AN: Um, so it's it been awhile, hasn't it? Apologies about that- writer's block and school have been conspiring against me. This story covers 3.17 and 3.18, and will be at least a two-parter. Reviews/feedback/prompts would be lovely and thanks for reading!

They used to be able to simply look at each other and know exactly what the other was thinking; Stefan could glance at Elena and know that she needed a hug, a kiss, an escape from the chaos raining down on them. She knew him better than anyone, better than Damon or Lexi, and sometimes it overwhelmed him how they were, how easily she was able to read him. Sometimes she could tell how he was feeling even if he himself didn't really know- it was like that with Elena, everything was clearer.

Now they look at each other and it's unbearably awkward, the gulf of lies and unspoken words between them. They look at each other and aren't quite sure what's real and what's fake, a facade built to protect themselves from getting hurt or revealing too much. He's to blame, he knows that. Stefan's all too painfully aware of how he acts around Elena, how he deliberately makes his voice flat and chooses the harshest words possible, all in an effort to push her away. It's no surprise, really, that Elena's seeking comfort-love--from someone else, but it hurts anyways, seeing her smile at Damon and watching her relax when they talk. You walked away, Stefan reminds himself. You chose this. You don't deserve her. That doesn't help at all, but he can't quite bring himself to stop trying to push her away. If only because she's safer without him.

Still, sometimes Elena looks at him and Stefan almost breaks, sometimes she looks like she still knows exactly what he's thinking.

Elena awkwardly grips the book and watches Stefan, hating how tight her voice sounds, how tentative and nervous she sounds. At first the blood-bag knocks the wind out of her, just the sight of it makes it difficult for her to breathe because it brings everything back, Stefan the Ripper and the trail of bodies he left behind.

It's different, though, the blood-bag. Stefan the Ripper wouldn't take the time to neatly open the bag and pour some of it into a glass, he would have torn it open and already drained it. Hell, Stefan the Ripper would only drink from blood-bags as a last resort as he made it perfectly clear that he preferred his blood to come from warm bodies.

He's doing it again, she realizes as he deflects her offer of help and starts talking about Samantha Gilbert trying to give herself a lobotomy with a knitting needle. Sounding like he doesn't give a damn how she feels, how his words affect her, sounding like he really doesn't care about anyone at all. Trying to hurt her, trying to push her away.

She hates herself for letting it work, for allowing herself to be pushed away.

There are a thousand words she should say, things she should tell him, but she can't bring herself to, not yet, maybe not ever again. Telling him she loves him used to be easy, it used to be second nature. Now she's terrified of telling him because she's afraid of not hearing him say the words back, afraid that he wouldn't listen even if she shouted them from a rooftop. There was a time when she wouldn't have been afraid; the first time is crystal clear in her mind, watching him walk away and deciding to risk it, stepping out of the car and telling him she loved him despite not knowing how he would react.

She wishes she could be that brave now. Instead she watches him drink blood and just stays with him, watching him carefully as he drains the blood. His hand grips the back of the chair so hard the wood almost splits. He's scared, she realizes, unsure if he'll be able to control himself but determined to try and she loves him for that.

There really are a lot of reasons why she's in love with him.

Stefan doesn't leave after he forces his blood down Meredith's throat, blindly retreating to the safest place in the Gilbert house even as he curses himself for not staying, for running away instead of helping. Elena checks Meredith's wound and it's already healing, Meredith is slowly regaining a groggy consciousness. She moans quietly and weakly opens her eyes, not really recognizing her surroundings.

"You're gonna be okay," Elena murmurs. She can't focus on anything really, lost in thought about how Stefan had looked at her, how Alaric had smiled coldly at her. She can't think about that, she needs to focus, and she finds her phone, calling with shaking hands and leaving bloody fingerprints behind.

"Please tell me you've got good news," Damon answers, sounding harried and irritated and worried all at once.

The story tumbles out and she doesn't recognize her own voice, how eerily calm she sounds. "Meredith's hurt and Alaric's unconscious and possibly crazy and I don't know where Stefan is and you need to get over here right now."

She doesn't wait for his answer. Instead she checks Meredith's wound again- already her skin looks completely normal, as if Alaric had never attacked her. Gently, gingerly, she helps Meredith up and walks her to the guest room where Meredith collapses on the bed, almost instantly falling asleep. She wonders if Meredith had seen the attack coming, how she felt about running away from someone she cared about.

The memory comes back so easily, the man she's in love with coming after her, not caring if she lived or died. Only caring about her blood and consuming as much of it as possible. Stefan as the Klaus-controlled Ripper and Alaric as the Possible Jekyll and Hyde are too similar and she's not sure either of them will ever be able to recover from what they did while they weren't in control.

Damon's there within minutes, more concerned about Alaric than, as he calls Meredith, Dr. Crazy, and Elena can't help remembering the time when Stefan would be the one doing this, asking her if she's all right and moving Alaric to the car.

"He'll be fine," Damon looks at Elena and she looks away. Anywhere except Alaric, unconscious and hurt, his features no longer twisted by chilling cold eyes and a sick smile.

"Will he," Elena mutters. How many times could someone come back to life before he was forever changed completely?

"Elena," Damon grabs her shoulders. "Alaric will be fine. Just fine- hell, if you start losing hope, we are all royally screwed."

She nods, but she can't think clearly right now. Everything is unraveling again, people are dying and getting hurt and she has no fucking clue how to stop it.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Damon's grip on her shoulders tighten.

"I'm fine," Elena says. "I'm fine."

He doesn't look like he really believes her, but he doesn't push her, nodding brusquely and starting to get in the car.

"Stefan was able to control it," Elena tells him quietly. "Meredith was bleeding and he just gave her some of his blood. Whatever you're doing with him is working."

Damon hesitates before saying, "If he was able to control it in there it's because of you, Elena. Not me. The only reason why he's even trying again is because of you."

He won't look at her as he backs out of the driveway, leaving Elena standing there shaken and confused. If only she could switch off her feelings because she would pay good money to be numb right now instead of filled with grief and loss.

Elena cleans the bathroom methodically, washing bloodstains away from yet another floor in the house. It takes a while but even after she's finished she knows she won't be able to sleep; she wants to talk to someone but as she looks at her phone she can't think of who to call, who to fall apart weeping to. The two people she'd most like to talk to-Stefan and Jeremy-are the furthest from her emotionally now, the ones she can't call no matter how much she wants to.

She's pulling her bloodstained shirt off when she spots the figure huddled in the window-seat.

"Stefan," Elena gasps and jumps slightly, not expecting to see him in her house let alone her bedroom. "What...I thought you..."

Though she never had heard him leave, hadn't heard him running down the stairs or slam the door. He must have been there the entire time, she realizes, and it's easy to see how shaken he is, how he's completely freaking out and not trying to hide anything. It's the first time she's seen him bare and open in days, months really. His arm is still coated with blood and he's holding it as far away from his body as possible.

"Stay there," Elena tells him and quickly goes to her bathroom, runs water over a washcloth. Her face is ashen and exhausted, her hands are trembling, she looks as shattered as Stefan. When she walks back into her room her heart breaks a little at how he looks and it's almost alarming how much she wants to hold him and kiss him, how hard she loves him.

She eases besides him on the window-seat and takes his arm slowly, pressing the washcloth against his bloodstained skin. Amazingly enough Stefan doesn't pull away, lets her clean his skin. He does duck his head so she can't see the expression on his face, he did that sometimes even when they were together, hiding from her when he was overwhelmed and ashamed. She'd bring him back slowly, pressing against him, whispering and holding his hand, coaxing him back to life. Stefan's so quick to punish himself and it breaks Elena's heart every time. She lightly ran her fingers across the spot where he'd bit himself, not that there was even a hint of a wound there.

"I'm proud of you," Elena tells him softly. "How you acted with Meredith, with Alaric."

Stefan only flinches and Elena tentatively takes his hand. "Stefan..." she trails off, at a loss for words. "Stefan," she repeats, sighing a little as she says his name. She misses him. So much, a physical ache that still leaves her reeling every morning when she wakes up reaching for him, her heart feels incomplete without him and parts of her hates that, hates how much she needs him.

"What you said earlier," she says carefully. "About not being what I wanted-why? I don't... maybe I don't want-,"

"I shouldn't be anything to you," Stefan says harshly. "After what I've done to you? To everyone? I can't ignore that. Believe me, there is nothing I'd like better, but I can't let myself do that."

"So don't. But don't torture yourself," Elena grips his wrist. "You keep acting like you don't care about anything-,"

"If I let myself care, it's too painful," Stefan mutters, his voice cracking. "I told you."

"You've told me a lot of things," Elena points out. "Only I'm not really sure what to believe anymore."

Stefan looks at her and it hits her again, the still raw grief in his eyes, the loss that's written all over his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry for what I've done to you."

"I forgive you," Elena tells him, her voice unsteady. "I just wish you could forgive yourself. Stop punishing yourself, Stefan, please, just..."

She leans forward and wraps her arms around his neck, allows her body to lightly press against his. It's ridiculous how her body so easily remembers this, how good it felt just to hold him even though he wasn't holding her, even when he's awkward and nervous and they weren't anything like they were before. Her eyes close and she turns her face into his skin, breathing him in and relaxing against him. She misses him more than ever.

Slowly, painfully so, Stefan brings his arms around her and she nearly cries because even that tiny gesture means so much to her. And really, Stefan holding her is so much more than a tiny gesture. A smile creeps across her face as she folds herself against him, sliding down so she rests against his chest and curls her fist against his heart.

Even as he's holding her and tracing circles on her back, Stefan can't forget. He can't let go of the way he's acted, the things he said that made the light in her eyes die both while he had emotions switched off and afterwards. How he threatened her, tore her neck open, the terror in her eyes on Wickery Bridge. How he practically pushed her into Damon's arms, how he just sat back and let Damon save her countless times.

"It's okay," Elena murmurs and burrows into him. She's already falling asleep. "Stefan."

It's not okay, Stefan thinks, it'll never be okay until Klaus is dead and this nightmare is over. Maybe then he'll be able to pick up the pieces that remain of his shattered life, but until then he can't let himself break. He's crying silently, tears falling into Elena's hair; he misses her like crazy, it's like he's incomplete without her and yet he can't tell her that, he doesn't want to burden her.

Elena's asleep and Stefan would give just about anything to stay there, to become a crazy stalker and listen to her breath, watch her face and memorize every single detail that he already knows by heart. Instead, he gently picks her up and moves her to her bed, covering her with the comforter and making sure her bear's there, the one she can't sleep without. His hand hesitates over her cheek, but he forces himself away, backing slowly out of the room.

He doesn't stop running until he's miles away, when he's crying and heaving, trying to forget everything. He'd almost let go back there, almost broke down and begged her to take him back into her life again, begged to know if she still loved him. More than anything he wants that, to hear Elena saying his name in that way she had, filled with so much love. He wanted to kiss her again, hold her tightly and never let her go.

He shouldn't.

It's no good thinking about what might have been, no good dwelling on what he wanted, not when Klaus is still roaming around causing chaos. Klaus who would want more of Elena's blood, if not now than sometime in the future, Klaus who would stop at nothing to convince Elena to just give up and give herself to him to protect everyone. Klaus who deserved to die an extremely long and incredibly painful death, but really, Stefan will settle for a quick and painless death if it means getting rid of the bastard for good.

Hearing about the salvaged wood helps. Stefan almost smiles at that, though he's not exactly tempted to join in Damon's cackling because there's no way it can be this simple. No fucking way would they actually catch a lucky break for once. Still, he allows himself to hope that maybe soon Klaus would be dead. Maybe then he could actually work up the courage to confess to Elena how crazy in love with her he still is.

He sips some scotch and watches Damon dart around, waving a glass of bourbon in one hand and clutching the sign like it's a trophy (which it kind of is). His brother has a proud smirk on his face and sounds utterly gleeful, certain that everything will be all right now that they have a weapon. The end is near, in Damon's mind, and maybe this time it really is.

Maybe after Klaus is dead, his body destroyed and ashes scattered, Stefan will look up and find that it doesn't change anything, that he's still lost everything. That he let everything go. He watches Damon and thinks of how Damon was the one people called in a crisis now, Damon was the one who helped Elena move Alaric, Damon was the one to comfort her. Stefan just hid in Elena's room unable to do anything, useless and cowering and barely in control. He flinches at the memory and thinks of how his brother looks at Elena, the care and love that Stefan's terrified of letting shine through that comes so easily from Damon.

Stefan downs another scotch and tries not to think about Elena or Damon. Instead he tries to focus on how to best use their new weapon because it hurts to think of everything else.

AN: I should have Part 2 posted in a day or two.