So I absolutely told myself that I would take a well-deserved break after finishing Neverending Progress, but as you can see, that lasted all of a week and a half. I was just too inspired by 4x06 and the promo for 4x07. Keep in mind, this story does not use any spoilers other than the ones from officially released promos by the CW. I have seen the web clip with Damon and Stefan, but it didn't fit what I wanted the scene to be, and I'm sure my story will take a drastically different turn than the show.

I need to thank my fantastic sounding board for this story, Cher Sue, who helped me with both the title and the summary. Not to mention listening to me crazy rant about this story. So if you haven't read her stuff, I HIGHLY recommend it, and not just because I'm her beta for her current story A Woman's Worth.

So anyways, I hope you all enjoy, and feel free to leave me a comment below with the good, the bad, the ugly, or even a quick prayer for DE's future happiness. You know whatever works.

Blinding sunlight, chirping birds, and an angsty teenage brother racing around the downstairs like he is actively trying to scuff up the hardwood, yep, all signs point towards a brand new day in the purgatory known as Mystic Falls. All we're missing is a nightmarish nun threatening to swat our knuckles with a ruler. Now I know what you're thinking, so before you write me off as a theatrical drama queen overly prone to hyperbole, take a single step in my shoes, and I guarantee you'll be tearing apart my liquor cabinet practically begging for one sweet drop of liquid release.

The troubles plaguing this small Virginia town are numerous and quite often deadly to its oblivious inhabitants. First there's the never-ending stream of supernatural dumb asses that instinctively pop up right when we gain a moment of temporary peace. I'm sure if any insurance company ever took the time to study this town's statistics for unexplainable 'accidents,' they'd immediately bring out a big red stamp and mark 'uninsurable' across the applications for any residents within ten miles of Mystic Falls. This place is practically a homey little death trap. It's a miracle we find time to pay our bills or clean our houses, in between the funerals and weekly celebrations for bridge building, fundraising, or whatever excuse available to drink up and toast our remarkable achievement of not dying this week.

But the real dangers in this town are the relationships. I can't tell you how much drama and mayhem has been caused all because of someone's damn feelings. Most places have to deal with the teeny bopper drama of first loves and inevitable first heartbreaks, but Mystic Falls has an added ingredient that makes this place freaking unbearable. For whatever reason, this sliver of sparsely populated land seems cursed with holding the world record for highest number of love triangles per capita. I might not have the data to back up my wild claims, but I'd be willing to stake my life on their validity. I swear it's an epidemic. If you're not involved in a love triangle in this town, it likely means you're under the age of 12 or dead.

Typically I'd consider myself above such juvenile arrangements. The constant back and forth and uncertainty tied to such relationships is a headache I neither need nor desire in my life. But sadly for me, I have the tragic misfortune of sharing identical taste in women with my younger brother, Stefan.

I don't know what cosmic force is to blame, but without fail, nearly every woman who's ever caught the eye of one Salvatore inescapably shares something, even if only a passing admiration or interest in the other. After our first disastrous foray into sharing romantic partners, you would think we'd have learned our lesson, but I find Elena Gilbert capable of bringing even the strongest of men pitifully to their knees with one meaningful gaze.

Truthfully, I should've escaped this fucked up mess when I had the chance. My gentlemen's agreement with Stefan gave me the perfect excuse to pack my things and book a one way ticket to Vegas. But the lady doctor was right, if I didn't have Stefan and Elena to protect/love/hate, what else was there to live for? My stellar personality wasn't conducive to making friends. The one and only person willing to put up with my crap long enough to earn such a distinction had to go crazy and try to kill me. All of which I could've forgiven, if he hadn't followed up his sudden channeling of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with a tragic death scene. With Ric gone, it really felt like there was no one else. Even my own flesh and blood spends more time yelling at me than bonding with me. And the woman I love belongs to someone else. So to summarize, I'm stuck in this town, with this girl, and consumed with more pain than I'll ever admit.

And my day isn't likely to improve if I have to once again remind my careless brother of the importance of proper house maintenance, since we are likely stuck with it for the next couple hundred years. But as per usual, Stefan's disregard for the lasting strength of our carpets will probably mean another shopping spree for Persian rugs, to say nothing of more floor cleaner. I suppose it would be easier to hire/compel a maid to do the mundane tasks like dusting and sweeping, but honestly I don't trust anyone else with the boardinghouse's upkeep, so I speed downstairs to survey the damage of Stefan's latest morning sprint.

Slung over his shoulder is a beaten up duffel bag, filled to the brim with clothes, and what I assume are a year's supply of hair products. I snort in derision at whatever cockamamie plan little brother's cooked up now, no doubt one concocted at Klaus' bidding. "Don't tell me, you and Klaus finally decided to give up the charade and admit to your secret love for one another," I mock, good naturedly. What's a playful joke between brothers?

Stefan glares back at me, far more murderous than is typical for one of my teasing quips. The next phrase out of his mouth is spoken with little ceremony and far too little warning. "Elena and I broke up," Stefan announces, to my stunned silence. The epic love of the century couldn't last five minutes after the fangs grew in. How fucking ironic is that?

Now I feel I should earn some brownie points for not gloating, smiling, or even reacting at all. Surprisingly, I almost feel . . . disappointed. While I should be rejoicing in the streets, Stefan's words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I see the same pain reflected in Stefan's eyes as I once glimpsed in my own, too many times to count, and whatever residual big brother instincts I still possess after all these years, come flaring back.

Starring at my brother's packed bag, I know that I'm the last person to fault Stefan for wanting to make a break for the nearest exit. I'd come closer than anyone knows to making the same choice, and I do wish for his sake that it were that simple. But soon enough he'll discover what I had, that when you can't find any joy in your own life, all you have left is living vicariously through the happiness of others. In some ways, giving Stefan and Elena the storybook ending that they deserved gave my life a sense of purpose, a sense of meaning somehow, but I couldn't even do that right. Despite my best efforts the other day to repair the rift between them, Stefan still ended up hurt in the end, and the worst part is, I don't even know why.

Seriously, people have to tell me these things. How can I fix their problems if I don't even know what the damn problem is? Stupid children! I scroll through my list of contacts, and am about to play couple's counselor over the phone to these two idiots, when the sound of Stefan's voice gives me pause. "Don't," he orders forcefully. "Whatever idea you've got brewing, just don't. You can't fix this. It's the one thing brother, you can't fix."

I drop my arm down after hearing the defeatist tone coming out of Stefan's mouth. He really has given up, on her, on their future, on everything. Great, now I'm on cheer up duty as well, as if I didn't have a busy enough day as it was uncovering Professor Shane's dirty dealings. I play off Stefan's attitude like it's nothing and move on, in hopes that he'll feel something other than the metaphorical knife in his chest.

"I've lived through such maudlin times before Stef, no need to blow this out of proportion," I assure my extra broody brother. "Let me tell you how this works, you two stay apart for a few weeks, convince yourselves that the world is ending, then at the first sign of trouble, she'll run right back into your arms. Trust me I've seen it all before." I swear it's like he's new here or something. Haven't we gone through this routine ad nauseum? Surely he knows his lines by now. The temperature seems to rise ten degrees in Stefan's face alone. It looks beet red in seconds.

"Will you just STOP!" Stefan screeches in a fury. "Stop talking, stop trying to make this all okay, and most of all stop acting like this isn't the best day of your life!" My brother finishes his little hissy fit with flair and appears ready to sock me across the jaw if I utter another word. Being the daredevil that I am, I push my luck even further.

"I'll excuse your little freak out, because I know you can kind of be a dick when Elena's not around, and I'll offer even you the pleasure of my company. Free of charge, of course, since I do believe in family discounts." I smirk smoothly at my brother as he weighs his options. I assume 'to hit me or not to hit me' that is the question.

Eventually he just settles on sulking away like a petulant teenager, which I guess technically he is, and I roll my eyes at the fact that it's somehow my responsibility to stop him. "All this trouble looking for a cure and you're just giving up?" I ask, grabbing ahold of Stefan's arm.

He wrenches it free and stares daggers through his pupils. "What's the point? She's not mine anymore, and from the looks of it she never will be again. Her transition saw to that." He hangs in head in well-deserved shame as he relives his choice to save the football hero before his one true love. I might hate still hate him a bit myself for letting her drown, but I always adopted the 'no one picks on my brother but me philosophy,' even if it meant protecting him from himself.

"A transition that can be undone," I remind him optimistically, since apparently he woke up on the grumpy side of the bed this morning. Something happens in that moment, a shift in the air, and a change in attitude. Stefan's eyes light up again at the word undone. He almost cracks a smile, a truly momentous occasion for my baby bro. Eventually he lets me in on what's buzzing around in that bipolar head of his.

"She can be fixed," Stefan states with renewed life in his voice and a pronounced bounce in his step. I grimace a little at his wording, but choose not to take issue with it.

"Well I don't think the word 'fixed' is very politically correct, but if you're worried about Elena's changes," I state carefully, "A sprinkle of humanity should have her back to her old self in no time." My encouragement is mostly for Stefan's benefit, since I never quite shared his desire to change her. Whether Elena was a human or a vampire, she was still her; some might argue she was more herself than ever. But if warm skin and a living heart is what Stefan required to ride this fairy tale to its conclusion, then so be it. Elena wanted the cure, so did Stefan. Democracy had spoken, and I could tow the party line.

Stefan's demeanor shifted dramatically with his new sense of hope, and his renewed focus made him moderately useful once more. "I'll check in with Jeremy, see if he's up for a little vampire hunting road trip," Stefan informs me cheerfully. His giddiness is almost creepy compared to the contrast from just a few minutes ago, but I'm too thrilled to lose the pesky weight off Stefan's shoulders to question it.

I do however grab on one more time as a thought occurs to me. "Are we sure including Jeremy in this plan is the right move? I don't know about you, but I'd rather not wake up one day to find baby Gilbert putting vervain in my morning bourbon and toting around a stake with my name on it." My skepticism is met with Stefan's confusion at the unexpected concern for Elena's brother. While normally, my enjoyment of young Gilbert's particular brand of goofy loner wouldn't earn him a reprieve, Elena had recently tackled me, and made abundantly clear that she needed Jeremy to hold her together. A concern my brother apparently did not share.

"We need a hunter. Jeremy is one, end of discussion," Stefan proclaims, with his bossy pants newly dry cleaned and stronger than ever. While I'm sure that this is in fact not the last we'd hear on the subject, I opt to let it go for the time being, so as not to test Stefan's fragile good mood. He stalks off to plan phase two of our quest for this elusive cure, and I come up with strategies to thwart whatever terrible ideas he comes up with on his first try.

In the middle of my own, and might I add far superior, scheming, the sound of Elena's personal ring tone registers in the silence, and I move quickly to answer, expecting to find a sobbing mess on the other end of the line. My expectations are turned entirely on their head when Elena's chipper voice greets me like it was any other day. In fact Elena sounds happier than she does on most days. Last time I remember her being this cheerful was before the accident, before Stefan came home as the ripper. There wasn't much joy to be found after that. It must be the denial I convince myself. When are those two going to learn, denial is an unhealthy coping mechanism, not an acceptable life choice!

Despite my frustration, I still manage to listen intently to Elena's nervous stammering. "So how have you been?" Elena asks, in what has to be the lamest opening to a phone conversation ever. I know she's fishing for something, and judging by her chipper mood, it isn't a shoulder to cry on.

"What do you need, Elena?" I ask, in my best sensitive voice, not wanting the dam to break while we're on the phone.

"A . . . date," she answers finally, leaving me shell shocked and nearly dropping the phone. Then after a few seconds without words, she gets all stammery again and starts talking faster than most humans could listen. "StefanandIbrokeupandIreallyn eedanescortforMissMysticFall s,andIthoughtyoumightwanttotak eme," she tirelessly utters her entire request in one lengthy breath. By the end, I swear I hear her panting.

I take a moment to consider what Elena's asking, and I make the bone headed move of addressing the elephant in the room. "Elena," I breathe her name out in an exhausted sigh. "What would Stefan say about me taking you to this dance?"

A brief pause hangs in the air for just a moment. "What if I told you I didn't care?" Her question takes me by surprise, by its sheer absurdity alone. Elena almost sounds frightened, as if the very possibility that there could be a universe in existence where she doesn't constantly obsess over what Stefan would approve of is unfathomable. It's too good to be true. I know it is. We've been down this road too many times. I'm obviously reading far too much into this, and once I see her, she'll just say that she was pissed off at my brother for dumping her and that's why she suddenly could give a flying fuck what he thought. But bad idea or not, I wasn't going to leave her hanging, and I certainly couldn't let Matt Donovan be her date, assuming that was her go to second backup. He would look terrible in a suit, like a fish out of water, and the fish might even be better suited for a black tie affair.

"I do look very sexy in a suit," I flirt shamelessly; knowing that it won't do anything more than put an extra bit of blush in her cheeks. "Also you'll need someone to carry you out of the party when your trial period of denial wears off and you break down in tears," I predict confidently.

She laughs at my summation of her emotional state. I see we're stuck with more denial for the foreseeable future. "I'm really okay," she promises, with a true sincerity that makes me question myself. "But if I do fall, I'd like you there to catch me," Elena states with unashamed affection that I'm unaccustomed to. I clear my throat awkwardly in an attempt to change the subject from the emotional implications of what she just said, and probably didn't truly mean.

"I'll pick you up at 7," I choke out nervously. "Wear something pretty," I add, in an attempt to salvage my smart ass reputation. Once off the phone, I look down at my hand, and try to ignore the unexplainable shaking. I'm not some teenage girl being asked to the prom by the football player. I have some pride you know . . . somewhere. Maybe I left it in my other pants. Regardless, I can't make a big deal out of this. It's just a friendly night of dancing and formal escort duties. I can handle this, hopefully without coming off as a spastic teenager. I practically invented what it meant to be cool.

My resolve to maintain my composure lasts all the way up to the Gilbert front door, as I'm dressed impeccably well, strictly for the sake of posterity. If we do all turn human one day, Elena will want to look back at these pictures and think damn we were hot. I'm only helping her advance that goal, and am by no means dressing up for any other reasons. My delusions last even up to the knock on her door, a bizarre gesture for someone so used to barging right in. I convince myself that this will be simple, until she opens the door looking more stunning than I've ever seen her. Her dress is a tight fitting black and white contrast, accentuated with dark lace that hits just below the knees. The simple style of her loosely tied up brown locks, only emphasizes her elegance. For hours, I persuaded myself that this wasn't a big deal, but the moment I saw her, I just went ahh.

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