Author's Note: Just in case you were curious, the Chapter Titles in this story, are all based on songs featured in The Vampire Diaries' soundtrack. The title of this first chapter comes from the song "Back to Me" by the All-American Rejects. I feel as though the song's lyrics genuinely speak to Elena's state of mind, at this point in the story, which takes place the morning after the events of "As I Lay Dying."

9:27 a.m.

At some point, she must have fallen asleep, having passed out from sheer exhaustion and frustration, right in the center of Stefan's bed. Elena Gilbert awoke with her face buried deep in her boyfriend's pillow, which, much to her chagrin, still smelled like him. The slim brunette teen slowly maneuvered herself into sitting position to survey her surroundings. Aside from a slight rumpling of the white bed sheets, the room barely looked slept in.

Stifling a yawn, Elena turned her attention to the window. The warm sunlight filtering in through the glass deeply contrasted with her dark mood. Here she was, waking up in a luxurious room, inside an opulent mansion that she nowtechnically owned. And yet, she never felt more alone.

As if by instinct, Elena padded barefoot down the hall toward Damon's bedroom. It wasn't until she had covered about half the distance between the two brother's rooms that she stopped to question her judgment. Elena looked down at her choice of sleeping attire. She was wearing a rather fitted purple cotton tank top, and a pair of purple and green flannel shorts that, while comfortable, were almost excessively short, leaving most of her olive-skinned legs exposed to the elements.

Simple, yet sexy . . . the outfit had always been a favorite of Stefan's, which was why she left it at his house for safekeeping, shortly after the first time she had been kidnapped by Elijah's minions. She wanted to show Stefan that no matter what happened, a part of her would always be there with him. Of course, there was another reason why those pajamas, in particular, were significant to Elena. However, try as she might, Elena couldn't remember it. But now Stefan was gone. And given all that had happened the night before, she didn't want Damon to get the wrong idea.

"If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it." Damon's voice echoed in Elena's brain, teasing her for being such a prude, and propelling her forward, once again. Why is it that I am always so attuned to Damon's thoughts, but when it comes to my own boyfriend, I am completely clueless? Elena wondered, shaking her head, as she approached the elder Salvatore brother's bedroom.

As it turns out, Elena needn't have worried about Damon getting the "wrong idea" about her coming into his bedroom, half-naked, first thing in the morning. He wasn't even in his room. Yet, judging by the wildly disheveled state of his bed sheets, Damon had suffered a far more restless night than she had, assuming he had slept at all.

Who could blame him, really? After all, just a few hours ago, Damon was pretty certain that he was going to die . . . again. And as for the ridiculously large bed Elena was staring at, well, it had come extremely close to being his death bed . . . his FINAL death bed.

Suddenly, in desperate need of some air, Elena headed out toward the second floor balcony. It was there that she found Damon. Though he had obviously showered and changed his clothing from the night before, the elder Salvatore brother was still dressed in all black. Damon wore black A LOT. He was a man who seemed to be eternally in mourning for his own loss of human life. Yet, this time, the "life" Damon was mourning belonged, not to him, but to his own brother.

Damon stared pensively out into the distance. A glass of bourbon was balanced precariously on the ledge in front of him. Elena was about to scold him for his unhealthy choice of "breakfast." However, the words died on her tongue, before she said them. Given all that Damon has endured, over the past few days, hasn't he earned a morning drink or two? Elena thought. Heck, she could probably use a drink or two, herself.

"Sleep well?" Damon inquired, shaking Elena out of her reverie.

Damon's back was still turned to Elena, but he had obviously sensed her presence, the minute she had approached the door to the balcony, if not sooner. Damon always seemed to know exactly what Elena was thinking, sometimes even before she had the chance to think it. Of course, given the nature of some of Elena's thoughts lately, that "gift" was quickly becoming a dangerous prospect for both of them.

Tentatively, Elena approached the ledge of the balcony. Once there, she placed her elbows on the ledge, and stared out at the sun. Elena and Damon stood together like that for a few moments . . . not speaking . . . just quietly observing the natural world laid out before them . . . the trees . . . the grass . . . the flowers. These were the only parts of their universe that seemed to make sense, anymore.

While she was busy staring off into the abyss, Damon stole an appraising glance at Elena. Cute P.J's. He thought to himself with amusement, recalling instantly that these were the same pajamas Elena was wearing when he had first told her that he loved her, though he had ultimately compelled her to forget those words. Imagine Damon's surprise, when, the very next day, Elena brought those same pajamas to the Salvatore Mansion in her knapsack.

She made up some excuse about wanting Stefan to remember her when she was gone, and, blah, blah, blah. But a part of Damon couldn't help but wonder whether a small part of Elena's subconscious remembered Damon's declaration of love. And maybe . . . just maybe . . . she kept the outfit she was wearing on the night of Damon's declaration at the Salvatore Mansion, to let Damon know that she knew deep down how he really felt about her.

Not that all this mattered now, considering that Damon had finally come clean to Elena about his feelings for her, the night before. He did it for real this time . . . no magic tricks . . . no compulsion-induced amnesia, just two people telling one another, how they truly felt about one another. Well, one person, at least. Elena's thoughts about what happened that night still remained largely a mystery to him . . .

Damon noted that Elena had never answered his question about whether she had slept well. She didn't need to. The answer was written all over her face: the dark circles under her almond-shaped eyes . . . the puffiness and reddened rims around them, which only hours of crying could produce. This was the face of a girl who was suffering from a broken heart. And Damon, of all people, could relate to that.

"I called our mutual witch friend," Damon remarked conversationally, eager to cheer up his new roommate. "She'll be over in about a half an hour to do a tracking spell for Stefan.

Elena turned to look at Damon, her brow furrowed. "You and Bonnie talk on the phone, now?" She asked incredulously.

Damon smirked and took a long sip of his bourbon, as he regarded Elena, out of the corner of his eye. If he didn't know any better, he would think that she was jealous. "What, you think you're the only one who has all the members of our little Scooby Gang on speed dial?" He joked.

"No . . . um . . . of course, not. It's good . . . that you called her, I mean," Elena replied, hoping Damon hadn't read too much in to her initial reaction. "Because we need to find him, Damon. We need to find him, and we need to bring him home."

"I know," responded Damon, solemnly. "Man, this is such a Stefan thing to do, isn't it? My brother . . . the eternal martyr for The Cause."

Elena nodded grimly, but said nothing.

"And I can't help but wonder, if I would do the same thing he did, if I was in his position," Damon posited, more to himself than to Elena.

"You wouldn't . . . because you would choose me. You'll always choose me. And he'll always choose YOU. That's just the way things are," Elena remarked, a twinge of bitterness in her voice.

The minute the words escaped Elena's mouth, she instantly regretted them. How could she have said such a thing about her boyfriend . . . the man she supposedly loved . . . the man who had already sacrificed so much for her? And she had said it in front of Damon . . . of all people, which only made it ten times worse.

"I didn't mean that," Elena sputtered. "God, you must think I am SO conceited! I mean, obviously, if there was another option that didn't involve . . . leaving . . . Stefan would have taken it. And you . . . you probably would have . . . I mean . . . he is your brother and . . . if you . . ." Elena struggled to find the right words to extricate herself from the massive hole she had just dug for herself.

Impulsively, Damon grabbed both of Elena's wrists, and turned her body so that she was directly facing him. His blue-green eyes were blazing. Elena found the effect mesmerizing, to the point where she briefly wondered whether Damon was trying to compel her. But Elena's vervain necklace was still firmly around her neck. So, she was protected from any compulsion Damon might decide to use on her. And yet, there wasn't a necklace on the planet that could protect her from herself?

"You're right, you know," Damon admitted, staring intently at Elena's face. "I know it makes my brother a better person than I'll ever be. But, if it came down to one or the other, I would have chosen you over him. Protecting you and keeping you safe . . . it's like drinking blood for me. I know it's wrong, sometimes. But I can't stop myself from doing it. When I said that to you the night of the dance, Elena, I meant it: I WILL always choose you."

Elena looked up at Damon. His eyes were so filled with love for her. And his delicate pink mouth was opened ever so slightly . . . wanting . . . waiting. She felt herself being drawn closer to him, by a force she couldn't quite control. Her head was spinning. Damon's mouth was so close now, that she could smell the mixture of bourbon and toothpaste on his breath. Elena closed her eyes, and took a step forward . . .

"I better go get dressed, before Bonnie gets here," Elena explained, breaking free from Damon's grasp, as she dashed back into the house.

Damon Salvatore unconsciously raised his hand to his lips, as he stared at the retreating body of the woman he loved, with a mixture of longing and wonderment.

9:58 a.m.

Damon opened the front door of the mansion, where a solemn-faced Bonnie Bennett stood waiting on the other side. On her shoulder rested a simple black canvas bag, undoubtedly filled with witchy paraphernalia. From the expression on Bonnie's face, you would think she was attending ANOTHER funeral, instead of performing a simple tracking spell that she must have performed dozens of times already in her short life as a witch. So, Damon decided to lighten the mood a bit.

"Hello, and welcome to the Elena Gilbert Mansion," begins Damon with an exaggerated bow. "My name is Damon Salvatore, and I will be your butler / sexy witches' assistant today. Elena will be right downstairs. She is just putting on some clothes," Damon sighs comically. "Girls and their pesky need to be covered up . . . tsk, tsk. I told her . . . 'Elena. Why bother getting dressed? Why not continue to prance around nude, as God intended?' Unfortunately, for both of us, she insisted."

Damon's insinuation that Elena was walking around the Salvatore Mansion "in the buff," caused Bonnie to raise an eyebrow, to which Damon responded with an evil grin and a sly wink. But then it occurred to Bonnie that he was probably kidding. And she chided herself for being so easily fooled.

"It's nice to see that certain death, and a nasty bout of were-rabies haven't dampened your sense of humor," Bonnie returned icily, though a glint in her eyes suggested to Damon that the young Bennett witch wasn't nearly as annoyed with the dashing vampire as she pretended to be.

Seeing an opening, Damon continued to play along, "Why thank you, Bonnie! Your excitement and obvious relief over my continued presence on this Earth, warms my heart in ways you wouldn't believe," he replied, being sure to place lascivious emphasis on the word "heart," thereby giving the seemingly innocent statement another meaning entirely.

"Hi, Elena," Bonnie called out, her expression turning serious again, as her best friend emerged at the top of the staircase.

"Bonnie . . . you're here," Elena exclaimed, rushing down the steps and directly into her friend's open arms.

For a few moments, the two teens shared a wordless and highly emotional embrace, during which more was communicated than hours of conversation could have expressed.

Damon, feeling as though he was watching something he shouldn't be, quickly escaped to the living room to pour himself another drink. Shortly thereafter, Elena and Bonnie extricated themselves from one another, as Elena blotted her eyes with a tissue she conveniently stored in the pocket of her jeans, when she was getting dressed that morning. Given the morning she had already had, Elena just knew it was going to be one of those days.

"Gosh, I'm a terrible host. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?" Elena offered.

"No, I'm OK. I just had breakfast," Bonnie replied, as she moved toward the living room. "What you can get me is something Stefan has worn recently, so I use it in the spell."

"Oh, I know the perfect thing," responded Elena excitedly. "There's this grey hoodie that he always keeps . . . right . . . here?"

Elena's eyes widened, as Damon wordlessly handed Bonnie the exact same hoodie she was describing. For a second, Elena convinced herself that Damon had snuck upstairs to get it, while Elena was talking, using his vampire speed. However, deep down, she knew better. "That hoodie was hanging on the door of Stefan's bedroom, when I went to bed last night," Elena said matter-of-factly, turning toward Damon.

"Yes, it was," agreed Damon, a sheepish expression on his face.

"You came in to get it while I was sleeping," Elena continued.

As she was saying these words, Elena vaguely remembered a strong but gentle hand, lovingly cupping her face, in the moments just before she fell asleep the night before. The owner of that hand gently ran his fingers through her hair, as he whispered in her ear, "Everything is going to be OK. I am going to fix this, if it is the last thing I do."

It was the cumulative effect of these actions that allowed Elena to feel safe and comfortable enough, to be lulled into a deep sleep, after hours lying awake crying. Elena's face reddened slightly, as she forcefully pushed the image out of her consciousness.

"I . . . uh . . . didn't want to wake you," Damon responded lamely.

Bonnie looked from Damon to Elena, and then back to Damon. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder whether Elena was having some sort of secret affair with her boyfriend's older brother. There was just something about the way they acted around one another . . . the furtive, guilty, glances they exchanged, when they thought no one was looking. It reminded Bonnie of the way she and Jeremy used to act around one another, in public, before they finally mustered up the courage to reveal their relationship to their friends and families. And yet, Bonnie would never broach this subject with Elena, out of fear of possibly insulting her best friend. She hoped that if there was something going on between Damon and Elena, Elena would eventually trust Bonnie enough to tell her herself.

"Shall, we get started?" Bonnie inquired, eager to break the tension in the room.

Not hearing any responses to the contrary, Bonnie settled herself down on the living room floor. She then placed four white candles at her feet, methodically shifting their positions, until they formed a sort of diamond around her. Inside the "diamond" with Bonnie was Stefan's hoodie, the Grimoire, a piece of white paper, and a black Sharpie marker.

Damon and Elena watched intently, as Bonnie began chanting in some ancient language, her eyes shut tightly, while her hand gently caressed Stefan's hoodie. The candles around Bonnie began to flicker, creating a strobe-like effect, and casting eerie shadows across the witch's face. Then, suddenly, Bonnie's eyes popped open, though their expression was vacant and dazed. Slowly, she picked up the Sharpie and, without looking at the paper on which she was writing, jotted down three words, in large jagged handwriting that clearly was not her own.

Once she was finished, the candles all burned out, in unison. Bonnie's eyes returned to normal, as she lifted the paper to eye level, casually reading the words printed on it herself, before flipping it over to show Damon and Elena. "Anybody ever heard of a place called Bon Temps, Louisiana?" She asked.