Leo pulled his car to a stop in the driveway of his large, quiet house. He turned off the engine and sat for a moment in the sudden silence. Then he opened the car door, got out, and closed it behind him with a solid thud. His footsteps were the only sound as he walked up the path to the front door.
He let himself inside. The huge entry hall was dark and empty. He didn't turn on the main lights. Instead, he walked by memory through the familiar rooms until he reached the small, polished cart where he kept his drinks.
He picked up a heavy glass. He chose a bottle without really looking at the label, pulled out the stopper, and poured a generous amount of amber liquid into the glass. He put the bottle back down. The simple series of actions—grab, pour, replace—felt steadying and normal.
With the glass in his hand, he walked into the main living room. A fire was already burning in the big fireplace, set by the automatic timer he'd programmed. He went to the large sofa facing the hearth and sat down, sinking into the cushions.
He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. The alcohol burned a familiar, warm path down his throat. He lowered the glass and rested it on his knee. His eyes fixed on the fire. The flames were eating away at a large log, making it crackle and spit tiny embers. The light danced and made shadows jump on the walls.
As he watched the wood burn, his mind replayed the night. The scene at the Salvatore house played behind his eyes like a short, violent film. He thought about Stefan's pleading, and Damon's arrogance, and his own final decision.
A clear thought took shape in his mind. It was quiet and left no room for doubt.
What I did was the right thing.
The feeling of being right settled deep into his bones. This mess was their own fault.
They pushed him. Both of them, but especially Stefan. That vampire actually stood there and tried to give him a lesson on right and wrong. The whole thing was a joke.
Stefan was a vampire. He survived by drinking blood. Sure, he was on an animal diet now, but that didn't erase his past. He had lived for over a century. How many innocent people had he killed in all that time? Dozens? Probably hundreds. He was a murderer.
So for him to stand there and give a speech about not becoming a monster was ridiculous. It was the most two-faced, hypocritical thing Leo had ever seen. A killer scolding someone else about being evil. It made no sense
And now, they were both living with the exact consequences they had practically begged for. They had challenged a power they didn't understand, and they had lost-a simple cause and effect.
But there was one line, Leo knew, that he himself would never cross. He would not kill Damon. Not even though the vampire was worse than a rabid animal. The reason wasn't mercy. It was much more personal.
Leo had never killed anyone. Taking a life was a line you could not uncross. It would change you forever. It would leave a mark on your mind that never went away. He could imagine the heavy memory of it, always being there. He refused to carry that. He would not let Damon make him into a killer.His punishment for them would not include destroying himself.
Leo took another slow drink, finishing what was left in his glass. As he swallowed, he heard the steady, quiet sound of the clock on the wall. He looked over at it. The hands on the clock showed it was late. Then he remembered: morning would come soon, and he still had to go to school.
He let out a short breath. The night was over. He stood up from the sofa. He walked to the side table and set the empty glass down on it. Then he turned and left the living room. He climbed the stairs, each step creaking a little under his weight, and went to his bedroom to get what little sleep he could.
...
The next morning, Leo drove to Mystic Falls High. He parked his car in the same spot at the back of the lot, turned off the engine, and stepped out into the clear daylight.
The air was cool and clean. The sun was bright overhead, and its light felt warm and gentle on his face and the backs of his hands. It was a simple, pleasant feeling. He took a slow, deep breath, filling his lungs with the fresh morning air. After the stale, tense atmosphere of the night before, it felt good.
He shouldered his backpack, closed the car door with a solid thunk, and began walking toward the school's main gate. His steps were steady and unhurried on the pavement.
As he passed through the gate and entered the bustling schoolyard, he made a conscious decision in his mind. The events of last night—the confrontation, the violence, the ultimatum—were all pushed firmly to the side. He visualized closing a heavy door on all of it and locking it away in a distant, unused part of his thoughts. That chapter was over. Dwelling on it now served no purpose.
Today was a new day. It was a fresh start.
As Leo walked down the school hallway, a familiar voice called out from behind him.
"Hey, Leo!"
He stopped and turned around to look. It was Caroline.
She was walking toward him, but her usual quick, confident pace was gone. She moved slowly, almost carefully, as if she were tired. Even from a few feet away, he could see the signs of a bad night. There were faint, smoky-dark circles under her eyes, a clear mark that she hadn't slept well. Her face lacked its normal bright energy.
It was obvious why. The memory of last night's party—the shout, the panic, and the terrifying sight of Vicki Donovan lying in the dirt with blood on her neck—had clearly stuck in her mind. The creepy, violent scene had chased away any chance of peaceful sleep.
She kept walking until she was standing right in front of him in the busy hallway. As she got closer, she looked up at his face. He looked completely normal—handsome, put-together, and fresh, like he'd had a perfect night's sleep. His skin practically glowed.
Seeing him look so calm and perfect, a small, hot spark of irritation lit up inside her chest. It wasn't a raging fire, just a pointed little sting.
It reminded her of last night. After all that bloody night, she had been genuinely scared, and she had asked him—practically pleaded—to come over to her house so she wouldn't be alone. And he had just… refused. He had said no with that calm, final tone of his and driven away, leaving her alone in her big, dark house with nothing but the creepy images in her head.
Now, looking at his flawless face, that rejection felt freshly annoying. She pushed the feeling down, because Caroline Forbes did not show hurt outright. Instead, she tilted her head, put on her brightest, most usual smile—the one that didn't quite reach her tired eyes—and decided to address it head-on, but wrapped in her usual charming, slightly accusatory style.
"So," she said, her voice sweet but with a clear, pointed edge underneath. "You look well-rested. Must be nice. Some of us were up all night replaying a horror movie in our heads after being left completely alone." She emphasized the last few words, her eyes locking onto his.
***