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(Set after Stefan emerges from the bar in episode 5.3, ORIGINAL SIN.)
There was fire everywhere. Fire in his veins, on his skin, in his brain. He was boiling, burning, and charring all at the same time, and he knew it was the end. It felt like the end, it felt like Death closing over his head. Over a century, and Stefan knew he was going to die. He would never see her again, never say goodbye...never get to warn them about Silas...
Then it ended, and there was nothing.
* * * * *
His eyes were still shut when he became aware again. He felt dry and feverish, restless and sore as his veins scraped together with every beat of his heart. Stefan didn't want to wake up, didn't want to burn again, but it was the hunger that made his eyes open. Even that was an effort, to focus, to function was more than three months of drowning and starving could allow him.
It was still dark. Dim, blissfully dim and cool. The cold sweat on his skin helped, and as he tried to make his eyes work he was eternally grateful for the absence of the sun.
He knew he should be dead. Through the hunger, the headache, the fever of bloodlust, he knew he should be dead. The only question was...how was he alive?
He could feel the softness of a flannel blanket under his back...a bed. The fuzzy outline that was coming into focus indicated sun through a window, perhaps, and a form...
A girl. A human. Blood.
Blanching, Stefan came instantly alert, holding himself back as his body surged up and forward, stopping by force of will alone. His movements were jerky, clumsy, as he fought not to jump at the pale, dark haired vessel of blood right within reach, promising an end to his suffering with the hot, sweet, sticky ambrosia of human blood.
"I don't wanna hurt you, so get away from me before I rip your throat out." he panted, breathing hard with the effort of not falling on her like an animal. It helped that he was still weak, still starving...
Christ, now he was starting to wish he was back out in the sun without his ring.
There was fire everywhere. Fire in his veins, on his skin, in his brain. He was boiling, burning, and charring all at the same time, and he knew it was the end. It felt like the end, it felt like Death closing over his head. Over a century, and Stefan knew he was going to die. He would never see her again, never say goodbye...never get to warn them about Silas...
Then it ended, and there was nothing.
His eyes were still shut when he became aware again. He felt dry and feverish, restless and sore as his veins scraped together with every beat of his heart. Stefan didn't want to wake up, didn't want to burn again, but it was the hunger that made his eyes open. Even that was an effort, to focus, to function was more than three months of drowning and starving could allow him.
It was still dark. Dim, blissfully dim and cool. The cold sweat on his skin helped, and as he tried to make his eyes work he was eternally grateful for the absence of the sun.
He knew he should be dead. Through the hunger, the headache, the fever of bloodlust, he knew he should be dead. The only question was...how was he alive?
He could feel the softness of a flannel blanket under his back...a bed. The fuzzy outline that was coming into focus indicated sun through a window, perhaps, and a form...
A girl. A human. Blood.
Blanching, Stefan came instantly alert, holding himself back as his body surged up and forward, stopping by force of will alone. His movements were jerky, clumsy, as he fought not to jump at the pale, dark haired vessel of blood right within reach, promising an end to his suffering with the hot, sweet, sticky ambrosia of human blood.
"I don't wanna hurt you, so get away from me before I rip your throat out." he panted, breathing hard with the effort of not falling on her like an animal. It helped that he was still weak, still starving...
Christ, now he was starting to wish he was back out in the sun without his ring.
