The only real guarantee there seems to be is there isn't any future to hold anything for them anymore. There aren't any choices. There's only the one and it isn't a choice. She'll fight it to the very end because it's all she knows how to do, but Elena would be lying if she said she didn't see it the way the others did. She shouldn't never lost sight of that, not from the moment Damon's only friend was brutally murdered outside of his apartment without any sort of regard for his life or the life of the person he loved.
This is what they do. They are as expendable as any disposable thing. Even she as a doppelganger only has her limited use, and they'll be done with as Lucien sees fit because he has that power now. Elena shudders at the thought, at the constant reminder, at the darkness of these walls and the vastness of what it holds.
It is good that it hasn't occurred to them, that they haven't started thinking and feeling in such a twisted manner.
It means he hasn't won yet, in spite of what will happen later when the truth is revealed. It means there's still some of Ethan left, still some of Elena left, and days of what's been inflicted on them hasn't been able to change that. Shouldn't be able to change that and Elena wouldn't want him to doubt himself, even while helplessly understanding why he would. She meant what she said, however. She is not scared of him and she trusts him.
That was true before this ever happened, and it's true in this dungeon now, and not even the werewolf would be able to change that. It's Ethan she trusts.
None of them could've ever imagined it.
They prepared for it as best as they could, in spite of the circumstances and the odds stacked heavily against them. They steeled themselves for what they thought could be the very worst of the possibilities. They researched and they trained and they kept vigilant. They did nearly everything right and it didn't seem to matter, either. Elena could've never imagined the kind of monster their father is. Elena could've never imagined that it was all so painfully, closely linked the way it was, couldn't have imagined the very friends she made that fateful September would be the very friends she'd be thrown alongside this terrible disaster.
It's terrifying to think that he was once human, but it's true that he must've loved at some point. It's true that he must have understood what humanity is like, what love is like, or he wouldn't be so good at twisting it so fully, at exploiting it the way he does, understanding what makes them tic, what makes them yield, what makes them fight that much harder. It's like everything about this is a whole chessboard and he's playing with the bloody pieces, knowing exactly where he needs to further the pawns along to get to the queen.
Elena thought she understood monsters.
She thought she understood the darkness inside of people but nothing Katherine did, hell, nothing Damon did could ever hold a candle to this kind of sadism. It makes all the more sense now; why Ethan's mother would run with them, why she would've been so terrified to be caught, why she would've wanted it all kept from Alek, why she tried so hard to keep Adam from leaving and seeing it for himself. But how could anyone imagine this kind of evil, this kind of darkness?
There isn't a name for it.
Elena stands her ground. It's what she knows to do until there's nothing left. She stands her ground and she fights and she thinks after tonight she'll learn her lesson, too. Her whole life the past few years has been nothing but endless fighting and surviving, and maybe she wouldn't feel so bitterly toward it if it hadn't turned out to be so meaningless. It's never saved people. It's never changed the course of what is destined. It's never kept people safe.
It's never stopped them from being hurt, physically and mentally.
What else is there but to give in?
Ethan didn't ask for any of this, either. He didn't ask to be made and certainly not with this purpose in mind. He didn't ask to have that violence imposed on him, much less did he ask for the father he has. It's not his fault, the way it isn't hers, and she couldn't fathom him not existing as it is. She understands the feeling. Hasn't she thought it before so many times?
If she didn't exist, if she wasn't a doppelganger -- how much could've been spared?
And even the darkly spun thoughts of their own hopelessness don't change the fact they are here and this is happening.
He looks so hurt. It pains her to see him, to try and imagine what was done to him out of some twisted form of lesson. Elena winces inwardly at the sight of his wrists, at the look on his face, but she doesn't look away. She keeps her hands on his face, her touch gentle, aware that he hasn't -- he hasn't been touched in any gentle way in what feels like a very long time and neither has she.
It hurts to know it as her fingers slip down his cheeks softly and he closes his eyes.
It's simple, in the end, really. It's very simple, and Elena's looking at him until she's not, until her eyes close along with him and she's pulled in. She's still on her knees as they dig into the ground, and she's mindless of that when she leans into him, hands curving further over his neck until the tips of her fingers dig into the back of it. She would be floored if she had the time to think of it as well but there's no time to think. She isn't thinking.
There's just the feeling.
Several of them, unfurling in her chest as she brings him closer, matching the intensity, the desperation with her own. The love breaks through all the rest, but there's unmistakable urgency in her movements, in the way her mouth remains crushed against his like if she moves away something might cave in.
Her face nearly crumples again when his forehead rests against hers. She wants to say it's not hopeless. She wants to say they'll find a way. She wants to say it doesn't end here, but she can't find the voice to say any of it. She slips her arms around his neck to hug him tightly instead, fresh, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. "I love you, Ethan," she says, and she doesn't know if he's certain of that, too, and it feels too late either way, but she says it.
She loves him and she's sorry.
There is nothing else she has anymore.
Elena's breath gets stuck in her throat, aware that her calling out isn't something he registers, not with the threat hanging above them, not with his father on the other side of the bars, but it's a helpless thing.
"Ethan, stop," she says, flinching as she sees him yank at the shackles. She doesn't know how he hasn't dug to the bone yet, and she shakes her head again as her eyes burn with unformed tears once more. She looks down at the drain and -- her eyes dart toward it and back up at the hatch and toward the drain once more as if there's going to be some way she can use it to escape instead.
She turns to Lucien in disbelief at his laughter. Her mouth parts open, the air barely trickling in. All she can feel is how fire hot her cheeks are, how her fists tremble when she hands her balls so tightly her nails dig into the skin.
Elena's not letting him die.
And it's terrible that she doesn't understand the full extent of why he was always running until now. It's terrible and painful all at once, and she can't stop the way her heart starts pounding loudly, violently against her chest until it's all she can hear, until she's almost swaying against the strength of every beat. "Don't say that," she whispers, and she kneels down before him again, a hand reaching out to him but freezing in place when he sobs, aware of... aware of how terrified he'd be of himself right now, but she's not. "Don't say that. It has to be a test. Ethan, it has to be, and we'll get through it."
I'm so sorry.
The words cut through her. How many times has she said it before? How many times has she felt it so deeply? Elena shakes her head, blinking back the tears at the pained sound he makes. Somehow, the cell seems that much smaller, that much darker, that much more constrained. The air thicker, palpable as she tries to keep breathing.
It's all she can do now.
"It's not your fault. Ethan, none of this is your fault," she says, a hand curling over the shackle as if that'll get him to stop, stop trying to rip himself apart. She kicks at the drain and grabs at the bars of the cell again, shaking them as if that'll do anything, as if she has ever been able to save them from anything.
She falls back on the floor, sitting across from him, her back against the bars.
She is not just waiting it out until the full moon is out.
no subject
The only real guarantee there seems to be is there isn't any future to hold anything for them anymore. There aren't any choices. There's only the one and it isn't a choice. She'll fight it to the very end because it's all she knows how to do, but Elena would be lying if she said she didn't see it the way the others did. She shouldn't never lost sight of that, not from the moment Damon's only friend was brutally murdered outside of his apartment without any sort of regard for his life or the life of the person he loved.
This is what they do. They are as expendable as any disposable thing. Even she as a doppelganger only has her limited use, and they'll be done with as Lucien sees fit because he has that power now. Elena shudders at the thought, at the constant reminder, at the darkness of these walls and the vastness of what it holds.
It is good that it hasn't occurred to them, that they haven't started thinking and feeling in such a twisted manner.
It means he hasn't won yet, in spite of what will happen later when the truth is revealed. It means there's still some of Ethan left, still some of Elena left, and days of what's been inflicted on them hasn't been able to change that. Shouldn't be able to change that and Elena wouldn't want him to doubt himself, even while helplessly understanding why he would. She meant what she said, however. She is not scared of him and she trusts him.
That was true before this ever happened, and it's true in this dungeon now, and not even the werewolf would be able to change that. It's Ethan she trusts.
None of them could've ever imagined it.
They prepared for it as best as they could, in spite of the circumstances and the odds stacked heavily against them. They steeled themselves for what they thought could be the very worst of the possibilities. They researched and they trained and they kept vigilant. They did nearly everything right and it didn't seem to matter, either. Elena could've never imagined the kind of monster their father is. Elena could've never imagined that it was all so painfully, closely linked the way it was, couldn't have imagined the very friends she made that fateful September would be the very friends she'd be thrown alongside this terrible disaster.
It's terrifying to think that he was once human, but it's true that he must've loved at some point. It's true that he must have understood what humanity is like, what love is like, or he wouldn't be so good at twisting it so fully, at exploiting it the way he does, understanding what makes them tic, what makes them yield, what makes them fight that much harder. It's like everything about this is a whole chessboard and he's playing with the bloody pieces, knowing exactly where he needs to further the pawns along to get to the queen.
Elena thought she understood monsters.
She thought she understood the darkness inside of people but nothing Katherine did, hell, nothing Damon did could ever hold a candle to this kind of sadism. It makes all the more sense now; why Ethan's mother would run with them, why she would've been so terrified to be caught, why she would've wanted it all kept from Alek, why she tried so hard to keep Adam from leaving and seeing it for himself. But how could anyone imagine this kind of evil, this kind of darkness?
There isn't a name for it.
Elena stands her ground. It's what she knows to do until there's nothing left. She stands her ground and she fights and she thinks after tonight she'll learn her lesson, too. Her whole life the past few years has been nothing but endless fighting and surviving, and maybe she wouldn't feel so bitterly toward it if it hadn't turned out to be so meaningless. It's never saved people. It's never changed the course of what is destined. It's never kept people safe.
It's never stopped them from being hurt, physically and mentally.
What else is there but to give in?
Ethan didn't ask for any of this, either. He didn't ask to be made and certainly not with this purpose in mind. He didn't ask to have that violence imposed on him, much less did he ask for the father he has. It's not his fault, the way it isn't hers, and she couldn't fathom him not existing as it is. She understands the feeling. Hasn't she thought it before so many times?
If she didn't exist, if she wasn't a doppelganger -- how much could've been spared?
And even the darkly spun thoughts of their own hopelessness don't change the fact they are here and this is happening.
He looks so hurt. It pains her to see him, to try and imagine what was done to him out of some twisted form of lesson. Elena winces inwardly at the sight of his wrists, at the look on his face, but she doesn't look away. She keeps her hands on his face, her touch gentle, aware that he hasn't -- he hasn't been touched in any gentle way in what feels like a very long time and neither has she.
It hurts to know it as her fingers slip down his cheeks softly and he closes his eyes.
It's simple, in the end, really. It's very simple, and Elena's looking at him until she's not, until her eyes close along with him and she's pulled in. She's still on her knees as they dig into the ground, and she's mindless of that when she leans into him, hands curving further over his neck until the tips of her fingers dig into the back of it. She would be floored if she had the time to think of it as well but there's no time to think. She isn't thinking.
There's just the feeling.
Several of them, unfurling in her chest as she brings him closer, matching the intensity, the desperation with her own. The love breaks through all the rest, but there's unmistakable urgency in her movements, in the way her mouth remains crushed against his like if she moves away something might cave in.
Her face nearly crumples again when his forehead rests against hers. She wants to say it's not hopeless. She wants to say they'll find a way. She wants to say it doesn't end here, but she can't find the voice to say any of it. She slips her arms around his neck to hug him tightly instead, fresh, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. "I love you, Ethan," she says, and she doesn't know if he's certain of that, too, and it feels too late either way, but she says it.
She loves him and she's sorry.
There is nothing else she has anymore.
Elena's breath gets stuck in her throat, aware that her calling out isn't something he registers, not with the threat hanging above them, not with his father on the other side of the bars, but it's a helpless thing.
"Ethan, stop," she says, flinching as she sees him yank at the shackles. She doesn't know how he hasn't dug to the bone yet, and she shakes her head again as her eyes burn with unformed tears once more. She looks down at the drain and -- her eyes dart toward it and back up at the hatch and toward the drain once more as if there's going to be some way she can use it to escape instead.
She turns to Lucien in disbelief at his laughter. Her mouth parts open, the air barely trickling in. All she can feel is how fire hot her cheeks are, how her fists tremble when she hands her balls so tightly her nails dig into the skin.
Elena's not letting him die.
And it's terrible that she doesn't understand the full extent of why he was always running until now. It's terrible and painful all at once, and she can't stop the way her heart starts pounding loudly, violently against her chest until it's all she can hear, until she's almost swaying against the strength of every beat. "Don't say that," she whispers, and she kneels down before him again, a hand reaching out to him but freezing in place when he sobs, aware of... aware of how terrified he'd be of himself right now, but she's not. "Don't say that. It has to be a test. Ethan, it has to be, and we'll get through it."
I'm so sorry.
The words cut through her. How many times has she said it before? How many times has she felt it so deeply? Elena shakes her head, blinking back the tears at the pained sound he makes. Somehow, the cell seems that much smaller, that much darker, that much more constrained. The air thicker, palpable as she tries to keep breathing.
It's all she can do now.
"It's not your fault. Ethan, none of this is your fault," she says, a hand curling over the shackle as if that'll get him to stop, stop trying to rip himself apart. She kicks at the drain and grabs at the bars of the cell again, shaking them as if that'll do anything, as if she has ever been able to save them from anything.
She falls back on the floor, sitting across from him, her back against the bars.
She is not just waiting it out until the full moon is out.
She's just not.