11. Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

Author's note: Warning for mature content at the end of the chapter! Please don't read if that's not your thing.

Sorry this one took so long, and tbh it would've taken much longer (and many more drafts) if I let myself. But I'm trying to teach myself to not freak out over things so I just posted the damn thing lol. I hope you guys enjoy!

It doesn't take as long as Dean had anticipated to earn the demons' respect. Hell, he'd expected protests. But by the time Crowley leaves, word had already gotten around that he had been the one to get Elena to "behave". None of them have any idea just how little credit Dean wants or deserves for that accomplishment.

Now, most of them shrink at the sight of him coming down the hallway. Others circle him like flies, staring at Dean as if they might somehow learn something just by being in his proximity. Dean barely suppresses his grimace of disgust.

He's now responsible for keeping crossroads demons in line and approving contracts, tasks meant for someone that can stomach cutting lifespans in half without flinching. Dean tries to tell himself that it's a choice. These people ask for it. Beg sometimes.

But the excuses don't work on him because he's seen the other side of it. He's been torn apart by the dogs. No one really knows what they're asking for when they make that fateful kiss.

It's dirty, soul-eating work. But he does it. He does it because not doing it would be just as bad. Sure, it would feel less dirty. But in reality, it's a choice between screwing people over himself or letting some crueler, less morally inclined demon screw people over. Both options are shit, but at least this way he can keep one hand on the wheel.

But he sees where they're headed, he and Elena. He sees it like it's a brick wall in the distance. Right now, all he can do is delay the crash.

. . .

Two weeks go by without a whisper of Elena. One night he even waits until the night guard's shift change to sneak down to the basement to check on her. She wasn't there.

So he waits. Waits and waits for a sign that she's even still alive and he's not alone again. Dean begins to lose hope, to think that she's actually gone this time and the last memory he'll have of her is watching as she writhed on that goddamn table in agony-

"You need to reassign me," Baby says belligerently as he storms into Dean's room where Dean sits at his desk.

Baby is a bratty demon that Dean had gotten to know quite well over the last few weeks. He'd been one of the two assigned to Elena, so Dean made a point of keeping tabs on him. Unfortunately, after days of careful prying, Baby seems just as clueless as Dean is about her whereabouts.

Dean sighs, eyes not leaving the file he has open in front of him. "I doubt you'd know anything about what I need." He smirks. "Baby."

The demon scowls at the nickname. "She's driving me crazy."

Ah yes. His partner, Blondie. The other demon that Dean learned had been assigned to Elena. Though Dean hasn't seen her around as much.

"You've worked with her for ten years, why are you suddenly sick of her?"

"No, not Blondie," he snaps with an impatient wave. "The leech. She set my fucking closet on fire."

First comes shock, a shattering of something tense in him, then Dean suddenly starts coughing in an attempt to cover up his laugh. Relief floods through him. She's alive. Alive and setting people's closets on fire. His breath whistles clean through his lungs, as if he's breathing freely for the first time. He clears his throat, smothering another laugh. Baby, not fooled, looks murderous.

Dean recovers and says, "How'd she get into your closet?"

"The hell does that matter?"

"Maybe you need to secure your room better."

"She broke into it!"

"Then you need to be better at watching her."

"I didn't even know she was back—"

"It's your job to know where she is at all times."

"This is bullshit. I think it's time for her to be put down, Winchester," he lowers his voice but his tone spits fury, "Crowley won't like it, but we can make it look like an accident—"

Dean snaps the file shut and leans back. He studies Baby for a moment before saying, "How long have you been watching Gilbert, Baby?"

The demon frowns, then replies, "Over a month."

"Over a month." The words sit so dry in Dean's mouth that it sounds mocking in the silence following it. He lets the pause linger until Baby starts to shift uneasily. Then, when the demon begins to sweat, Dean goes on, "How do you think Crowley will feel when I tell him that I had to reassign you—a demon he chose specifically to watch his doppelganger—because you couldn't handle it? That she not only escaped her cell, but she—" he cuts himself off to contain another laugh. "—she set your closet on fire?"

Baby flushes angrily, and Dean takes his silence as the end of the issue. He turns his attention back to the file on hand, opening it up again. "Is there anything else you'd like to report?"

The demon narrows his eyes and steps forward, his voice lowers with a brewing threat when he says, "She's not responding to discipline."

"Not my problem."

"It should be."

"Excuse me?" Dean looks up, finding a challenge in his eyes.

"If we're not killing her and we can't break her, we will have to resort to other strategies."

Pause. Baby's looking at him now like he's just set a trap. Like he's waiting for Dean to walk into it.

"Like I said," Dean says mildly, "Not my problem. Crowley left that to you and Blondie."

Baby lifts his chin. "Of course, sir. I just thought you should know."

Dean blinks at the file in front of him, its words not reaching his eyes. He gives Baby a short nod, then waves him away, "Fine. Now get back to work before she sets something else on fire."

Baby exits the room, leaving Dean's brain working frantically. His relief had been short-lived. Damn it, Elena. I told you to stop fighting.

At his feet, Cat nudges him with her face. Dean doesn't look at her, brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to focus on reading. For days he'd been searching for something—anything—on Elena or her deal. So far, the only thing he'd come across even mentioning her had been a brief annotation at the bottom of a file on Klaus Mikaelson that reads "Elena Gilbert – acquaintance with extensive history".

Abandoning the page in front of him for what had to be the seventh time today, Dean pulls out the folder labelled "K. Mikaelson" again to frown at the ambiguous wording as Cat nudges him harder, letting out a firm meow. Grey strands of her fur stick to his pants.

He huffs, looking down at her. "What?"

She curls around his ankle, her whiskered face pressed into his calf. Dean sighs, prepared to scoot her away from him when he spots a small, rolled piece of paper tied with a ribbon to her collar.

Wary but curious, he frees it from the collar and flattens it.

Dean,

Had to create a diversion. Not subtle, I know, but it worked didn't it?

Dean pauses, unable to hold back the short bark of laughter that had burst from his chest. He doesn't need a signature to know who the author is. He'd know her anywhere.

The fire gave me just enough time to find Cat and write this. I know she sleeps in your room because it used to be mine. He puts his favorites in there.

I just wanted to let you know that I'm alive since we rarely run into each other now, what with you busy running things and me being dragged around like an attack dog. I got back from a job last night. Now I'm back to being locked in the basement cell twenty-four seven. Luckily, I caught a glimpse of your back while being dragged down here. – E

P.S. Your back is hot. Ten out of ten.

Dean crushes the note inside his fist, hoping that stubborn, warm feeling would go away. That feeling has no place here in this dark place. And yet he's sitting here grinning like a teenage boy.

Why does she keep fighting? Is she trying to get herself killed? Dean shakes his head and snatches a blank piece of paper. First, he scribbles these questions down, wishing he could see her face so that he could read her instead of her words. He's never been good at words.

But he stops halfway through his note, glancing back at the one she'd written. He sighs, crosses everything out, then starts again.

. . .

Elena,

Glad you enjoyed my back, but it's a bit unfair since I can't see yours in return.

I couldn't help but notice that you disappeared around the same time that Crowley left. Should I assume that you were with him? Asking for professional reasons. I am the boss here, after all.

You should also know that I looked around this room after reading your note. I thought he chucked everything that was yours until I saw your tallies scratched into the side of the bedframe. They were small but I counted them. Seventy-two days. I wish I knew you then. Things might have been different. – D

P.S. Had a dream about you last night. You put my back to shame. Eleven out of ten.

. . .

He receives her reply two days later, and he swears he can smell her on the paper. Back when they first met, she'd smelled of peaches, but it's different now. She's different now. The longer he's known her, having gone on the run together and sleeping side by side, the more that artificial scent faded. Now, all that's left is her. Raw and earthy. Dean lets himself inhale it from the page just once.

Dean,

Yes. Crowley took me to "discuss business" with Klaus Mikaelson in New Orleans. I'm sure you remember that we failed to make a proper deal with him. Crowley seems to think that Klaus likes me for some reason. I shouldn't be surprised. He also thinks women are mankind's greatest weakness. Something about Eve and the fall of humanity. God, I hate him.

Luckily, Klaus had the sense to pretend that the incident with you hadn't included me. He always loved drama and hated Crowley so it worked out in our favor this time. He says hello.

Somehow seventy-two days didn't feel so long compared to this. It was all different before. –E

. . .

Her note bothers him. He can't admit why that is right away, but the reality of it hits him when her sees her being towed across the yard by Blondie and Baby. It's probably three in the morning after another sleepless night when Dean spots them from his bedroom window. They'd just stepped out of the car and are crossing the lawn, silently ushering her back into the house.

This is the first time he's actually seen her in weeks, and she looks like hell. She's thinner than before, he can tell because they'd put her in some kind of sparkly pink party dress and her shoulder blades appear sharp beneath the thin fabric. Dean remembers the heady warmth and the sharp tinge of blood when he'd pressed his palm there.

The door shuts loudly as they disappear from his sight and into the building. He can hear their faint footsteps as she's brought back down to her cell, and he lets out a pained breath. Her note burns in the pocket of his jeans.

As it had always been before, he has a feeling that Elena's not telling him everything. It's there, sitting on the page, in the spaces between her words. She always does this, allows him one step closer just to draw a curtain between them at the last second. She's been damaged, he knows this. You could only get cut so many times before you learn to wear armor.

Part of him wants to write back, demanding answers. To tell her that he's afraid too. That her simply being here scares him more than any amount of years Crowley could hold against him. But another part of him knows that his desperation would translate on paper. It would leave him split open and unarmed.

He has to find out what's going on with her on his own.

The next morning, when Blondie comes in for her report, he asks her what happened in New Orleans, telling her that he needs to know about the trip to file for their records.

"They talked business for a couple hours," she replies with a shrug. "Crowley wants the vampires in his pocket. Their empire is growing, and he thinks getting to Mikaelson is key."

"What kind of deal is he trying to make?"

"I don't know the details," she says. "He wants access to the vampires, that's all I know."

God, was he going to have to pull this out of her inch by inch? "Okay, in exchange for what?"

Blondie yawns as she replies, "Not sure. Crowley had Gilbert stay with Mikaelson for a few days to . . . negotiate."

It takes him a second. Her tone. The smug look on her face. He feels like he's been run over by a freight train. "A few days? She stayed with him for a few days?"

"That's what I said."

Dean looks down at the file in front of him. If she asked, he couldn't tell her a single thing that it said. Why hadn't Elena mentioned any of this? She's kept things from him before. Never maliciously, his inner logic reminds him. She always has a reason. But that doesn't keep his heart from tumbling. Is she ashamed of what she had to do? Is she simply doing as I told her to—has she stopped fighting?

He doesn't know what makes him feel more deranged, the fact that a small part of him is glad she hasn't brought more of Crowley's wrath upon her or the fact she may have listened to him. And he hates it.

Suddenly the phrase "acquaintance with extensive history" worms its way back into his head, much more infuriating than it had been before. He decides to hate every single one of those words for the rest of his life.

"Are we done here?" Blondie asks, snapping him from his roaring thoughts. "I have to take her back for another assignment."

Dean clenches his jaw. Already? "What time will you be back?"

She gives him an odd look, then, "If she behaves, eleven tonight."

At least she's coming back.

He nods shortly, looking away from her. The relief he feels may as well be written on his forehead. He needs to stop being so transparent. "You're dismissed."

. . .

He scribbles a note quickly, wanting to get it to her before she departs. The words tumble out frustrated and pained, like he'd wrenched it from somewhere deep in his chest.

Elena. Please don't do this, I couldn't live with myself if—

No. He takes a breath. Starts again.

Elena. You don't need to do this. We can find another way to—

Fuck. Why does everything he writes feel so stupid? He breaths out another curse. Starts again.

Elena,

I understand. Sometimes I try to forget that you're here—I try to go back to what I was before you. In some ways it was easier. But I go to sleep in your old bed every night. I can't go back.

Please. Be careful. –D

He stares at the words for along time. The ink is slightly smudged from his hand running across the page. He reads it two more times before he shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cat eyes him, swishing her tail about expectantly.

Without looking at her, he digs around his desk drawer, tossing useless things out of the way. Then, when he finally finds his lighter, he clicks it on and watches the note burn.

Klaus is happy to see Elena again. Or, at least, as happy as a guy like him can be.

After her last stay, they still aren't friends, really. More like two people who are friendly despite not wanting to spend any time together outside of this forced arrangement. Klaus is glad to play along as long as it either benefits or entertains him. Tonight, she hopes to do both.

She takes a deep breath as he steps aside to let her through the doorway. She nods at Blondie, who receives the dismissal to wait outside. She's spent more time with her lately since the lab and already knows that the demon'll head straight to Starbucks to feed her caffeine addiction. The next time Elena sees her she'll be as wired as usual.

When the door shuts behind Elena, Klaus is already smiling.

"Another night graced with your presence," he says, taking her coat like he's a gentleman. Elena nearly laughs. The guy must really be bored if this is the kind of game he gets a kick out of.

"Crowley thinks you must be missing me," she says, adjusting her dress in some attempt at modesty. This time, they'd put her in some sort of glorified slip dress that surely isn't meant to be worn in public.

Klaus smiles, "What luck."

She refrains from rolling her eyes as he tucks her jacket away in a closet. From where she's standing, she can see that there's only two other coats in there. When he meets her eyes again, she says, "I'm sure you're jumping for joy on the inside."

He tilts his head, "Tell me, how long do you plan on maintaining this ruse? Crowley can't possibly expect you to fly over here just to make love to me this often—"

"—ew—"

"—because even I don't have the drive to be constantly at the ready for when you spring yourself upon me—"

"I swear, I'll vomit all over your nice floor."

"Fine," he smirks, gesturing towards his sitting room. He follows her as she moves in that direction. "He can't possible expect you to travel four hours this often just for us to have sex. I mean, talk about inconvenient."

She makes a face as she heads straight for the tequila. "He thinks I'll be able to get to you."

Klaus raises an amused brow, "He assumes a lot about our relationship, doesn't he?"

"I may have led him to believe certain things." She pauses, then adds, "About us and about you. I might've mentioned something about you being a lonely bastard and me occasionally keeping you company."

He smirks at her again as she splashes some tequila into a glass. "Well, well. Elena Gilbert, you just get more and more interesting."

She downs the shot, then faces him. "I have a proposition for you."

"Fun," he notes, reaching for the bourbon and pouring himself a glass. "Business or pleasure?"

She restrains an annoyed glare. "Business."

Klaus searches her face for a moment, then responds, "I'm listening."

Elena nods, taking a deep breath. She's banking a lot on another guy she can barely trust, but she can think of no other way.

"I need your help to take down Crowley."

To his credit, he only spits up half of his bourbon. When he recovers, he breathes out a laugh. "Good God, am I on the right side of your schemes for once? Do you remember how many times you and your friends tried to kill me?"

"Well?" she asks. She's in no mood to reminisce. Especially not about that time of her life. "Or do you need a PowerPoint detailing all the ways this would be good for you?"

"Let's see," he drops into an armchair, drink in hand as he eyes her with amusement. "How killing the King of Hell would benefit me slide one: no more favors from him. Slide two: I'll be at war with his demons and whoever replaces him. Slide three: Oh wait, none of these are benefits—"

"Hear me out," she says firmly. "This is about more than just Crowley. This is about his entire operation." When he raises a brow at her, she continues, "Crowley thinks I'm drawing you towards a deal with him. A mutual back-scratching type of thing."

"Yes, I know how itchy he gets." He pauses, then, "Let me guess, stab instead of scratch?"

She hesitates, "Something like that."

It takes some convincing. There's a considerable amount of risk required on both of their parts for this plan to succeed, and even then there's no guarantee that the risk will pay off. Elena feels the clock ticking away from her.

When she finishes her proposal, Klaus stares at her as if seeing her for the first time. Like she really is no longer the girl he met all those years ago. She can't say whether he's laughing at her or impressed. Maybe both.

"What do you think?" she asks impatiently.

"I think it's brilliant. Borderline insane." He chuckles.

Elena rolls her eyes. "So, you'll do it?"

He looks at her thoughtfully. "What about Winchester?"

The name takes her by surprise. "What about him?"

Klaus looks at her with a laugh in his eyes. "You know what I'm asking."

Dean's face flashes in her head and she averts her gaze. "We're keeping him out of it."

He stares at her, and there must be something funny on her face because he laughs.

"What?" she snaps.

Klaus shakes his head, and she thinks she hears a glimmer of sadness in his answer. "After all these years, you still think you can protect the ones you love from you." He meets her eyes steadily. "Maybe this time you'll actually learn your lesson."

She grits her teeth at those words, "Oh yeah? And what lesson is that professor?"

His theatrical grin tells her that it should've been obvious. "That loving you, Elena Gilbert, can kill even the strongest of men."

She struggles to swallow down spark of anger. "You and Crowley are more alike than I realized. Thinking love can be wielded like a blade. It isn't that simple."

"Oh, but it is," Klaus says. "We're all simpler than we think we are, Elena."

"Well, you won't need to worry about that," she says shortly. "Like I said, we're keeping Dean out of it."

The last of his bourbon is gone, finished sometime between step one and two of her plan. Klaus sets his glass down. "You seem to think you can stop him from getting himself involved. I've seen the guy in action, remember? He came charging in very determined to break my face—"

"I'll handle it, okay?"

Klaus lets out a breath, and he stands. He moves to face her, eyes sharp, carrying more gravity than he's had this entire night. "It's a crazy plan. Just my type of crazy. I will help you, Elena, but I have one condition."

She sighs, uncertainty welling in her gut. Then it's her turn to say, "I'm listening."

"Do you trust me?"

"Not really, no."

He laughs. "That's going to make this plan quite difficult then."

"What are you thinking?" she asks cautiously.

"Double blind."

"Double blind?"

Klaus grins at the clear discomfort on her face. "If Crowley gets suspicious, you're his first target. And all the answers he'll need will be right there—" he points at a spot in the center of her forehead, "—for him to take."

Elena already knows what he's suggesting. Hell, she may have known it walking in, but she just didn't want to consider it. A small voice in her head tells her that this will require more vulnerability than she cares to subject herself to. That she's putting herself on the line again and that this is dangerous. But then again, everything about this situation is.

So she looks Klaus in the eyes.

"Do what you have to do."

. . .

Elena is surprised when she opens the front door and nearly hits Dean in the face. He holds out a hand to stop it from swinging and breaking his nose.

She looks up at him and her heartbeat fumbles. There he is again, looking at her like that. It takes her a moment to realize why. She'd forgotten the awful strappy, revealing dress that they'd thrown on her. It's thin, green fabric leaves little to the imagination.

He blinks, then finally says, "Oh, you're back." But one glance at his face tells her that he was probably waiting for them at the door.

"Yes," she says, suppressing a smile. "I'm back."

The corner of Dean's mouth lifts just barely before it disappears.

Behind her Blondie mutters impatiently, nudging Elena forward. Dean stares at her for a beat longer before pulling his eyes away and stepping to the side to let them in. They move past him, and she lets Blondie lead her back to the basement.

"Hold it," Dean says, stopping them. "You," he nods to Elena, "Come with me."

Elena glances at Blondie, who doesn't hide her surprise when she replies, "I thought Crowley didn't want you dealing with her."

"I'm not," he says, not looking at Elena. "He wants this in a report and sent to him, that's all. I'll bring her back to her cell when we're done."

Blondie considers both Dean and Elena for a moment, as if seeing them in the same room for the first time suddenly triggers alarms. But when she looks at Elena, her expression eases up for a moment.

"Fine. But she needs to be locked up by midnight. That's when Baby's shift starts."

Elena raises an eyebrow at her, which she ignores, and the demon leaves without another word. Before Elena can unpack that, Dean repeats under his breath, "Come with me."

She doesn't get the chance to read his face because he turns away from her, swiftly making his way to his room. As they walk, Elena stares at his back, the tense set of his shoulders, and Klaus' words creep between her ears.

. . .

Dean hadn't done much to Elena's old room. Almost nothing had changed. The yellow wallpaper. The warm air hissing from the vent. The creak in the floor by the window. The only real difference is the stack of files on the desk. Elena doesn't know whether to be glad he hadn't made himself at home, or uncomfortable that he's living in the personal space that she herself had inhabited for so long.

She stands by the window, running her hands over the thin blue curtain when Dean finally speaks.

"Crowley's thinking of moving you there."

She turns. He's still standing by the door stiffly from when he'd closed it.

"What?"

He takes a single step forward and points out the window. "The room above the garage. Crowley says you're doing good work now." His green eyes flick toward her then away, back to the window. "It's shabby, but it beats the hell out of the basement."

Elena nods, looking away. "We have an hour."

Though her attention is on the files on the table, the endless names of doomed people, she can feel him watching her.

"You were at Mikaelson's again tonight," he says. Not a question.

She smiles. "Straight to the point as usual."

"Like you said, we have an hour."

When he says it the words sound cut, like he's bitten back the words he wants to say. She looks at him, his tight jaw and burning eyes. Always burning.

She wants to ask why he never responded to her last note. Why he's risking speaking to her alone like this.

But most of all she wants to go to him and press a kiss to the frown on his lips and never let him go. But the time for that has passed.

"What do you need to know?" she asks plainly.

He studies her face. "What does Crowley have you doing?"

This is it. She takes a quick breath. "Seducing Klaus." The words taste so bad in her mouth that she wants to wash them out.

But Dean isn't looking at her anymore. He's at the other end of the room, arms crossed as he trains his eyes on nothing in particular. "He didn't tell Crowley about us. Do you trust him?"

The question sounds flat, but she knows it's loaded. She pronounces her next words clearly. "Yes. I trust him."

Dean nods, still not meeting her eyes. Whether that answer is good enough for him is anyone's guess. "And is it working?"

She blinks. "Is what working?"

He glances at her briefly, and the fierce glint in his eyes coils something in her stomach. But he looks away again. "The seducing."

This is more painful that she thought it would be.

"Yes. He's cooperating."

She sees his jaw clench, but he doesn't say anything else. Suddenly she's very aware of how fast her heart is beating. She can feel its uncoordinated thudding against her chest. Why won't he face her? She wants to tell him to turn around and look her in the eyes, but maybe it's better this way.

"It'll be a few days more at most," she tells his back. "Klaus is coming around. I've convinced him that working with Crowley would be good for him." When Dean says nothing in response, she continues. "Crowley will be glad. Original vampires are a big win for him, so he might even give me a new room like you said. Who knows, eventually I might do enough for him to let me go."

"Is he doing it for you?" Dean asks. His voice is low, but there's an edge to it. "Mikaelson, I mean."

She doesn't know how to answer that. She pauses carefully, then replies, "He's getting as much out of this as Crowley is."

"He's not. He'd be digging himself in deep with the last demon he should be doing that with. There's more risk than benefit," he says. "He has to be doing this for you."

She'd hoped it wouldn't come to this. She nods. "I didn't think about it that way, but you're probably right."

A small, bitter laugh leaves him. "Am I?"

He doesn't look surprised by the admission. Merely frustrated. At her? At Crowley or Klaus? She can't tell.

"I heard you two have . . . history," Dean says as he moves to his desk and straightens out the files. She takes a subtle step away from him, as if the proximity is dangerous. She tries to remind herself that he's not the enemy, but she finds that's hard to do when friends and enemies interchange so easily in her world.

"Who told you that?" she asks.

She thinks he might laugh at that, but he just shrugs. "Tell me about him."

Him or us? She wants to ask. She decides not to dance around it.

"We used to date," she says simply. "We were together for a while before I got in it with Crowley."

Pause.

"How long is a while?"

"Two years."

His face is angled toward her now. He still avoids her eyes, but she can tell. She can sense his thoughts whirling. His next words sound calculated and final, like all the questions had been leading towards this one.

"Did you love him?"

No hesitation. "Yes."

She can see the moments they shared hanging in the air between them like incriminating evidence. Her hand pressed to Dean's face. His lips forming the words Do what you want with me and water flowing between them. His warm breath against her face as they slept in the backseat of whichever car they'd stolen that day. That feeling low in her belly urging her to press herself closer—

But the flashes end faster than they begin. Elena takes in a sharp breath and turns toward the door.

"If we're done here, I should get back downstairs—"

"You're lying."

She freezes, turning to find his stare fixed on her and it hits her like a slap. There's anger etched in the angles of his face, simmering behind his eyes. But there's something else there too. And the longer she looks for it, the more the sight of it aches in her chest.

She regrets wishing that he would look at her.

"What?" she says. Her voice is steadier than she feels.

"You're lying to me. I know you are, and I told myself that it wouldn't hurt this time, but I guess that was a lie too."

He takes a step toward her, and there's the ache again, like he's a walking flame that burns hotter the closer he gets. His eyes are searching her, and she can't even look away.

"Every single word you just said was a lie," he says, "And you did it so easily. Like it was nothing."

No, she wants to say. That's not true. It wasn't nothing. But she can't. She licks her lips to respond, and he swallows, gaze dropping to her lips like he feels the burning too.

Double blind.

Any words she'd wanted to say die, and her pounding heart trembles. He meets her eyes again, and it seems like there's hardly any space between them anymore. When had he gotten so close?

"What do you want, Dean?" she asks. It comes out harsher than she wants, but the tension in her stomach makes it difficult.

"I want to ask you something," he says, quieter but just as harsh as her. Spoken through sharp teeth. "But you'd just lie to me again."

He's stealing her breath. She keeps her reply short so he won't notice. "Then we're done talking."

He notices. Dean gazes at her, into her, like the answers would be spelt out if he looks hard enough. He leans in then, eyes never leaving hers, testing how close he can get before her lie cracks open. She's always hated how easily he reads her.

His breath ghosts her lips when he asks, "Do you love me?"

She can't move an inch without forcing their bodies to touch. She can't hear herself think over the sound of her heartbeat.

"You said I'd just lie to you again," she breathes.

There's a flash in his eyes. "Tell me anyway."

She swallows, and his stare tracks the movement of her throat before dragging back up to look her in the eyes. She forces the words out.

"No. I don't—"

He crushes their lips together, his tongue thrust into her mouth before she can even finish the lie. She stumbles back into the wall and he follows, their bodies pressed together. Her head thuds against the hard surface but she doesn't care. Their teeth clash. She sucks his bottom lip hard, and he groans, pressing her roughly against the wall.

She wishes she could kiss him longer. More deeply, like he deserves. But there's no time. They never have enough time. So she inhales him, taking in as much of his scent as possible as if she could save him for later.

They're both panting when their mouths separate. She finds his eyes dark and wide and everything that she feels is mirrored across his face. He must feel the clock ticking too because he kisses her again, this time working his hands beneath her dress. He hoists the flimsy fabric up, and suddenly his palms are hot on the skin of her stomach, one burning a path to her breast and the other to lift her leg to frame his hip.

He makes a strangled sound when he realizes that she's not wearing underwear, and the hand on her leg immediately grips her leg harder. He lets out a string of curses, dropping his forehead against hers.

"Dean," she whispers against his ear, and he presses a rough kiss to her lips, swallowing the sound.

A guttural cry escapes her as he inches a finger between their bodies, and into her. Her hips thrust forward, forcing his finger deeper, so deep that she can feel his palm against the most sensitive part of her. Her hands scrabble up to his face, his jaw, pulling his lips to hers again for a sloppy kiss.

His finger moves in and out of her, each time hitting something deep inside of her that makes her bite her lip to keep from screaming.

He's watching her, dark eyes looking at her like he wants to do more to her. Like he wants her to do more to him.

"Fuck," he hisses, pushing another finger into her, the word puffing hot against her face.

She's lost the ability to think.

Her back arches, and she can feel him murmuring against her neck but she's too high to catch the words. The pleasure is so sharp that it takes her a second to feel him desperately rocking his hard length against her thigh. His breathing is shallow, and his movements are short, like he's trying hard to control himself.

Her hand moves to his wrist, stilling his movements between her legs.

When he meets her eyes, he looks wild, a caged thing set free. She must look equally deranged because he almost smiles, bringing his other hand to rest against her face.

She needs more and he sees it in her eyes. There's not enough time. They need more time.

"Please," she says, the word slipping from her mouth without thinking.

Dean shuts his eyes, a shudder traveling through his body. She wants to make him do it again. She unbuttons his jeans, then reaches around to tug them down. His boxers slide down next.

When he opens his eyes again, there's a fire there. He lifts her leg up higher, hooking her knee over the crook of his elbow. His eyes never leave hers.

She gasps when he enters her, slowly, purposefully. He stops breathing, and he makes a noise from deep in his throat as the friction burns them from the inside out. Her teeth must be piercing her lip from how hard she bites. When he's as deep as he can go, he exhales, jaw clenched. He seems hesitant to move, so she rolls her hips, clenching around him. God, he feels good. So good.

"Shit," he hisses, then bites down on her neck. She lets out an aching moan and jerks against him harder, causing his hand to drop down her her hip. His fingers dig into her flesh. Their chests slide against each other, and she can feel the scratch of his t-shirt against her nipples.

She kisses him again, savoring the heady taste of his lips. His jaw. The pulse at his neck.

Dean moves faster, frantic. Time is slipping away from them. She wraps her other leg around him, letting him drive into her more deeply. Her nails scratch at his back, clutching him close as they jerk against each other. Desperate. Sad. Angry. They'd been circling this from the moment they met, dipping closer and closer only for everything to align too late. Much too late.

She's too loud. Dean brings a hand to her mouth, reminding her that they can't be caught. The only sound in the room is the rubbing friction of naked skin against skin.

In the silence, their gazes clasp together, and the heat in his eyes nearly does it for her.

Footsteps. There's someone entering the building downstairs. Elena makes a sound against Dean's fingers, warning him. But he already heard it. He doesn't stop. Instead, he ruts into her harder. Rougher. Driving them closer to the edge.

She grits her teeth. Her legs are becoming weak and his rhythm is faltering. The tension mounts higher, and her breathing starts to sound reedy and strangled.

"Come on," he pleads. "Let go." His eyes are on her. Flames flickering against her face. "Come on, Elena." He whispers it the same way he's always said her name, and she moans, the sound muffling into his hand. Their hips snap together once, twice-

Everything around them goes silent, and the edges of her vision burn white. She's clenching hard around him. He groans through his teeth, thrusting into her two more times before he shudders violently with a sharp gasp, pressing his face into her neck.

But they can't stay that way. They can't hold each other like they want to because someone is coming up the stairs.

With a pained groan, Dean releases her, and she sways off balance. He lets out a breathless laugh, and she scowls at him. His smile is beautiful, and she's already mourning it.

Still panting, Elena hurries to tug his pants back up while he rights her dress. They're both shining with sweat.

She's reaching up to fix his unkempt hair when she hears Baby at the door. She must've raked her hands through it because it's sticking up in every direction. When the door opens, they spring apart, Dean facing the desk while Elena stands several feet from him with her arms crossed.

"Baby," Elena greets, sounding much calmer than she feels.

The demon eyes her impatiently, then looks at Dean. "Are you two done?"

Elena wants to laugh and cry at the same time. Dean must be struggling with the same thing because his mouth twitches before he turns to Baby.

"Yes, I think I have enough for my report."

Baby, clearly annoyed that he has to retrieve Elena at all, merely frowns. "Let's go."

Elena nods, the cold air feeling strange where Dean's body once was. Dean's eyes are on them, but she follows Baby, making an effort not to look back at Dean as she leaves.

. . .

Author's note: I hope this wasn't too confusing! Elena and Klaus' plan will become much clearer in the next chapter. Hope you guys enjoyed this! Don't forget to comment/vote!