Elena woke up.
For a moment, panic seized her chest - where was she? The room was wrong, the bed too large, the scent-
The scent.
Recognition washed over her as she inhaled deeply.
Lucien's room.
She'd fallen asleep in his bed again, curled around his pillow like it was a life preserver in a stormy sea.
Morning light filtered through dusty curtains, casting golden rectangles across the faded wallpaper.
How many mornings had she woken here now? Seven? Ten? The days blurred together since he'd left.
Elena reached for the sketchbook on the nightstand, her fingers brushing against the well-worn cover.
It fell open to yesterday's drawing - Lucien standing against the blood demons, arms outstretched to shield her.
The pencil lines were unnaturally precise, capturing details no ordinary memory should hold.
A drop of red splashed onto the page.
Elena looked up sharply.
Blood dripped from the ceiling in slow, viscous drops. One, two, three - forming a growing stain on the sketch.
She blinked.
The ceiling was clean. The page unmarked. Just another hallucination.
From downstairs came the muffled sounds of movement - Bobby preparing breakfast.
Elena closed her sketchbook and slid from the bed, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor.
Time to pretend she was okay for another day.
------------------------
The kitchen smelled of coffee and bacon. Bobby stood at the stove, his back to her as she entered.
Jeremy was already at the table, methodically cleaning a handgun Dean had given him. His fingers moved with practiced precision despite having learned only weeks ago.
"Morning," Bobby said without turning. Nothing in his tone acknowledged finding her in Lucien's bed again, though she knew he checked on her during the night. "Hungry?"
Elena shrugged, sliding into a chair opposite her brother. "Not really."
Bobby grunted, placing a plate with toast and eggs before her anyway. "Try."
Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the scrape of Jeremy's cleaning tools against metal.
Elena pushed eggs around her plate, forming yellow mountain ranges that she had no intention of eating.
"Dean's taking me shooting again today," Jeremy said finally, eyes fixed on the disassembled gun. "Says I'm getting pretty good."
Elena studied her brother's face. At twelve, he looked older somehow - the childish softness replaced by something harder. She wondered if she looked different too.
"That's... good," she managed, the words feeling awkward and not enough.
Bobby refilled his coffee mug, leaning against the counter. "Got some books need organizing if you're looking for something to do today," he offered, his tone carefully casual.
Elena recognized the gesture for what it was - an attempt to give her purpose, however small. "Sure," she agreed, seeing an opportunity. "I can help with that."
Jeremy clicked the last piece of the gun back into place, his eyes meeting Elena's briefly.
Something unspoken passed between them - acknowledgment of their different ways of dealing with... whatever this was. Before he returned the weapon to its case.
-------------------------
Bobby's library was a labyrinth of knowledge - shelves overflowing with ancient texts, loose papers covered in scribbled notes, and strange objects serving as bookmarks.
Elena sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by books on mythological gods she'd pulled from the lower shelves.
Bobby had raised an eyebrow at her selection but hadn't commented. He stood in the doorway now, watching her for a moment.
"You need anything, holler," he said finally before leaving her to her research.
Elena nodded absently, already flipping through a leather-bound volume.
Her fingers traced over an illustration of Tezcatlipoca, the Smoking Mirror.
The artist's rendering was nothing like the true horror she had faced - just a man with jaguar features, not the towering monstrosity that had held her by her hair.
The memory crashed over her without warning.
The blood ocean stretched endlessly below, its surface rippling.
Pain seared Elena's scalp as she dangled from the god's massive hand, her tears falling into the crimson depths.
Above her, Tezcatlipoca's jaguar face contorted in a mockery of a smile, obsidian mirrors embedded in his form reflecting Lucien's broken body from a thousand angles.
"Did you think yourself the Honoured of the Heavens and Earth, boy?" The god's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Did you think you could take on the gods, because of your psychic gift? How... disappointing."
Below, Lucien floated defiantly despite his injuries, try to form lightning between his fingers to prepare another attack.
Elena gasped, the book slipping from her hands. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
"Just a memory," she whispered to the empty room. "Just a memory."
When her breathing steadied, she retrieved the fallen book and continued her search. An hour later, she found what she was looking for - a passage about ancient titles.
"The Honoured One," she read silently, "referred to those blessed by both celestial and terrestrial forces. Warriors of divine purpose, mediators between realms, those who could walk between the worlds of gods and men and stand atop both...."
Elena closed the book slowly, as she thought about it, for a long moment.
The jaguar god had meant it as mockery - she remembered that clearly, his scary and cruel voice, that she could never forget - but she had seen Lucien stand against gods.
She had been dead in his arms and... returned to life.
If anyone deserved to be called that, it was... him.
She opened her sketchbook to a fresh page and wrote at the top in careful letters: "The Honoured One."
Elena lost track of time as she drew in the living room, pencil moving across paper.
Each stroke captured Lucien with photographic accuracy - the determined set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed when concentrating, the exact curve of his fingers as lightning danced between them.
She was so absorbed she didn't notice Kate and Adam return from grocery shopping until Adam's shadow fell across her page.
"What're you drawing?" he asked, peering over her shoulder.
Elena instinctively covered the more disturbing images - Lucien with his hand bitten off, blood pouring from the wound - and turned to a simpler sketch of him smiling.
"Just Lucien," she said, forcing a small smile for Adam's benefit.
Adam studied the drawing with curiosity. "It looks just like him. Are you gonna be an artist when you grow up?"
The question struck Elena as absurdly normal.
Growing up.
Future plans.
Things that seemed impossible to consider after what she'd seen.
"Maybe," she said, because it was easier than explaining.
Kate appeared in the doorway, grocery bags still in hand. Her eyes lingered on the sketchbook, concern etched in the lines around her mouth.
"Elena, why don't you take a break? Help me put these away?" Kate's tone was gentle but firm.
Elena nodded reluctantly, closing the sketchbook.
As Kate and Adam disappeared into the kitchen, she opened it again, turning to a fresh page - having no intention to actually do what Kate said.
This time, her pencil traced the outline of Katherine with massive bat wings, carrying both children as a red shattered sun was above them.
Bobby found Elena asleep on the couch hours later, her sketchbook open beside her. He moved to cover her with a blanket when the drawing caught his eye.
Katherine Pierce with enormous wings spread behind her, wielding a sword of green fire, carrying both children while a red sun shattered into fragments.
The detail was extraordinary - almost photographic in its precision.
Bobby's brow furrowed. According to John, Elena had been dead when Katherine arrived. So how could she draw this? Was it simply an very strong imagination?
"Elena," he said softly, touching her shoulder.
She stirred, blinking up at him in momentary confusion before her eyes focused.
"That's quite a picture," Bobby said carefully, gesturing toward the sketchbook. "What's happening there?"
Elena sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "That's when Katherine saved us. When she broke through the sun and got us out."
Bobby's expression remained neutral, though his mind raced. "Katherine had wings?"
"Yeah," Elena nodded matter-of-factly. "Big black ones. And she had this sword - it was on fire, but green fire. She used it to stab the jaguar god."
"I see," Bobby said slowly. "And you saw all this?"
Elena's hand unconsciously went to the pen and tightened her grip around it. "Well... I was dead when she first came through the sun. But then I woke up when we were leaving."
"You were dead," Bobby repeated carefully, "but you saw Katherine come through the sun with wings."
"I didn't say I saw it," Elena frowned slightly, confused by his questioning. "I just know how it happened."
'Just know, huh.' Bobby thought. 'Meaning no one told her...'
Bobby nodded, not wanting to push further and upset her. "It's a real good drawing," he said finally, changing the subject. "You got talent, kid."
As Elena gathered her sketchbook and headed upstairs, Bobby remained on the couch, deep in thought.
He'd need to make some calls about psychic abilities in children like he did with Lucien before.
This went beyond trauma-induced imagination.
--------------------------
Night fell slowly over the salvage yard, shadows lengthening across rusted metal and broken glass. Elena lay in Lucien's bed, clutching his pillow to her chest, breathing deeply.
Something was wrong.
She inhaled again, panic beginning to rise.
The scent was fading.
Lucien's distinctive smell - paper and ink and something uniquely him - was disappearing from the bedding.
The constant she had when she felt protected and safe when she was on Lucien's back as he carried her through the fight during the Red Sun.
Elena sat up, heart pounding. She pressed the pillow to her face, desperately seeking the comforting scent that had been her anchor for weeks.
It was there, but fainter, like a radio losing signal.
"No," she whispered, the word muffled against fabric. "No, no, no."
She scrambled from the bed, searching frantically through his drawers, his closet, holding shirts and books to her face. Everything was losing his scent, becoming just... things.
Her breathing quickened, approaching hyperventilation.
Without his scent, how would she sleep? How would she feel safe? How would she know this was real - that she wasn't still there?
That the gods aren't playing with her, feeding off her fear, like they are saying?
Elena returned to the bed, clutching the pillow to her chest as tears streamed down her face.
"Please," she begged, rocking slightly. "Please don't go. Don't leave me. Please."
The room seemed to shift around her, air pressure changing subtly. For a moment, everything felt suspended, as if reality itself held its breath.
Unknown to Elena, her eyes glowed with blue-white light, illuminating the darkness.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the strange sensation passed.
Elena inhaled deeply, confusion replacing panic. Lucien's scent filled her senses, stronger than it had been in days, as if he had just been there.
She pulled back, staring at the pillow in bewilderment. Had she imagined the scent fading? Was she losing her mind completely now?
Too exhausted to question this small mercy, Elena curled around the pillow and closed her eyes, his scent enveloping her like a protective shield against the darkness.
---------------------------
Blood. An ocean of it, stretching to the horizon.
Elena floated just beneath the surface, lungs burning. When she opened her mouth to scream, thick crimson filled her throat.
"He left you," Tezcatlipoca's voice echoed through the blood. "The brat has failed you, as he has failed to save himself. You are not free child."
She could feel the god's breath against her neck, hear his voice coming from everywhere, rippeling against her.
"You are a meal. And you are being prepared for our feast. Cower more. Fear more. Hate more. The more you do. The more delicious you become."
She could hear his chuckles roaring into laughter, as the other gods - even her- her Dad among them.
Through the red haze, she saw Lucien sinking deeper, his severed hand trailing blood as he descended into darkness.
She tried to reach him, but her limbs wouldn't move.
The scene shifted.
Her childhood home.
Her mother screaming as her father's hand plunged the knife into her chest.
Jeremy's voice calling her name.
"Elena! ELENA!"
She woke with a gasp, sheets tangled around her legs, sweat soaking her clothes. Kate stood in the doorway, concern etched on her face.
"You were screaming," Kate said softly, approaching the bed.
Elena pulled away, pressing herself against the headboard. "I'm fine," she insisted, voice raw. "Just a dream."
"Elena-"
"I said I'm fine." The words came out harsher than she intended.
Kate hesitated, clearly torn between respecting Elena's boundaries and offering comfort. "If you need anything..."
"I don't."
After Kate left, Elena sat in the darkness, knees pulled to her chest. The dream clung to her like cobwebs, impossible to brush away completely.
-------------------------
Dawn found Elena at Lucien's desk, turning his black research pen over in her hands.
The one he'd used to make notes on Samuel Colt's journal.
The one she'd been using to draw.
The one who was almost empty.
The one he'd left behind.
She'd made her decision during the long, sleepless hours after her nightmare. She needed something more permanent than fading scents on bedding.
Something she could carry always.
Moving quietly through the silent house, Elena retrieved wire cutters and pliers from Bobby's workshop. Back in Lucien's room, she carefully disassembled the pen, removing the clip and cap, breaking off a short back end of it.
With focus, she threaded a length of cord through the broken off part of the pen, creating a makeshift necklace.
The result was crude but functional - the broken part hanging horizontally across her collarbones.
Elena put it on, the weight unfamiliar but comforting.
She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The pen carried Lucien's scent - fainter than his pillow but unmistakable. Something she could keep with her always.
A floorboard creaked. Elena's eyes snapped open to find Jeremy standing in the doorway, watching her.
"That's..." he began, not really finishing. Having seen it constantly in her hand since they arrived here.
Elena's hand instinctively covered the pendant. "Yeah."
Jeremy studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Elena waited for judgment, for him to tell her she was being weird or creepy or obsessive.
Instead, he just nodded. "Dean's waiting for me downstairs. We're going shooting again."
"Be careful," Elena said automatically.
"Always am." Jeremy lingered in the doorway, seemingly wanting to say more but finding no words. Finally, he turned and left, his footsteps receding down the hallway.
-------------------------
The kitchen was empty when Elena entered that evening, save for Sam Winchester hunched over a cup of coffee.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it too many times.
He looked up as she approached, offering a tired attempt at a smile. "Hey."
"Any luck?" Elena asked, sliding into the chair across from him.
Sam shook his head, pushing a map covered in red X's away from him. "Nothing. It's like he disappeared off the face of the earth."
Elena's fingers found the pen-necklace. "I want to help," she said without preamble.
"Elena-"
"I remember things," she interrupted. "Things about Lucien. Things he said, things he did. I might notice something you guys missed."
Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes. "It's not that simple. After what you've been through-"
"I'm not asking to go with you," Elena clarified. "Just... let me help with research. Here. I can look through books, maps, whatever you need."
"Dean told me about the call," Sam said quietly. "Lucien doesn't want to be found, Elena. He thinks he's protecting us by staying away."
"He's wrong." The certainty in her voice made Sam look up. "He thinks he failed because I died. But he didn't. He fought for me until the end. And Katherine wouldn't have found us if he hadn't kept fighting."
Before Sam could respond, the front door slammed open. Dean stormed into the kitchen, tossing his jacket onto a chair with more force than necessary.
"Another dead end," he announced, voice tight with frustration. "Warehouse in Nebraska was empty. Trail's cold."
"Maybe if we-" Sam began.
"I'm sick of maybes," Dean cut him off, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He noticed Elena and his expression softened slightly. "Sorry, kid."
Elena stood straighter. "I was just telling Sam I want to help. With research."
Dean took a long pull from his beer, exchanging a look with Sam. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Elena challenged. "I've been drawing him every day. I remember everything. I might see something you don't."
"She has a point," came Trevor's voice from the doorway. The last Belmont leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. "The girl's seen more than most hunters twice her age."
Dean frowned. "This isn't about experience. It's about-"
"Protection?" Trevor finished, raising an eyebrow. "Bit late for that, isn't it? After what she's already been through?"
An uncomfortable silence fell over the kitchen. Elena held her breath, watching Dean's internal struggle play across his face.
"Research only," he finally said, pointing a finger at her. "From here. You don't leave this house."
"Yes," Elena said quickly before he could change his mind.
"And if we find him," Dean continued, "you stay here. We bring him back here. Understand?"
Elena nodded, relief washing over her. Finally, something more than only drawing and remembering.
"Better than nothing," Trevor commented, sliding a book toward Elena. "Start with this. Anything about blood marks or sacrifice brands. Mark the pages with these." He handed her a stack of colored tabs.
That night, Elena arranged her research materials on Lucien's desk - books Trevor had given her, maps showing the last known locations where Lucien had been spotted - weeks old, her own drawings that might contain clues she hadn't recognized.
For the first time in two weeks, something besides dread filled her chest.
Something that felt almost like hope.
She touched the pen-necklace, the plastic warm from her constant handling. "The Honoured One," she whispered to the empty room.
As Elena curled up in Lucien's bed, her mind raced.
She would find him.
She would help bring him home. And she would show him he was wrong - that he hadn't failed her, that he and Katherine didn't need to be alone.
Sleep came easier than it had in weeks, her dreams for once not of blood oceans and gods, but of Lucien returning, of everyone together.
As she drifted deeper into sleep, her eyes briefly glowed with blue-white light again, illuminating the darkness for a moment before fading away.
Her hand remained curled around the pen-necklace, a small smile on her lips - the first since the night Lucien left.
-------------------------
(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter.
Do tell me how you found it.
I found the idea of scent interesting, because it stated to be very closely associated with memory and the like - especially with "what" Elena is. Her senses not being really normal.
People attach themselves to what makes them feel safe - and Elena through her worst experience, the oasis of safety was Lucien.
Keep in mind, she is 13, this... obsession IS NOT ROMANTIC.
If that happens - that is still for a while later, when they're both older.
Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter.
See you all later,
Bye!)