing she wouldn't be able to see it, and reached an arm out.

She clung to it as one would to a life raft, grip strong but not painful. She sniffled, pulling me close and tucking herself against me, chest rising from her uneven breathing.

She's scared, I thought, and then—she's relieved.

Caroline didn't have to speak for me to know, and I ran my hands along her spine, along her arms, eventually tucked one against the back of her head and laid the other on her shoulder. She shuddered, trying her hardest not to cry (I assumed) and pressed her cheek against my collarbone, her hair tickling my throat.

Remember this, I thought, my lids beginning to droop from exhaustion. Remember this, remember this.

—

—

Caroline left in the morning after an early breakfast, the smell of her perfume still lingering even once she was out the door. I sat in the kitchen, dust motes in the air making my nose itchy. Across from me, Rudy tried for the third time to get my attention.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked, after his how are you and what's up failed to get a response.

The plate of fruit in front of me glistened from the sunlight streaming in over my shoulder. My glass of water shimmered, reflecting onto the table and across three of my fingers.

"Yes," I answered, noise rushing in all at once, like static in my ears. "Much."

"Baby," he sighed, and I eyed the painkillers beside my elbow with both distaste and need. My head is fucking killing me. "Are you upset with me?"

"No," I said immediately, frowning. "I was never upset at you."

Rudy looked skeptical, eyes narrowed. I made a dismissive movement with my hand, pills rattling in my grip.

"I'm just...still processing everything. And healing, but mostly processing." I knocked a few pills out onto my palm, the white of them stark against my skin. The water was cool and refreshing and went smoothly down my throat. "I'm sorry I've been so out of it. Just been...thinking."

"You've been avoiding me," he pointed out, fork digging into his eggs.

"I've been avoiding everyone. I needed some time alone."

He hummed in response. "What has your time of reflection shown you?"

I snorted, spearing a strawberry with a knife. It burst sweetly between my molars, briefly lightening my mood. "That I need to up my queer game by 1000%. No one will mess with me again if I'm just unapologetically myself. And I wear cool rainbow socks all the time."

Rudy smiled, and it was a genuine smile that turned back the clock and made him look 10 years younger, his teeth peeking out as he ducked his head. "I did promise you rainbow socks, didn't I?"

"You promised me multiple rainbow socks. You said you'd get me a flag for my room, too. And—"

"Okay okay, I get it," he laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get your colorful presents soon. But only if you talk to me. Tell me what's weighing on your mind so much."

I sobered up, the throbbing of my temples worsening slightly. "Homophobia will do this to a person, Tio. I'm doing what I can to keep it from getting to me."

Tyler and his stupid face were the last of my concerns, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me. Mostly because I was ready to become the most flamboyantly obnoxious person ever when I went back to school to get back at him and everyone else. Gonna get the fucking rainbow flag tattooed on my forehead.

"Although I disagree with your decision to not press charges, I do support it. I know...I know I haven't been home enough, especially not when everything with Sophie" —I winced involuntarily— "happened. I should have been here to support you when you needed it most. Especially when other parents were petitioning to remove you from the school. I can't change the past, no matter how much I may want to. But I can do something about the future. And I refuse to tolerate any more homophobia, or racism, or hate against you, Bonnie, against my family. I will not push the case against Tyler, but there will be serious changes coming soon. I've been speaking with your grandmother and she agrees. We will do everything we can to make Mystic Falls a safer, more accepting place for you, us, and anyone else who stands out for being different."

I rubbed a hand along my forehead and eyes, pretending it was from the migraine and not the sudden wetness dampening my lashes. Rudy patted my hand, accepting my silence as a good sign. I smiled into my palm, hair shrouding my face. Outside, birds whistled and a dog barked. I could imagine the slow crawl of cars and the occasional person walking on the sidewalk. It was another lazy weekday afternoon, and yet it felt different all the while.

I want you to stay, I thought, suddenly missing my mom desperately. Her absence left a hole where a parental figure was supposed to be. But you can't be here. It's not safe.

Rudy smiled widely at me when I raised my head, and I returned it as best as I could. I won't let anything hurt you. I'll be damned if I do.

—

—

Lexi can't come inside. She needs you to invite her in.

Tires crunched on gravel, eerie in the stillness of the surrounding forest. The Salvatore Boarding house was great and looming, yet did nothing to protect us from the harshness of the afternoon sun.

The text from Stefan had not been unwelcome, yet considering the time of day, it did come across as a surprise. I could still smell the fresh laundry on my skin, the clean scent rubbed into the ends of my hair. Sheila had been helping me, Rudy having left the house in his quest to end all discrimination and hate in Mystic Falls (which, although I appreciated, a part of me resented—if only for the false hope it made creep up my chest).

Bonnie slowed the car to a stop, but didn't put it in park, the engine rumbling on standby in case of a quick exit. I didn't have the heart to tell her that Damon wasn't nearby, mostly because I had nothing other than instinct to back it up.

"Park the car," I said instead, pulling Rudy's oversized jacket close around me. The scarf tightened slightly across my mouth as I spoke, tickling the underside of my nose. "They're on the porch."

The sun was shining heavily down on said porch at the moment, leaving very little room for hiding in the shadows. I slid out of the car before it had come to a complete stop, shoes scraping roughly against the smooth pavement of the driveway. Sheila's sharp voice made me wince in instant regret, but my steps didn't falter.

It was chilly outside, cold enough to freeze the tip of my nose and tops of my cheeks. The sun, although bright and blinding, provided no warmth.

As I neared the porch, the outline of Stefan's body came into view. He was close to the entrance, feet the only thing bathed in light. Behind him, a shapeless, dark figure was huddled against the wooden door.

"Hey," I greeted, glancing between him and what I was sure to be Lexi's covered form. "Caroline brought clothes, but it looks like you got her some already."

Stefan's skin looked fuller, sun-kissed and less pallid. Even his eyes, bright green emeralds, were animated. He tilted his head toward me in acknowledgement, but quickly went back to staring at the ground. "It's getting closer," was all he said.

I wasn't expecting him to speak so soon, but didn't waste any time questioning it. I got the message immediately and turned to face Lexi. Stefan leaned past me and twisted the doorknob, heavy wooden door swinging open invitingly.

"Come in, Lexi."

She was over the threshold in that instant, the movement causing her coverings to loosen.

"It's a good thing you showed up, because I just realized my ankles weren't covered at all. That could've been bad."

In a rush, the scarf and hat on her head slipped off, her thick wool coat sliding partially down her arms. Lexi exhaled, relief evident in the sharpness of her eyes.

Everyone else reached the porch. They crowded against my back, waiting for me to move inside. I forced my legs to bend, blinking away the sight of Lexi's face—lined with gray veins and drained of life—from my vision, her whispered why still ringing in my ears.

"Thank you for showing up so quickly." Lexi gave everyone a smile that was grateful yet somehow cheeky. "It's not every day that a vamp's gotta fight off the sun like this, I'll tell you that."

"Just glad you're okay." I leaned down, collecting the fallen clothes in a bunch. Lexi took them from me the moment I straightened, nodding toward my hands. "You gotta be careful. Those are still healing."

"Oh," I said, beginning to fiddle with the bandages Sheila had forced me to put on. "I will."

Stefan closed the door, gently herding us to move further into the house. "Would anyone like anything to drink? Eat?"

I removed my obnoxiously large sunglasses, letting my surroundings come into focus. The front hallway was long, longer than I remember it being from all my previous visits. I was rounding the corner when I heard Sheila respond with an "I think we're alright, Stefan. Thank you."

It was hot, somehow, under so much clothing despite the temperature outside (and my face being stiff with cold), but I was still mindful of the bruises that littered my arms in various stages of healing. Not to mention the lower half of my face, where the swelling and bruising were still very prominent. Yet, I'd be lying if I said I was only wearing it to hide the grotesqueness of my appearance. It partly had to do with Damon and the off-chance of being recognized.

Oh, didn't everything have to do with Damon at this point?

I adjusted the scarf on my head, loosening the part that covered my mouth and attempted to tighten the bandages on my knuckles and hands. They had become loose and rubbed insistently at the scabs, making them unbearably itchy.

I made myself comfortable on one of the various sofas in the living room, watching as everyone filed in and sat. It all felt very professional and democratic, like, here we all were! Congregated in Stefan's house to discuss the terror that was Damon Salvatore, his brother (which was unfortunate) and the consequences of his (stupid, impulsive) actions. I scowled at nothing in particular, enjoying that the scarf covered my face enough to do it without drawing attention.

"So what's the plan?" Lexi asked as she draped herself gracefully beside me, gaze never resting on one person for more than two seconds. She lingered on Stefan only, stared at him intensely enough that I felt embarrassed for intruding.

I did note though, that Stefan sat far from me; the distance between us was startling. I wondered if the scent of my blood was still strong. I was covered in scabs, bruises, and swollen bumps. My blood's probably closer to the surface of my skin than usual. Or, maybe, was it that he still felt guilty about what had happened? Could he still taste my blood on his tongue? He feels bad about enjoying it, I know. He feels bad about Elena, too. He's tasted both a doppelganger and a witch. What a hell of a combination.

Stefan straightened, expression hardening ever so slightly. I worried that he'd somehow heard my thoughts, but he held steady eye contact with Lexi. "We find where Damon is."

I don't know what Lexi did, but she must be a miracle worker to have Stefan go from mute to conversationalist in less than a day.

"You don't think he's still here?" Caroline's eyes moved frantically between all of us, her arm pressed against Bonnie's for comfort. "He said he wants Bonnie to open the tomb."

"He left the night he killed me." The words had novelty about them, and saying them was almost amusing. Almost. "Damon doesn't rely on just one possible solution. He needs to make sure he has his bases covered, especially since the tomb is so important to him. He's probably out there, trying to find another option as a backup."

Lexi lifted her feet onto the (likely very expensive) coffee table, leaning back languidly. She locked her eyes on me, features warm yet calculating. "How good are your future seeing skills?"

I grimaced (because I didn't need any more reminders that all I was good for was the damned future), but didn't hesitate to respond. "Do you happen to have a witch friend, gorgeous and tall, who's friends with you and your boyfriend Lee? She has a knack for serving drinks, too."

Lexi let out a low whistle, lips curving into a wicked, lopsided grin after she was done. "Oh, Stefan didn't mention you were that good."

She winked at me, and the action was so friendly and sincere that I faltered, chest tightening in sudden panic. I shifted my gaze, uncomfortable and emotional without any explanation as to why. Why, why, why. Always the same question and yet I still don't have an answer for it. Pathetic, really.

"Damon is going to visit her," I said to distract myself. For the first time since having my face beaten to a bloody pulp, I was grateful because of the excuse it gave me to cover myself. No one could see the naked fear, the discomfort and general instability that lined my mouth or pulled at my lips. Existing outside of my room is hard. I miss my bed. I miss sleep, most of all. Blissful sleep. "She knows about the grimoire."

Bonnie leaned forward, elbows on her knees and Caroline clinging along with her. "Will she tell him?"

"Does it matter if she does? Stefan and I already took care of it."

"Whoa whoa whoa," Lexi interrupted, raising her hands up as she spoke, eyes flickering between Stefan and I. "Care to back up real quick and fill us newcomers in on what exactly you took care of?"

"Well…" I paused, "we took care of the grimoire."

"It was buried with my father's body, in his casket," Stefan added when I didn't elaborate further. "I dug it up while Sam distracted Damon. Inside, it holds an alternate spell for how to open the tomb."

"Has it been destroyed?" Lexi asked at the same time Sheila said, "It's importance does not end at a single tomb-opening spell."

"Sam is planning on destroying it." Stefan turned to me, expression not accusatory but not kind either. I tried not to squirm under the weight of his eyes. "Have you done that, yet?"

"No," I answered immediately, voice sharper than I'd intended it to be. Sheila's face softened, an invisible weight lifting off her shoulders. I wanted to smile at her but realized it was useless with the scarf. "I'm transferring her spells and notes and entries over to another book, minus the one needed to open the tomb. I'm almost done, and when I am I will destroy it. It's not like Damon's gonna figure out where the grimoire is right this moment."

Lexi pursed her lips, contemplative and quiet. Stefan appeared displeased, if the broody-ness of his forehead was anything to go by. I sneaked a glance at Bonnie, who was holding Caroline's hand and whispering something to her, too softly for me to catch. She was probably filling her in on something, answering a question or reassuring her worries. Caroline held tightly onto Bonnie and leaned into her space for support, her skin paler than usual and her leg jumping from her nervousness.

I sat back, letting the sofa cushion mold to my aching spine. I knew (had known, really, since before this conversation even started) that I was on the verge of becoming incredibly defensive. Forcing myself to reign it in, to ignore the irrational anger flaring deep beneath my skin, in the muscle and sinewy tissue. I scowled (with genuine annoyance this time). It was severe enough to pull at my scabbing lip, to threaten to throw away all the progress that had been made to heal it.

I huffed, irritation growing despite my attempts to push it away, to ignore the heat crawling up my neck. It was loud enough to catch everyone's attention.

"Tell me, if my witch friend does tell Damon about this grimoire, what will he do?"

Silently, I thanked Lexi and her timing. I didn't want to start talking about my attitude (or worse, about my feelings).

"Well…" I trailed off, unsure if mentioning that Damon killed her friend (on the show, mind you) was necessary or not. I couldn't remember the exact reason why he did it, only that it was after she told him about the grimoire. If she dies, she won't have a way to come back, like me. If she dies, she'll just stay dead. Lexi wouldn't trust me if I let that happen without mentioning anything. This could make or break the trust Stefan has in me, too. Fucking decisions, man. Why does the future always have to be so fragile? "The circumstances in which Damon visits her, in my vision—" my lip twitched at the word— "are different. It's...fuzzy. Not really all there."

I stopped, hesitated, tasted the words on my tongue in heavy contemplation. Is it fair to tip this witch off and possibly cause her to tip Damon off? I have no control over her and how she would react to hearing a threat to her life. I have no control over whether she'd even believe it, especially since it's coming from an alleged 'psychic' witch.

"What can you see?" Stefan asked, his voice a knife through my thoughts.

The bandages (still, despite my attempts) were poorly wrapped around my hands and knuckles and began to itch again like crazy. I gritted my teeth against the urge to just scratch scratch scratch. "Your friend—"

"Bree," Lexi offered, and just the sound of her name triggered a wave of nostalgia.

A memory so old played out in a choked flicker, like a static filled television screen wheezing to life. "Yes, Bree. She—after she tells Damon about the grimoire, he...attacks her."

"Oh?" Lexi's tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, similar to what I would imagine a porcupine looked like when it went into defensive mode. Something in my gut sank, and I barely repressed a shudder. "What happens to her?"

"That's where it gets fuzzy," I lied, having half a mind not to shrug like an obvious lying idiot. "But like I said, the circumstances were different. He's not going to see her, in my vision, at the same time he's probably going to now. I don't think he has a reason to hurt her, but who knows how upset he is." I realized I was backtracking, words becoming a jumble of uncertainty and doubt. "I'm letting you know so that you can warn her. If she gives him any reason to think she knows anything, though, then he might attack her, still. Circumstances or not, he's gone rogue."

"You know, there's a real simple solution to all of this," Lexi said. "With much less work involved."

"We can't kill him," I objected quickly, noticing how Lexi's expression had begun to darken. "No killing. He stays alive."

"That complicates things," she drawled, the curl of her lip screaming danger. Stefan's wrinkled forehead kept her from arguing, though. "How about trapping him? Keeping him locked up?"

I shook my head vehemently. "We need him to trust us. And we need him out here, with us."

Lexi's eyes flashed, curiosity drawing her keen gaze to my face. "Do we need him, in the future?"

I debated whether or not to tell her the truth, then relented once I realized I'd already given it away with my previous responses. "Yes." And then, for good measure and to prevent any further questions on the subject, I added, "Some things about the future shouldn't be messed with."

We stared at each other for a few beats of silence, the hostility in Lexi's eyes toning down into something almost warm. I knew why she hated Damon so much, knew that there was a reason why the mention of his name made her skin crawl though she tried her hardest not to show it.

He left you for dead after using you, I thought. He made you fall for him, slept with you, and then trapped you on the roof of a building with no way out as the sun started rising in the sky. I'd hate him too, I'd hate him too.

Something in my expression further softened the harsh lines of Lexi's mouth, eased the corners of her eyes and relaxed her jaw. I hoped she could somehow understand the words I was trying to convey to her, hoped she knew I felt the same way about him.

I hate him, too. He ripped my throat out and left me to bleed out on my best friend's lap. I hate him for killing me, for making me realize there was no way out of this fucking world and that I'm probably more real here than I ever was in my previous life. I hate him, too. I really do.

(But I care about him, all the same)

"I trust you, Sam. You tell me what needs to be done and I'll do it."

The whirlwind of today's emotions pressed down on my chest; I could feel tears welling and blinked them away furiously. Swallowing a lump in my throat the size of a baseball, I attempted a smile (forgetting again about the scarf covering my mouth). Unable to speak, I nodded, finding it got the message across clearly enough judging by Lexi's grin.

"If I may interject," Sheila said, ring clad hand waving in the air in front of her. She had been uncharacteristically quiet thus far, her eyes brimming with unasked questions. I knew she'd been letting us talk ourselves out, waiting for a moment where she could speak without derailing our conversation. I focused my attention on her, grateful for the change of pace and for the soothing sound of her voice. "How will we neutralize Damon?"

"We bait him," Stefan suggested, words accompanied by a self-assured nod. "When he returns, he will realize fairly soon that Sam is alive. He will be angry, but he will want answers more than anything."

Bonnie sat up straighter, the most alert I've seen her during the entire conversation. "Sam would be the bait?"

"Absolutely not," Sheila protested sharply, voice ringing in my ears. I startled, suddenly not liking the direction the conversation was headed in. "She's been put in enough danger as it is."

"What's stopping him from just...hurting her again?" Caroline asked, curling into herself. "From hurting any of us? Bait can only do so much, right? We need something to hold against him."

"Leverage," Bonnie supplied. "Something to convince him to keep us all alive."

"We tried that last time," I cut in, nearly facepalming. "And he still killed me."

Lexi raised her eyebrows, pointing a long manicured finger at me. "He was angry, emotional—throwing a vampire tantrum. But this time, he'll be more cool-headed."

"How do you know that?" Caroline insisted, doubtful and worried, before I could even register the words vampire tantrum. "How can you be sure?"

"Because Sam won't be alone," Lexi replied, a plan taking shape as she spoke. "You will all be there with her, but hidden. He'll only see her."

Sheila stood, desperation and anger in her eyes and a stubborn tilt to her mouth. I panicked internally, but only leaned further back into the sofa to brace myself. "There is no guarantee Sam will remain unharmed. We almost lost her once, and I will not stand for it happening again."

Lexi's expression melted into one of sympathy, her harsh edges smoothing down into something softer, something kind. With earnest eyes she turned to Sheila, voice lowering to convey her seriousness. "I know you don't want to put your granddaughter in harm's way, especially after what Damon did and the pain it left behind. But, the only way to draw Damon out is with her. She has to be the bait. She has to be the one to make his guard go down."

"Wouldn't his guard be up? Because she's supposed to be—" Bonnie stumbled over her words briefly, but regained her momentum quickly, "she's not supposed to be here?"

"That's what's going to make him reckless. The wheels in his head will start spinning, and he'll wonder—how is she alive? How did she manage to survive? Did she have vampire blood in her system? Did her family perform a very strong spell to bring her back? Or did she never die at all, and she herself is very powerful?" Lexi snapped her fingers, a fire in her eyes that made adrenaline start to pump in my veins. She was alive with energy, alive with power. Her hair practically glowed with it. She's in her element. She's the most experienced and oldest out of all of us. She knows what she's doing. "He won't be able to resist not knowing. He'll forfeit caution if it means cornering Sam and getting answers."

Caroline crossed her arms over her chest, lips tugging downward in a concerned pout. "Do you really think he'll fall for it? That he won't be suspicious at all?"

Damon? Not suspicious? He may be an idiot at times but he's always suspicious. And my, what a fucking inconvenience that was (along with being a blessing, but I'd never admit that out loud).

"Well…" Lexi grinned. "I didn't say he wouldn't get suspicious."

"Well then what do we do? Figuring this out is going to be totally impossible."

A slow, almost sinful smirk spread across Lexi's face. I felt equal parts enamored and afraid. "Now that is where the fun comes in."

"Do you know of any cloaking spells?" Stefan asked.

Bonnie scrunched up her face in thought. I tried not to think too much about what Lexi meant. "I think I saw one in the grimoire we have back home." She turned to Sheila, mind racing in those dark orbs. "We can make it so he can't hear us, or smell us, right?"

Reluctantly, Sheila nodded. "There is such a spell, but it is very taxing to perform. Especially for the both of you. You're so young."

I remembered the necklace, remembered the power it infused my veins with. It was the key to my strength, almost an unfair advantage against others. But, fuck, an unfair advantage is what I need right now.

"We'll be fine, we can perform it. Bonnie and I are strong, you can trust us." I didn't want to have to mention my sudden surge of confidence, so I added, "And you'll be there, too. You can help us, Grams."

Stefan, who (I assumed) was starting to feel the weight of the conversation, dragged a hand across his mouth. "What'll be our leverage? Sam will be the bait, but what can we use to convince him to side with us?"

It'll take a lot, but false confidence is what I'm known for. Just, play it like you know it.

"More future facts," I stated, not waiting for someone else's suggestion. "Facts from the past, like last time. He's had time to think over what I've told him. And I still think killing me was impulsive. He had to know, somewhere deep down, that I was telling the truth. He was just afraid of the possibility of it being true. Especially what I said about Enzo. I can prove it to him."

"Enzo?" Caroline and Lexi asked at the same time. I immediately felt like an idiot for forgetting not everyone knew the context for our conversations, or past conversations.

"Sorry. He's a friend of Damon's. A friend he never told anyone about. Damon thinks he's dead, but he's alive and—" I almost said 'well' but knew that was a lie. He's still trapped, still being tortured, "and I know where he is and how to get to him."

Lexi hummed, thoughtful. "Do you think that'll be enough to hold him off?"

"I...don't think he'd make such an impulsive decision this time. He's had time to cool off and I'm still alive, so that's gonna irk him, you know? He'll have questions, and I think a part of him will be afraid enough of what I say to listen. And, you know, not be an idiot."

Caroline's wide eyes roamed over us, a frantic sweep of blue and white. "What if he attacks you? Or someone else?"

"Care," Bonnie soothed, laying her hand atop Caroline's. "It's going to be okay. We'll be prepared this time and we'll have our Grams. We're all stronger together, right?"

Sheila smiled, but the motion did nothing to ease the worry lines creasing her eyes. I could see years and years of concern, built over multiple hardships and many tears—both Bonnie and mine.

"Right," I agreed, peeling myself from the sofa back I'd plastered myself to. My thighs wobbled and ribs throbbed. I'm not ready for another fight, but maybe that's the point. "We are."

"Are you sure about this?" Stefan stared me down, surely noticing my fatigued demeanor. I peered at him from over the scarf, hoping my eyes would communicate what I didn't want to (feel ready to) say.

"One way or another, I'll get him to make a deal."

"Confidence, I like that." Lexi gave me a cheeky grin, something I was beginning to notice was a staple of hers. "We're going to need a lot of that."

We're gonna need a lot of everything.

"What about Katherine?"

I had to resist the urge to throw the pillow at my side at Stefan's (fucking) face. Really? Katherine? Give me a break. "What about her?" I shot back, sounding way more defensive than I needed to be (suspiciously so).

Stefan tilted his head, curious at my overreaction. I had the sudden impulse to swallow my tongue (partly to shut myself up, partly to force Stefan to stop looking at me like that). He replied as I was seriously weighing the pros and cons of forcing my own tongue down my throat (and heavily considering taking the risk). "If we find her, we could use that as evidence. Damon won't be able to deny the truth then."

"It's been over a century, Stefan. If Katherine could be—or wanted to be—found, she would've already been. Have you, or anyone you know, ever run into her? Have you ever heard her name said by a stranger?"

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't at least attempt to."

I made a series of exasperated motions with my hands (a sigh tossed somewhere in there, surely) and fumbled for the quickest excuse I could think of. "I can't see her, Stefan. I can't find where she is." Ah, so it's the pity party route. That's starting to get old. "No hint, no idea of where she's maybe settled down, if she's settled down at all. She's alive, I know that, and not in the tomb, I know that too. But that's it," I paused, doing my best to seem like I was being truthful. I didn't let the fact that it was becoming easier and easier to lie to others bother me (although it did) and continued anyway. "She's good at hiding, is what I think. And even if we did find her, what are we going to do—ask her to come with us when we ambush Damon? He'd probably think it was just Elena in disguise, anyway."

Bonnie held Caroline's hand—it was a tight, anchoring grip where fingers pressed numbly into skin and molded a new shape underneath. Her lips were moving rapidly, Caroline covering her mouth in growing horror. Right. Doppelganger. Don't think that was mentioned to her.

"I'm not saying don't try," I continued, shifting my attention back to Stefan. "I'm just letting you know that if we rely on Katherine as the crutch of our proof for Damon, it's going to take a lot of manpower and time. And we don't have my visions to help make it easier."

"Just so you know," Lexi mock-whispered as she leaned in close to my side. "I don't think we should rely on Katherine as a crutch for anything. That bitch should've stayed in the tomb."

Sheila's mouth was a thin line of displeasure, and whether it was from my status as bait or Lexi's comment, I didn't know (though I was pretty sure it was the former).

Stefan smiled, and I could feel the strain behind it immediately. I felt awful for the way I'd been acting. He didn't deserve to deal with me or the mess I'd made; I could at least be nicer about it. He's only trying to help, for fucks sake.

"I understand." Stefan rose to his feet, tall frame blocking out most of the dying light outside. "We should prepare for Damon's return as much as possible. There are a lot of details we haven't specified."

Sheila nodded as she also stood, the weariness of the afternoon disappearing as she straightened her back, shoulders no longer slouching forward as if she'd been trying to curl into herself. "We need to decide on the spell and where we would like to lure Damon, among other things. I brought a few books. They're in the trunk of Bonnie's car. Perhaps we can find something to use there."

"I'll grab them," Bonnie said, and Caroline stood with her. "How's a short break in the meantime?"

"Of course," Stefan agreed. He looked as if he needed a drink, if the brooding lines on his forehead were anything to go by. "Go ahead."

In a rush, I dragged in an unsteady breath of air, throat threatening to close up (from anxiety? exhaustion? I didn't know). "We're all going to be okay," I said breathlessly, stopping everyone in their individual tracks. "This entire ordeal is going to be full of us doing things we don't like, and unfortunately we're going to have to do them. But we have each other for support, and we're smart and quick on our feet. It's gonna be no problem." I shifted nervously in my seat, but held my head up high despite it.

Lexi, who had been observing the end of our conversation, slapped her hands together enthusiastically. She quirked her brow at me and swooped in close, eyes alight with mischief. "It's going to be nice to see Damon be on the receiving end of an ambush. I'm sure he'd appreciate it, deep down inside." She was suddenly behind the sofa and over my shoulder, and for some reason the abrupt movement didn't frighten me. "We'll take him down easy, guys. He's no match for any of us."

At that, Caroline gave her first smile since the beginning of the conversation. Sheila acknowledged Lexi's words with a slow tip of her head, before her cardigan was fluttering behind her. Bonnie and Caroline made to follow.

"You need a drink?" Lexi asked Stefan, already pouring something amber-colored into a crystal glass from the bar. "You're looking a little rough around the edges."

Stefan frowned, but accepted the drink without complaint.

It was going to be a long day.

—

—

It was Friday. I had healed enough that I could go back to school on Monday, face almost completely back to its usual shape and color. My finger still hurt but that would take another week or so to fully heal. The scabs on my knuckles were ready to flake off, which I took as a good sign.

Damon still hadn't shown up, but it had only been two days since we talked at the boarding house. Yet, I wasn't sure if going to school was the best idea. I'd be too much of an easy, open target without control of my surroundings. I wanted the upper hand, wanted to know the area we were in was safe and isolated.

Rudy didn't argue when I made a fuss about returning. I wasn't sure what he thought was holding me back, but let him make his own assumptions. As long as I could stay home and hide, I didn't care.

I was wearing a short sleeve shirt for the first time since The Incident. I caught glimpses of the bruises on my arm, all variations of green with the occasional yellow tossed in. I liked seeing them, seeing how they spread out in colorful swirls up my forearms and elbows, crawling up and up and up until they disappeared under the sleeves of my shirt. I had memorized the patterns along my collarbones and shoulders, the splotches across my ribs. My legs were another story, far more noticeable and just as achy. I wore sweats just to keep everyone from having to see the red mess of my knees and purple-blue shins from Tyler's heavy football cleats. I could still see some of where the bottom of his shoes had made indents on my skin.

Despite the bullying in the past, the fights and dirty brawls, I'd never looked this beat up. Without trying to rationalize it too much, without giving it too much justification and reasoning, I knew it was partly because the intention wasn't to hurt to the point of being left a bleeding, immobile mess. It was to scare. To instill fear in my bones at the fact that I was outnumbered and hated. Most of the people who were aggressive toward me just liked to push me around, and when I started to push back, they'd really only get involved enough to get a power high and then leave. I remembered how annoying it was, almost as if the tussling and name calling had been foreplay and right before the good stuff, before any real damage could be caused, I was left there, angry and covered in dirt and wanting.

Sara had been so full of rage. I could understand it now. She held everything inside and it was no wonder that the few fights she'd actually been involved in were nasty and almost savage. She was like one of those dogs that were trained to fight. Put in a situation where if you didn't pull your lips back and bare your teeth, if you didn't make a big display of your dominance and ruthlessness, you'd be eaten alive. And Sara refused to be eaten alive.

Until I did.

I washed my hands in the kitchen sink, being careful of my finger. Behind me, Stefan wiped the kitchen table down. He'd come over to talk, finishing up the final details of our plans. I had stuffed my face with leftover mashed potatoes and macaroni, avoiding the bread rolls in favor of apple pie and mechanically nodding here and there, whenever it was appropriate.

"I'm not sure what to do about Elena," Stefan said, his previous sentences completely lost on me. I'd been washing my hands for long enough to make the rest of my scabs fall off, bright pink skin left in its wake. "She doesn't remember that night, and I don't believe her family has told her anything. She has been herself, if only a bit jumpy. Although I know her fear is not because of me, this feels unsafe. It feels unsafe to be near her. It's only a matter of time before I become a suspect."

"You're safe for now." I shut the water off, fingertips tingling with the beginning of wrinkles. "The council doesn't know vampires can walk in the sun."

I stabbed a spoon into a bucket of ice cream, digging out an oreo piece with the utmost concentration, yet I could still feel Stefan completely stiffen a few feet away.

"What else does the council know?"

"That's all I got: sunlight. Don't know if they know about the whole inviting-in thing."

"I'm assuming they are aware of vervain?"

I nodded and shuffled over to the living room. "Zach was their supplier, after all."

Bonnie was over at Sheila's (for some much needed bonding that I forced her into) and Rudy was off doing god knows what. Maybe it had to do with his master plan of bringing awareness to the homophobia and racism this town had a penchant for. Maybe he was talking to the city council or something. Maybe.

"You know," I started when Stefan didn't say anything, burrowing into the crook of the couch with the tub of ice cream. "You should start building up your immunity to vervain. Like, do a shot of it every day. It'll make it so if you're ever injected or drugged, you're not as weakened. It'll be an ace up your sleeve."

Stefan gave me a blank look.

"Katherine did it," I added with a half-hearted shrug. "And it helped her."

"You do understand what vervain will do if ingested, right?"

I rolled my eyes, digging my spoon a little too forcefully into the carton. "I wouldn't be suggesting it otherwise if I didn't. Don't start with a shot, then. How's a drop? That seems manageable, don't you think?" Stefan sighed, as if what I was saying was the most tiresome thing in the world; I couldn't help but laugh. "Have Lexi do it with you. Kind of like a gym buddy, you can support each other."

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled when I mention it to her."

"If it makes you feel any better, it gets slightly less and less worse over time. So, there's that at least."

"I'll hold you to that." Stefan leaned over from his spot on the opposite end of the couch to hand me the blanket draped over the armrest beside him. I immediately broke into a smile (my hands were already freezing) and backtracked in our conversation.

"Um, about Elena...I don't think you should change any of your habits with her. That might make people more suspicious, than anything. What I'm worried about is Jeremy. He knows about vampires and he probably already knows about how close we are. That might tip him off about something."

Stefan frowned deeply (something he had started doing more often). I frowned in response, partially regretting the fact that I spoke. "I want to protect her, but what I'm doing is...only putting her in harm's way. And she—she has been asking me questions. Personal questions, about my past, about Katherine. We had an argument about my 'secretiveness' and she was very upset. She made me leave her house."

"Ahh," I drawled, wincing internally. "About that…"

His eyes narrowed accusingly at my nonchalant tone of voice. "Sam… explain."

I made a face, waving my spoon around erratically. "Okay well like, I have opinions about things that I really shouldn't get involved in. I swore off meddling in romance, dude. That's not—I'm not here to mess with that."

"But you know something?" Stefan encouraged. I could see his expression soften, and immediately knew he was going to try and pry it out of me with kindness. Goddamn it. Would this be a bad time to set something on fire? "Sam, please. I'd appreciate any help on the matter."

I scoffed. "What did I just say? Are you deliberately ignoring very important parts of my sentences?" The irony of this conversation having started out with me essentially ignoring him was not lost on me. I forcefully stabbed my spoon deep into the tub, scowling.

"I am hearing you. And I respect that you'd prefer to stay out of unnecessary drama." I almost deflated in relief, lifting my eyes to meet his. I knew it was a mistake when Stefan rested his hand over his heart, something so open and vulnerable shining in his eyes. "Friend to friend, I'm asking for advice. What do you think I should do?"

Tell her you're a vampire. Tell her about Damon. Tell her about what really happened to her the night of the homecoming game. Tell her everything.

I set the tub of ice cream down on the coffee table, understanding the seriousness of the conversation. "Stefan," I began, resisting the urge to knock my head back in exasperation (and nerves). "If I give you advice, then it'll affect the future. Don't you think we've done enough?"

Stefan sighed, and the sound was so tired and defeated that I felt myself crumple before him. He'd been trying his hardest, for so many months, to shoulder this weight with me. He didn't want it to crush me, and so we held it up together. Once Bonnie and Sheila knew they did the same, yet instead of the weight lessening, it kept growing heavier and heavier as time passed, until it was more than what we'd been sharing when we started.

I didn't like hearing myself talked about as if I was in a fragile state. I understood the severity of what happened and how it had, and would, affect me as a person. My mental state wasn't the best, and I kept switching between who I used to be and whatever it was that I was now. Stefan didn't consider me to be fragile, but he knew that the weight was becoming too much for me. I'd been shouldering most of the burden for so long that he now felt that it was his turn. And I had been so inconsiderate, not even trying to be kind or patient with him. He needed me, needed everyone, and yet instead of offering support I presented a wall, an obstacle.

An impassive object, I thought. I refuse to change what I already feel. Stubborn as always.

"If you're unwilling to tell me what you think, then is it wrong for me to assume it's not that important? And therefore, whatever I choose to do won't have severe consequences?"

Of course he was worried about the consequences. He wasn't trying to be selfish or use my knowledge as a life hack to 'getting the girl.' He was worried about fucking everything up, and only wanted to know if he was moving in the right direction. He's not focused on just his relationship with Elena. He's invested so much in the well-being of us, of our friends, of this rickety town. Fuck, how could I ever doubt him? Have I really fallen that far from who I used to be?

"I'm sorry. For being so...unresponsive and quiet. Not even just today, but ever since things started to go down hill. I'm really sorry for that."

Stefan's hand slipped from his chest, and his eyes creased at the corners from his gentle smile. He'd been doing that a lot lately, too. Smiling. I could sense his own apology about to make its way out and shook my head, gesturing for him to stop.

"We need Elena to trust us," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Especially since Jeremy doesn't. I think that...it's best to tell Elena the truth. If you're honest with her about your past, about Damon, about yourself, then it'll prevent a lot of...drama from happening in the future. Stuff we don't need to worry about. This is the best way you can keep her safe."

My mind briefly drifted to thoughts of Klaus, the moonstone, and Elena having to die in order to break the curse (and all the bullshit that comes after, of course). I really hope it doesn't come to that. Everything would have been in vain, otherwise.

"Are you sure she will not tell her mother or brother, and in turn, the council?"

I bit the inside of my lip, hesitant. "Well...I can't tell you exactly how she'll react, but I am almost positive she won't rat us out. We weren't the ones who attacked her, it was your problematic brother. She'll trust us, at least to some extent, because not only does she like you, and you haven't done anything to hurt her, but because she grew up with Bonnie, Caroline, and me. She trusts us. She'll trust us even more once she knows that my Grams is involved, too."

Stefan folded his hands onto his lap, pensive. I couldn't read his body language other than the tense pull of his shoulders. "I'm assuming everyone will help her adjust?"

I pursed my lips, wondering what it was he was trying to ask indirectly. "Yeah. Bonnie and I will tell her about our magic, I'll tell her about my visions, and Caroline will probably be her best support system because she's human, just like her. She'll be able to relate to her in that period of adjustment," I paused, watching Stefan closely. "You can help her adjust too, you know. It's about your honesty. Once she's ready. I'm sure she'll have a million questions to ask you and I'm also sure you'll be right there to answer them for her."

Stefan nodded, silent as he absorbed the words. Somehow, I could hear the roar going on in his head. He'd always been a loud thinker, louder than me, which was saying something. Slowly, almost painfully slow, he met my eyes. A war had been going on behind those bright greens, but now, as we stared at one another, they cleared up. A decision had been made. Stefan gave me a soft, grateful smile.

A jagged line of pain cut into my forehead in that instant, slicing along my temples and down the back of my skull. Distantly, I heard metal clattering, the sound almost drowned out by the curse which tore at my throat. I fell into myself, instinctively curling into a ball. White spots scattered my vision, pulsing in time with my head.

"...okay? Can you hear me?" Stefan attempted to get my attention, but I only hissed when he moved me by the shoulders.

"Fucking head hurts," I grunted, just barely catching myself from tumbling off the sofa. The vibrations of my voice made pain lace down my spine, knotting into a ball at the base of my skull. I felt nauseous.

The weight of Stefan's hands left my back, and I opened my eyes in search of my painkillers.

Yet—everything was white. This migraine is gonna kill me. I reached out anyway and fumbled for the pills, knowing I must've left them somewhere nearby but just forgetting exactly where. I blinked, rubbed my eyes despite the pain, and froze as everything remained a milky, ghost white. Fear gripped my chest at the sudden thought of I'm blind racing through my mind. Like a television signal being distorted, colorful static filled my vision. I blinked again and it did nothing to help. If anything, the movement of colors increased every time I did it, becoming so overwhelming I felt my ears pop and hearing completely go out.

Wait, no—that's not right. I could still hear, to my relief. It sounded like water was sloshing around in my head, as if I was at the bottom of a pool, the sound muted but still reverberating through the water in tiny waves—tiny, barely imperceptible ripples.

And then—a voice! Was it Stefan? I could barely make out what he was saying. I leaned my head in the direction of where I thought the voice was coming from, throat so dry I could only croak.

More speaking. I flailed, attempting to get closer to Stefan. Where are you? Where are you? Please, it hurts. Where's the medicine? Stefan?

As if on cue, my head suddenly breached the imaginary water, ears unclogging and sound pouring in. Disoriented, I slumped heavily, almost as if the imaginary water was now weighing me down.

"Stefan..." a voice whispered. It was a soft, feminine voice, one I immediately recognized as Elena's. "What...are you?"

"Sam!"

The colors peeled back like a band aid would, the white disintegrating into actual shapes and colors, into the deep brown of the couch and of the pastel blue blanket my legs were tangled in. I gasped, registering the sensation of Stefan's hand on my back and his hip pressed into my side. He was standing over me, making sure I didn't fall off the couch, my bottle of pills rattling violently as he tried to get me to stop moving so much without hurting me.

"Hey, hey, it's alright. You're alright."

A glass of water appeared and so did my uncapped pill bottle. I trembled as I shook four out onto my hand, tipping my head back to take a long sip. "I should get another MRI," I half-joked, voice shaky. "Maybe they missed something."

"I think you should. Migraines of this intensity should not be happening so long after the accident."

Stefan helped me stand, ignoring my complaints about it being embarrassing. I'd never admit that I found it incredibly hard to put one foot in front of the other, or that practically all my weight was resting on Stefan's side.

"You should get some rest. Lexi will be here soon."

He led me to my bedroom, patient despite my slow, dragging steps. I attempted to glance over my shoulder at the living room. It felt so far away.

"Wait," I said, light-headed. "I gotta lock the front door after you."

Stefan grinned—and it was a boyish grin, one that felt like it was from his human days. It reminded me of Matt, of Jeremy. I answered in kind (and by that I mean my lips twitched weakly and I gave up almost immediately), and raised my brows in question.

"I'll leave the old fashioned way." He winked at me playfully, and I huffed in laughter at his attempt to lighten the mood. I'd gotten to know him well enough to be able to spot the crease of worry on his forehead that he was trying hard to hide. "I haven't done this in a while."

I barked a laugh at that, only regretting it a little when the pain flared up again. Stefan sat me on the edge of my bed, hands briefly hovering as if he wanted to fuss over me (but he resisted). And thank god for that.

"What're you—" I faltered, watching him as he opened my bedroom window and quickly removed the screen. Like I would imagine a gymnast would (or someone with reflexes as good as a vampire's), Stefan deftly pulled himself through to the other side, making me question if it really had been a while since he'd 'done this,' but being too amused and tired to comment.

He landed neatly and quietly on the grass. Most of his face was cast in shadow, but the white of his teeth and the green of his eyes still shone through.

My head ached far less now, but I still wobbled on my feet. Poking my head outside, I scanned the street for people. Having someone leave your house through your window—not to mention your bedroom window—was enough to have the townspeople talking for weeks. Heat crawled up my neck, anxiety bubbling high in my chest. I really, really don't have the time to get involved in another scandal.

"Go to the doctor or hospital." Stefan's voice, the fact that he wasn't even trying to whisper, made me want to furiously shush him. A tall, dark, and mysterious guy leaving my house late in the evening? I wouldn't hear the end of it. He snapped the screen back in place, the sound like a whip in the still night. I nearly shut the window in his face.

"Yeah yeah, I will. Now get off my property."

It was Stefan's turn to laugh, the sound (thankfully) not loud or booming. It was more of a chuckle, something that a breeze could've muffled or carried away. "Are you nervous?"

"You're making my head hurt even more, is what it is." I couldn't explain the feeling in my gut, or how it was beginning to get hard to breathe. I just knew I had to make Stefan leave before I let any of it wash over me. "Now, scram."

Stefan was still amused, but his smile was no longer as boyish and unabashed as it had been before, concern flooding his eyes. Yet (for some reason) he still wanted to hide it and make me feel better. I wonder—what do you see, Stefan?

He bowed dramatically before stepping back from my window. A part of me didn't want him to leave, could feel the fear scraping just below my ribs in an attempt to get out. He has to go. I have to do this alone.

"As you wish," he said, and when I opened my mouth to respond he was gone.

Something's not right, I thought as I continued to stare at the spot Stefan had been standing in. But that was too obvious, of course something wasn't right. I pushed past surface level worries and stripped away the facade I used to mask my exhaustion.

The window locked with a thundering click. I found myself sinking into my mattress, the ceiling a dark, unmoving mass above me.

What did I hear? This was the first question to tackle, yet it was one that I (partially) already knew the answer to.

"Stefan...what are you?" was too specific to be a memory. I couldn't remember the show, couldn't remember if Elena ever asked him that question. Yet, even if she did, why did I hear it? Why in that specific moment? What triggered it?

The pulsing of my head had ebbed enough to become background noise. Deep down inside, I was afraid. I knew I was afraid. Something was wrong and somehow, instinctively, I had connected the dots as to what was so unsettling without my brain properly consulting me.

Rolling onto my side, I curled into a ball. Everything that had happened since The Incident had been...overwhelming, to say the least. Physically, emotionally, mentally—I couldn't eat right or sleep enough, couldn't manage the stress in my head on my own and so I relied on the prescription painkillers I'd been given. My dreams were awful, and yet when I woke up I couldn't remember anything other than that they were just that—awful.

I had been under the impression (maybe I shouldn't trust my brain as much as I did) that I was getting better. But I was flitting in and out of my conscious state and not only fighting a battle against the circumstances, but also the parts of myself which weren't me.

Sara and I were different, and while this wasn't anything new, I could feel certain parts of myself, certain traits which I disliked and went against who I'd been before showing up here, writhing under my skin. As much as I sympathized with her, with why she felt the way she did and developed certain habits—that didn't mean I had to let them rule my life.

Yet coping mechanisms and dissociation aside, and even shuffling past Damon, I was hiding things from myself. I was aware of it, too. It was a completely voluntary thing.

What is it? What am I hiding?

In the back of my mind, in a whisper so soft I wasn't sure I hadn't made it up, I heard the words homecoming night and nearly threw up.

Homecoming night.

My mouth tasted as if it'd been stuffed with pennies—

My right hand felt uncomfortably hot—

The side of my neck ached—

Pressing the power button showed the time and no actual call—

My hand came back wet and gleaming, bright red color startling—

All I could see was red coating my mouth and chin—

Everything tipped, the axis no longer an anchor, and I was breathless at how easy it was to trigger a response from myself. Like a live wire touching bare skin, I was up and moving before I knew it, pacing back and forth and twitching as more memories crowded my head.

I saw blue and red before everything whited out—

My shirt suddenly stuck to my chest. A streak of blood coated it—

A strange, angry red line had appeared out of nowhere in a ring around my neck—

I kept seeing things that weren't there, afterimages of red and blue and that goddamn bloody shirt that I now knew was Stefan's—

I reared back, stumbling against the leg of a chair in the corner of the room. I knew that something was wrong because the memories weren't just flooding in, they were crashing through my skull and I'd been wrong before. I didn't trigger a defense mechanism Sara had, this was something completely out of my control.

Fear struck me, coalesced deep and heavy in my belly. Sweat ran down my temples and coated my neck, my palms. I'm alone, I thought, panicked. No one is here.

I heard a phone ringing in the distance—

The echo of Elena's scream cut through the noise in my head—

"She just had to take a phone call"—

I fumbled for my phone, Sheila the only person I could think of. My fingers kept slipping, and I audibly gasped when it, without being touched, slid under the bed and disappeared from view. The witches, I thought, panic increasing by the second. They're fucking messing with me.

With a growl to steady myself, I clenched my entire body and stormed through my bedroom door, no real idea as to what to do other than move and leave.

Something gold gleamed, warm light catching on the curve of it—

The gold gleamed again, this time the circular, faded milky inside reflecting light...rusty looking arrow pointing somewhere to the left—

The world flickered black for a moment, old looking gears and mechanical pieces shaping themselves in front of me. It reminded me of the skeleton of a watch—all small, intricate metal and smooth surfaces. It disappeared within a box, the colors swirling so much I couldn't make anything out—

I collapsed in the front hallway, an arm outstretched toward the door. My vision was blurry and muscles stiff. Time passed and I wasn't sure how long I laid there, unresponsive. I blinked once. Twice. Peeled my cheek from the hardwood floor and lifted my head. Fear had been replaced with momentary exhaustion, and then that with a sense of peace.

The thrumming of my skull had dulled, disappearing almost completely. On autopilot, I rose. The world seemed to move sluggishly with me, a smear of colors and unfocused shapes filling my sight.

Somehow, I wound up back in my room, kneeling on the floor beside my bed, fingertips scraping along the side of the box I'd kept hidden since The Incident. Before I knew it the necklace, its weight familiar and comforting, laid in my hand. I stared at it, at the dancing sparkles it emitted in the low moonlight.

Like a blossoming flower in the spring, the pain returned in a budding ache at the back of my head. It hurt, but the pain kept me moving, kept me occupied until I realized I was dressing in my exercise clothes and had my running shoes on, the laces untied.

The room was dark and quiet except for my unsteady breathing. I eyed the scarf Sheila had given me, a deep red color and made from light, breathable material. It hung on the doorknob—an invitation.

With practiced hands, I wrapped the scarf along the lower half of my face, tying it into a knot around my ponytail to keep it from unraveling. With my hood pulled up, my reflection barely looked like me. I could only really make out my eyes and the beginning of the bridge of my nose. There was a moment, as I made to open my bedroom door, where I became acutely aware of the necklace in my hand. I had set it down to get dressed, and didn't remember picking it back up.

A beat passed. Then another.

It laid snugly on my sternum before I knew it, tucked beneath my sweater. My entire body thrummed with sudden energy, something like lightning flashing in my veins. The skin where the necklace touched tingled, bled warmth and safety as it rested there, and everything felt right in the world.

The wind was gentle against what little skin it could touch as I stepped outside, moonlight kissing the tops of my cheeks and lids of my eyes. Something thrilled me about not being able to see farther than two blocks in either direction, about the freedom of it all. I rolled my ankles, briefly stretched my legs, and ran.

...

end author's note: hi everyone! it's been quite a while, huh? school and work and life have been hectic (as always) and I didn't want to post something I wasn't completely proud of, so I took my time with this chapter. I do hope you all like it, and I'm sorry for taking SO long to update. know this chapter was made with extra love, and with help from my wonderful girlfriend (she's the reason this doesn't have /too/ many commas and grammatical errors). I'm not sure what else to say, other than that I do hope to write more in these coming weeks. I have many writing ideas going on at once, and I'm focusing on whatever holds my attention. this must sound repetitive at this point, but please stay safe, everyone. wherever in the world you may be, please stay safe, and indoors (if possible) and wash your hands. avoid touching your face, practice social distancing, and look out for others, especially those who cannot take care of themselves. I have hope we will all get out of this okay. you're all in my thoughts.

((also,,, I am complete Hannibal trash at this point and like. already have a tattoo appointment set up to get a piece I designed in honor of it AND am also considering getting another small one as matching tattoos with my girlfriend. I'm serious when I say this show is a must watch and completely overturned my life-in a good way, of course. if you've seen the show or are a fan of it please let me know! I am ruined and not okay))

[translations]

Tio ~ Uncle