Scars Remain by Ash Kennedy Stefan wasn't sure how he made his way back to the comfort of the boarding house, or how he ended up in the familiar confines of his attic bedroom. He could sense that Mrs. Flowers was home, perhaps even awake. But for whatever excuse her dotty old brain had fabricated, she hadn't bothered to investigate the racket he'd made on his way in. Clad in a baggy t-shirt and pair of jeans that were worn enough that they didn't further aggravate his battered and wounded body, he lay on his bed. The bed that held Elena's scent and the reek of animal blood within it's folds like phantom treasures; that hadn't brought solace on sleepless nights when he'd been haunted by memories of his human life. He wondered what he was doing there, in the room that held the events that had transpired over the year in an iridescent bubble. One brush of a finger and it would burst, showering him with the jagged pieces of a puzzle whose torn edges interlocked in the most skewed of ways. The look of terror frozen on Elena's face as he met her eyes over the body of the dove he'd fed from. That Halloween night she'd discovered his true nature fitting into the crevice of the heavy weight in his heart. The one he'd felt when she'd sacrificed herself to save them from Katherine's diabolical wrath. A chain of incidents tethered to five centuries of existence and ending in cataclysm. He rolled onto his back and draped a hand over his eyes, trying to block both the view of the familiar room and the old memories. This wasn't where he belonged. The thought flitted through his mind like a ghost, dissipating almost before it had formed. But it was powerful enough to make his chest tighten and his fists clench, nails biting into his palms hard enough to draw blood. Klaus had driven him to the pinnacle of pain, rendered him broken and vulnerable, and then used him for his own sadistic pleasure. The torture was relentless, the prospect of being at such a creature's beck and call ultimately humiliating. Why, then, was he racked with such a longing to hear malicious words rolling off the Original's twisted tongue like poisoned poetry? Alone, finally free of his cruel bonds, he should have felt relieved about his liberation. His thoughts should have been focused on Matt and the others; He should have been checking to see if they were still alive, and what havoc Klaus had wreaked upon Fell's Church. But instead he just felt like a soul without a vessel, aimlessly drifting along without any higher purpose. He twisted on the bed, body contorting painfully into a fetus shape despite the protests of his aching muscles. He wrapped his arms about his head, his grip loose but serving its purpose to block out the world. Again, he wondered what he was doing in the Boarding House. How had he even got there? He doubted Klaus had let him go free or that he had managed to escape on his own. There was a glimmer of memory just at the edge of his thoughts, burrowing through that which cluttered his mind. If he could just get through the pounding in his temples and focus he might be able to remember what had happened. Pain, sharp like a sword's edge flared in his jaw and snaked down the muscles in his neck. His concentration snapped like a dry twig. He came to his senses to find himself standing in the bathroom. He hadn't realized he'd moved from the bed but now that he was here, standing over the cold, porcelain tub, he became occupied with the thought that maybe a bath would help to soothe him. It was the sight of his own marred flesh that brought everything back to him where his own feeble attempts to remember had failed. He hadn't turned on the lights- in the darkness there weren't any constant reminders of the torment he had suffered- but there was enough moonlight shining in from the bathroom window for his enhanced vision to make out the razor-toothed tracery of scars, the cancer- like blotches of bruises. Dressing in haste upon his return, his mind floating in some space between his shattered psyche and conscious mind, he hadn't noticed the horrific state of his body. But now he stared at the vicious marks scoring his pale skin with morbid fascination, memories stirring beneath a brittle veil of sanity…. ====== / He was roused from the depths of sleep by a surge of power that swelled then ebbed in his mind, throbbing rhythmically like the current of some great ocean. Klaus crouched beside him, features bathed in an eerie play of shadows and light from the feeble candlelight that lit the crypt. When he spoke his voice was laced with excitement; like a wolf anticipating a kill while it stalked its prey. "I expected you to show up," he said into the darkness, chuckling softly to himself. "Although you're late for your appointment." Stefan sat up and squinted into the abyss. It gaped before him like the throat of some immense creature but he could only see the deep, dark colors of black on black. "Come to reclaim this?" Klaus continued. There was a ring at the back of the metal collar fastened around Stefan's neck and he yanked it. The younger vampire gasped as the razor edges chafed his skin but didn't give a struggle. " That might prove difficult. I've grown quite fond of his company." This time Klaus reached for Stefan's genitals and gave them a squeeze, eliciting a feeble whimper. " Especially in my bed. He has some extraordinary talents there. You should be glowing with pride." Stefan didn't miss the shimmer of movement from the depths of the crypt. A figure emerged from the blackness into the shallow pool of candlelight, half obscured by shadows. The familiarity of the pale features, the dark silky hair, and the black attire dredged up memories from some core part of Stefan's mind, some shred of humanity that had buried itself in order to survive Klaus' onslaught. His muscles went slack with a shred of hope as he was plunged into the enfolding warmth of recognition. "Damon," he whispered, but the sound was so more then a hiss on his cracked and parched lips. Obsidian eyes met dulled green and Stefan could see anguish dancing in those dark orbs that only he could understand. He turned away, discovering feelings he thought had been suppressed by Klaus's torturous influence were far from dormant, sprouting like seedlings from the darkness inside. "Let him go," Damon demanded, his voice thick with mounting fury./=== Sitting in tepid water that was rapidly reaching freezing point, hugging his drawn up knees, Stefan hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he felt the feather-light touch of fingertips upon the lids. He opened them to find a dark figure looming over him, so close that its features were a blurred, amorphous mass. /Klaus?/ he thought with the taste of anticipation on his tongue that died as the figure drew away and things sharpened into focus. He could make out dishevelled but soft black hair and eyes the color of Hematite. Damon was leaning over the lip of the tub, arms dangling into the water, hands idly tracing spiralling patterns on the liquid surface. He was shirtless and even in the darkness Stefan could make out the faint traces of the bite marks that adorned him as reached over and turned the hot water tap on. There was one where his neck met his shoulder, accompanied by a mangled mass of pale flesh in the process of healing. His eyes roamed lower to discover another bite on his chest that was encircled by a blossoming deep-black bruise. Without a word the older Salvatore took the washcloth dangling from Stefan's hands. Lathering it up with soap that smelt of fall mornings and honey-oat, he touched it to his younger brother's forehead and washed away the crust of dried blood and dirt that clung to his hairline. Stefan watched him from the corner of his eye, keeping silent as Damon tenderly rinsed away the layer of filth that had accumulated on his body. Sometimes it drew shivers of agony from him, especially where his groin had been mangled by Klaus's teeth. The original had fed from him each day, keeping him at the brink of death and unable to heal. But he let Damon wash him, despite the pain, and when it was over he turned to meet his eyes. But Damon had stood up, kicked his jeans into the bathroom corner. He looked down at his brother, his posture as guarded as ever. "Mind If I join you," he asked, his voice flat and echoing in the small room. Stefan found himself unable to speak, so he shook his head in acquiescence, and Damon slid into the water on the end opposite him. Their eyes met across the distance between them, both of them silently regarding the other. === /Klaus stood, a smile tugging at the corners of a mouth that had been tinted scarlet with Stefan's blood. He pulled the younger Salvatore to his feet by the collar. Stefan, whose legs were weak with fatigue, rested his weight on the Original so that he wouldn't slip back to the ground. "You're a persuasive one," Klaus mused, raking Damon over with his eyes. Stefan recognized the look on his face. He'd seen it too many times before while secured by the Original's bonds, and something akin to dread slithered through his veins, causing him to shudder involuntarily. "But no. I think he likes it here with me, don't you Stefan?" Stefan stared at the cruel smile on Klaus's face before looking over to his brother. He cast his eyes down and gave an abrupt nod. And almost keeled over from the backwash of anger he felt radiate from Damon. "You son of a bitch," his brother growled from between clenched teeth. "Let him go. /Now/." Klaus's smile merely stretched wider and Stefan fell limp as the Original let go of him. The younger Salvatore recognized the clicking noise that rang in his ears as Klaus's belt buckle unclasping; the snarl that came next as his zipper being yanked down. He sat up, waiting for the beckoning commands but they never came. Instead Klaus stood inches from Damon, his tall physique dwarfing the older Salvatore. Klaus reached out and seized Damon by the throat; exerting enough pressure that the vampire wouldn't be able to pull free. He didn't so much as flinch and the Old One felt a twinge of disappointment as he studied the boy's empty expression. He made a sound in his throat that would have been a laugh if not for the malicious edge to it. "I may be interested in releasing him for an equal exchange. And I've witnessed that you're as equally good with your tongue as you are with your hands. You could prove a lot more valuable to me then you're brother ever was. Say...I keep you and he walks away the free Salvatore?" Damon's breath came slow and even and his pupils dilated so that they were deep black pools. "Alright," he agreed in a voice that was cold enough to rival an ice storm. "Excellent choice, boy." Releasing Damon from his grip, he stalked back to Stefan. Fingers deftly removed the collar from around the younger Salvatore's neck, then lingered for a few moments, caressing clammy skin with fingertips. Finally, he stepped away from Stefan./ A gaping hole in the bathtub tiling leading into darkness, bits of cement and ceramic breaking away and tumbling into the water like the remnants of shattered teeth. A fleck of crimson tainted the water's surface like the onset of decay and Stefan stared at it, his mind unwilling to focus for several long seconds. "It was old," Damon explained. His fingers brushed the edge of the hole leaving dark, red stains in their wake. Stefan's eyes trailed them down the wall and into the water where equally red blossoms sprung up around them like storm clouds and floated towards the surface. When Damon lifted his hand again the younger Salvatore could make out the wet, meaty edges of the gashes across his knuckles. They were deep, jagged and beneath the threads of ropey muscle bone lay exposed. Fresh blood spewed forth, snaking and spiraling down the back of his hand like a network of rivers. But the flesh was already re-knitting itself, the very fibers melding with each other to form a perfect whole. Stefan hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath but now that he watched his brother heal he understood why he hadn't dared to breathe. In his weakened state Damon was vulnerable, open for an attack of any sort. And the scent of blood was heavy on the air, a heady aroma that lingered in his nostrils and sent his senses on edge. He could feel the bloodlust creeping along the back of his throat, teasing seductively at his canines. Yet even as they lengthened he didn't think to stop himself. Klaus had taught him never to hold back, to grip the hunger in greedy hands and let it carry you along to your sweet prize. He was reluctant at first, his morals proving an obstacle as Klaus urged him to bite and tear and not to stop until their hearts ceased to beat and their mouths expelled their dying breath. However, the battle of wills was short lived. Klaus, with the cruel torture he inflicted if defied, had Stefan not only feeding on but savoring the blood of humans. Stefan remembered with unrelenting clarity the first time he'd taken a human life through feeding. Klaus had drug the younger vampire with him on one of his excursions. They'd gone down to the lake where the young folk of Fell's Church often parked their cars at night so that they'd have some privacy while they fucked and drank and smoked their pungent drugs. The Original had gone up to the nearest car and pried the door open, the couple inside screaming in fear and pain as he snapped their bones like twigs and dragged them from the safety of the vehicle, presenting them to Stefan. He'd said "These look like good eats. And there's plenty more where they came from." A chuckle had erupted from his throat, piercing the night air, but beneath it Stefan could hear the muffled sounds coming from the couple-- the man was making soft squealing noises, the woman was sobbing. Klaus took the woman for himself and left the man unguarded and Stefan had been so hungry, and so very wary that his mind hadn't felt any remorse. He'd crawled over to him like a stalking animal, every muscle in his body singing with anticipation. His lips parted, pressed into where the neck met the shoulder under the ear. And he Damon was busy licking the last of the blood that stained his hand like a cat grooming itself. But he snapped his head up when Stefan sprang to his feet and nearly fell over the lip of the tub as he scrambled out. There was the telltale bang of the toilet seat as the green-eyed vampire yanked it up. And then he was retching. Only slimy cords of bile came up but he stayed there regardless with his head simply hanging over the bowl and his mouth agape. The taste of human blood, fished from the depths of memory, lingered on his tongue like the after taste of rotted meat. He wished to be rid of it, to scrape his tongue raw until it was numb. But he knew that it was only a memory. Something that would fade in time. Or at least he willed it too. Beside him the shadows shifted and strong arms wrapped around him, blanketing him in the comforting folds of towel cloth. Hands lingered on his shoulders and then footsteps retreated across the floor. It was some time before he was able to pull his head away from the toilet bowl, and longer still until he mustered the strength to pad into the other room. Damon was sitting on the bed with his knees drawn up, clad only in a pair of faded jeans that Stefan recognized as his own. The one's Damon had worn there still lay in a wet pile beside the tub. "I didn't expect you to be here still," Stefan sighed. Damon's eyes glittered in the darkness and he let the silence linger between them before he shrugged. "I had to make sure you were alright." Stefan was taken back by the confession as he crossed the distance between them. "Then how did you--" "I didn't." The answer was like the crack of a whip. Damon looked away from him, towards the window. The moon shone along the angles and curves of his body like a phosphorescent pelt, giving him an appearance that was as harsh as his tone. "He let me come. For a price." Stefan wanted to ask what price that was but Damon pulled him down beside him before he could. When he spoke it was so softly that Stefan almost didn't catch it. "It was worth it." "No, it wasn't." "He'll kill us both, Stefan. He'll destroy this town, everything in it. You have no idea what he can-" "I /know/ what he can do," Stefan cut in. Rage flooded to his surface and he made an attempt to quell it, but the imagery swam across his vision, seeping into every corner of his mind and consuming his thoughts. Crimson...like the sweet, comforting warmth of blood splashing against his tongue and throat. /No/, he thought and forced the need down with the last of his mental strength. But it might as well have been a wall made of pure steel for it would not be eradicated. The younger Salvatore let out a soft moan of agony and tried to stand but his brother held fast to him. "This is what he's done to me," Stefan managed to get out. "He drew my bloodlust out like something to be conquered, twisted and manipulated it as he wished, and forced me to kill to satiate it. Have you ever known what that's like? To know nothing but the desire to feed?" "I have." Damon held out his arm, a slither of pure ivory shot through with the faintest tracery of blue veins. "But the damage has already been done. Take what you need." Stefan's gaze lingered on the pale offering and for a moment it seemed as if he would accept. But then he made a noise that was halfway between disgust and despair and looked away. "I wanted him, Damon. He ripped me apart from the inside out. And I /wanted/ it. I took pleasure in the fear and pain he invoked in me." He laughed and it sounded wrong in the confines of the attic room, full of something that Damon had never wanted to hear coming from his brother. But it had crept into him and spread to his core like cancer, festering there and turning his soul as black and jagged as chips of obsidian. "'Saint Stefan,' as you used to so aptly put it, begged at the heels of that monster to be fucked and beaten like the lowliest of bastards." Damon's attention was focused on the window. For several seconds he sat staring off into the distance, eerily silent. "I don't think he's finished with you." "A part of me wants to believe that," Stefan let out on a sigh. "What?" Damon tore his gaze away from the window and glared at his brother with eyes the color of blood in moonlight. The look on his face was stricken, as if someone had just dealt him a blow to the gut. "What are you talking about?" "In the bathroom. When you came in I thought you were Klaus. I was /hoping/ you were him." Stefan's eyes fluttered closed. "It's like a part of me was torn from my body, but the roots are still buried somewhere inside me. He's everywhere in my mind. I can still taste him, feel him, hear him. I can't escape him." "Do you desire him?" Damon asked with narrowed eyes. A smile touched Stefan's lips but it was cold, graced by the unfurling darkness of his thoughts. "I loathe the very feeling, but I do. He disgusts me. His mind is a cesspool of things that make /you/ look like an innocent. I was exposed to it constantly. But I /need/ him, Damon." Stefan's eyes opened and they were a dark, glistening green, as if he was trying to hold back tears. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's an obsession that conflicts with my very nature. And I'm powerless against it. I feel as if I'll crack at any moment and just go back to him. And that's what his intentions were, weren't they? He knew this would happen and that's the only reason he released me." Damon nodded in confirmation but said nothing. "How do I even begin to fight this?" Stefan asked, as if to himself. "You don't." Damon's voice was as harsh as metal grinding against metal. The younger Salvatore looked toward his brother, trying to gauge his words by his expression, but his gaze had drifted back to the window. "What do you mean?" he asked him. "I mean," the black haired vampire replied, "that there isn't any way to fight it. Not with that bastard alive, there isn't." The older Salvatore rose to his feet in one fluid motion and fixed his eyes on his brother. His gaze was as dark and empty as a moonless night, but there was something else there, too. Something that made Stefan's last shreds of hope tremble and cower before it. It was the wide-eyed panic in the horse's eyes as its mount faced down the enemy, the sweat that rolled off its haunches as it galloped towards the battlefield; it was pure, merciless fear. Damon was afraid of Klaus. Or afraid of what his brother had become. In either case he sighed and turned his back on his younger sibling. "I have to go," he said and crossed the room. "I only came to check on you, and he'll be waiting for me." "Wait." Stefan rose too, following him. "Not with him alive? Then if we destroy him…." The older Salvatore's fingers wound around the door handle, tightened. "There isn't any way to destroy him. You've seen what he's done to you and I, and to those two girls. Do you honestly think we could fight that?" "We'd find a way." "And what way would that be? Fire, sunlight, wooden stakes? Or better yet, maybe the redhead's psychic powers can ward him off." "We've fought Katherine. She was of the same bloodline." "/Elena/ fought Katherine. And she paid the price, didn't she? Besides, Katherine was stupid and weak. She was probably no more then Klaus's favorite plaything." He paused then, stealing a glance over his shoulder. "And you forget, little brother. We two are of the same bloodline. But even our combined forces aren't enough to overpower an Original." The truth that rang in his brother's words made Stefan wince and he opened his mouth to say something. Damon cut him off. "Trust me for once, Stefan." The older vampire had opened the attic door and was on the first step. "I want him dead as much as you do." "Then why?" "I already told you." Damon's voice hadn't risen the slightest but there was a fury to his words that was intense enough to freeze the blood in Stefan's veins. "It's futile. Gather your human friends and their families and leave here before anything worse happens. Because you do understand he's just getting warmed up, don't you? Oh, yes. He's going to slaughter all of you like lambs. He said as much to me. And it won't even be an effort. "As for you, I can't promise you anything, but distance might be somewhat of a solution. You might not feel as strong a longing as you do now." "And what about Klaus? Are you just going to let him destroy everything?" Damon was halfway down the staircase before he stopped. Slowly he turned back to face his brother, his eye's as cold and hard as onyx beads. "Leave him to me." Stefan could only watch as the older Salvatore disappeared into the darkness as silently as he'd come. He wanted to chase after him, shout his name until his throat was raw and bleeding. But he knew it would be pointless. They'd both chosen their paths. Only Stefan's was not the one his brother had tried to force him to take. He would not flee. He'd sworn to protect these people and the town that had already seen enough tragedy in its time. Even if he died doing so, he wasn't going to abandon his duty. Curling back up on the bed, he pulled his blanket around him and closed his eyes. And knew his dreams would not be pleasant that night. = = = Sometime later a knock at the door drew Stefan out of the mental cocoon he'd wrapped tightly around himself. For a moment he thought it might be Damon but the thought was absurd. Damon would never have knocked, just slipped in quietly. And after the words they'd shared as they parted, he didn't think Damon would be coming back anymore. He wondered if he would ever see his brother again, and knew that with Klaus in the equation there was a possibility he wouldn't. The thought filled him so thoroughly with dread that he was almost overwhelmed by it. And then he heard the voices on the other side of the door and got up to answer it. Matt Honeycutt, Meredith Sulez, and Bonnie McCullough greeted him from the other side, staring at him as if they'd seen a ghost. He imagined he looked like one, half-naked, his bruised skin clinging to his malnourished frame. "Where the hell have you been?" either Bonnie or Matt asked him, but it might have fallen on deaf ears for Meredith piped in with the one thing he'd been waiting to hear for a long time. "We got a lead," she told him. "We have to go visit my Grandfather at the institute." Stefan found the strength to smile at them. Klaus was a formidable foe, but perhaps there was a way to defeat him. He hoped there would be, that the lead would provide them with the information they desired. And they needed it. To save his brother, the town. To soothe the agony in his very soul. This would be there last and only resort. He knew they were running out of time. He could feel Klaus growing impatient deep in his mind, where he still had some of a bond with The Original. The final battle would soon be at hand. And he would either crumble and submit to the hold on him or ultimately triumph. = = = end