The Vampire Diaries.

Eleven: Bloodlines. Part Two.

Back with Bonnie...

"Bonnie. Bonnie, it's me. It's Stefan." Stefan mumbled, standing behind her.

"Stefan?" Bonnie asked, turning around and staring at him. "Okay, the ground gave way and I fell."

"It's okay, it's okay. Calm down. Come on, let's get you out of here." Stefan tells her.

"How?" Bonnie asked.

"Just close your eyes. Trust me. Come here." Said Stefan.

Stefan pulled Bonnie towards him, so her back was touching his chest.

Stefan leaped off the ground and landed on the grass.

"You can open your eyes now." Stefan says.

"Whoa." Bonnie murmured, looking around.

"I didn't wanna scare you. Hence, why I got you to close your eyes?" Stefan asked, smiling softly.

"How did you know where I was?" Bonnie asked.

"Well, your grandmother told me what you were doing, and I guessed where." Said Stefan.

"I heard them down there. Behind the door, are they in pain?"

"In the beginning, yes, but not anymore. They've starved to the point of desiccation." Stefan murmured.

"But if they have blood, they'll..." Bonnie tells him.

"That's not gonna happen, Bonnie. They can't get out. Emily saw to that when she had you destroy the crystal. You're safe." Stefan said.

Back at the bar, Ellie, Damon, Bree, and a few of the customers were taking shots...

"That's three. You need a bib?" Ellie asked, looking at Damon.

"Sorry, I can't unhinge my jaw like a snake to consume alcohol." Said Damon.

"Whatever. All right, who's next? Another round, Bree?" Asked Ellie.

"Honey, you should be on the floor." A customer says.

"I am not even drunk. My tolerance is, like, way up there." Ellie said, jumping to show them.

"All right, here you go." Bree said.

With Jeremy and Anna, they play football on the table at the Grill...

"So you have no idea where the journal is?" Jeremy asked.

"Nope. Gramps died, and all the kids split his stuff. I can ask." Anna says.

"I just find it weird that our ancestors kept the same kind of journals. It's crazy." Said Jeremy.

"Maybe it's based on some partial reality." Anna said.

"No, it's got to be metaphorical. My ancestors wrote short stories." Jeremy tells her.