Stefan had a very strong sense of deja vu. Here he was again, heavyhearted outside the dark wood door of Damon's apartment, ready to plead with his brother but knowing already that his words would be pointless. He could hear Damon moving quietly inside the apartment, the pages of a book flicking, his brother's shallow breaths, and he knew that Damon could hear him, too, hesitating in the hall.

He knocked. This time, when Damon opened the door, he didn't immediately snarl at Stefan but instead gazed at him patiently, waiting for Stefan to speak.

"I know you don't want to see me," Stefan said. "But I thought I should tell you what's going on."

Damon stepped back and waved Stefan in. "Whatever you like, little brother," he said airily. "I'm afraid I can't ask you to stay long, though. I've got a date with a delicious little undergraduate." His smile broadened as Stefan winced.

Deciding not to respond to that, Stefan sank down into one of sleek chrome-and-pale-green chairs in Damon's ultramodern living room. Damon was looking better than he had the last time Stefan had been here. His clothes and hair were perfectly, stylishly arranged, and his pale skin had a slight flush, a sure sign that Damon had been feeding freely. Stefan grimaced a little at the thought, and Damon arched one eyebrow at him.

"So, there is something going on?" he prompted. His voice took on a mocking tone with the last few words.

"Katherine's back," Stefan said flatly, and had the pleasure of seeing the smile fall off Damon's face. "Klaus raised her from the dead somehow."

Damon blinked slowly, his long black lashes veiling his eyes for a moment, and then he flashed his cruel smile again. "The dynamic duo together again, hmm?" he asked. "That should be quite a handful for you and your humans."

"Damon." Stefan heard the catch in his own voice. Damon had constructed a wall around himself, but the real Damon was still in there, wasn't he? He couldn't have stopped caring about Elena, stopped caring about Stefan himself, so absolutely in such a short time, could he? If Stefan's plan against Klaus was to work, he would need Damon to care. "Klaus is determined to find out the truth about Elena," he said quickly. "They're bound to use Katherine as a weapon against you. They'll see how you've separated yourself from the rest of us. I'm begging you, please don't tell them anything. If you don't give a damn about any of us anymore, at least remember how much you hate Katherine and Klaus."

Tilting his head to one side, Damon narrowed his eyes speculatively at Stefan. "I've never been the weakest link, brother," he said. "But, as a matter of simple curiosity, tell me, what truth about Elena?"

The floor swung dizzyingly under Stefan's feet and he closed his eyes for a moment. He was such a fool. He hadn't asked for the details of Elena's and Damon's midnight meeting in the woods, and he'd just assumed Elena had told him she was a Guardian. He could have kept his mouth shut, and Damon would have been no danger to them, at least not on this count.

But no, Damon had known that Elena was a potential Guardian, that they had once planned for her to join them. She had told him that the Guardians had killed her parents, trying to get to her. And he knew that Elena had Power now, that she could see auras. If he had let those facts slip to Katherine or Klaus, it would have been dangerous enough. Better that Damon be warned off with a partial truth. Right? Stefan shook his head slightly. It was impossible to know what Damon might do.

Damon was still watching him, his eyes bright and cruelly amused, and Stefan had the uncomfortable feeling that his indecision was playing out boldly across his features, plainly evident to someone who had known him as long as Damon had.

"The truth that Elena is connected to the Guardians," he said at last. "Klaus would use it against her if he could. Please, Damon. You say you don't care, but you can't want Klaus to kill Elena. Klaus nearly destroyed you." He could hear the begging note in his own voice. Please, my brother, he thought, unsure about whether Damon was reading his thoughts. Please. Don't abandon us. There's nothing but pain that way, for all of us.

Damon smiled briefly and flicked his fingers dismissively at Stefan before turning away. "No one hurts me, little brother," he said over his shoulder. "Not for long. But don't worry, I'm sure I can handle Katherine if she comes to me."

Stefan shifted closer to his brother, moving to meet Damon's eyes again. "If something happens to me," he said somberly, "tell me you'll look out for Elena. You loved her once. She could love you, if . . . if things were different." No matter what happened, Elena couldn't be left unprotected.

For a moment, Damon's mask of indifference seemed to lift, his mouth going taut and his midnight-dark eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, if something happens to you?" he said sharply.

Stefan shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "It's a dangerous time, is all."

Damon stared at him for a moment longer, and then the mask slammed back into place. "All times are dangerous," he said, smiling faintly. "Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen, and after a few minutes, Stefan realized he wasn't coming back.

Stefan pushed himself to his feet and hesitated only briefly before turning toward the door. The meeting had gone as well as he could have reasonably expected: Damon hadn't guaranteed his own silence, but he hadn't threatened them either, and he'd seemed scornful of any suggestion that he might help Katherine and Klaus. As far as protecting Elena was concerned, all Stefan could do was say his piece. He knew that if it really came down to it, his brother would do the right thing.

Stefan called a farewell, which went unanswered, and headed out the door. For all he knew, Damon had left through a window and was already winging his way across campus as a crow.

His heart sank at the thought of leaving his brother now without a good-bye, but he kept going. If they both survived, he and Damon would connect again as brothers. He couldn't let go of that hope. But he didn't know when or how it would happen. Maybe he'd lost his brother for another century or two. The thought made him feel bleakly, unutterably alone.