A/N: This is AU because it will never happen. I just felt like writing something like this. Song to listen to while reading: Drove Through Ghosts to Get Here by 65daysofstatic.


One doesn't ever imagine dying. One doesn't ever wonder if, in their last painful moments, they will remember a certain person, or a face, or anything. One doesn't think about it. The prospect of dying is too large - it's something so far beyond the comprehension of humans. One doesn't think they'd die at a young age. No one ever thinks that.

One doesn't imagine if they could come back. One doesn't imagine if they could live forever. And if you live forever, what's to live for? Friends could die; family could die; you'd have to separate yourself from everyone. One day, people would begin to realize that they age, and you don't. And you'd have to run.

It's no life to live, is it? But it's not your choice to live it.

One doesn't imagine dying. Elena never did.

And then, so suddenly, she awakes; and it's something she won't understand. Not if she tried. Because she never imagined she'd die. She never imagined it'd be her, lying broken on the floor, bloody and gone and so, so cold. She didn't imagine it. No one does.

And she awakes.

She's living. And breathing, but not really; and her heart isn't beating, and she's still... what's the word? Dead. Oh, but whisper that word, because one doesn't ever imagine they could be alive while dead. One doesn't ever think...

Dead.

She curls herself into a fetal position, rocking back and forth and back and forth, whimpering without anyone to hear her. No one hears a thing. She's dead and already missing her unlived life; she's dead and already missing what she could've lived.

And she lifts to her knees and she takes his hand, and she looks up through her tears and he looks down at her, so calm, so stoic, so poised. And she whimpers to herself and whimpers to him and whispers, "Why?" She's sobbing at his feet and all he can do is stare; all he can do is not care.

He carries her broken body off the floor and rocks her like one would rock a baby. And one never imagines that dying could be exactly like being born, swayed gently in tender, caring arms. And no one ever imagines that this could happen. No one ever does.

And she cries. She sobs into his shirt. She wants to know why, she wants an answer he can't give her. Why did she end up so broken and bloody in the road? Why wasn't anyone there to hear her? Why wasn't she driven to a hospital? Why, why, why?

And he tells her.

He holds her and tells her and she listens, just a little, just a bit, to the story of how he found her broken in the road, the story of how he found her dying, and the story of how he ripped his skin open and pressed his bleeding wrist to her -

She falls asleep before she hears the end of it.