Vampire Diaries Imagines

Eternal Care - Elijah Mikaelson

It had been three days-three interminably long days-since I last heard YN's voice. She always had a way of bringing sunlight into even the darkest corners of my immortal existence, her laughter echoing like a melody that calmed the storm within me. So, her silence was not just unusual; it was alarming.

The streets of New Orleans hummed with the usual night music as I made my way to her home. Something in the pit of my stomach twisted with worry with each step I took. YN had mentioned feeling unwell during our last conversation, but the robust spirit I knew seemed to believe it was nothing more than a passing nuisance. However, as the days stretched on without a word, my concern had grown into a formidable anxiety that could not be easily quelled.

I reached her door, raising my hand to knock, but halted. There was something off-a stillness in the air that didn't fit with the life YN brought into her space. My hand shifted from the wood of the door to the knob, turning it slowly. To my surprise, the door creaked open, unlocked. It wasn't like her to be so careless, not with the dangers she knew lurked in the shadows of our city.

"YN?" My voice echoed through the quiet of the dimly lit hallway, my footsteps silent on the carpet as I entered. There was no response, only the soft ticking of a clock somewhere in the living room that seemed to mark the gravity of each second passing.

As I ascended the stairs to her bedroom, a sense of dread settled over me. Reaching the top, I found her door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, the sight that greeted me tightened my chest with an all too human fear.

YN lay in her bed, her skin pale and her brow glistening with the sheen of sweat despite the coolness of the room. Her sleep was fitful, marked by a soft whining that sliced through the quiet room and straight into my heart.

I approached her side, my usual composure wavering slightly as I reached out to brush a damp lock of hair from her forehead. Her skin was burning up, and each breath she took seemed labored, as though her body was fighting a battle it was on the brink of losing.

Turning away, I made my way into the ensuite bathroom to soak a cloth in cold water. The cool, wet fabric in my hands, I returned to her side, gently patting her forehead a few times before placing the compress to lay flat upon it. She stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and for a moment, I allowed myself to hope that it brought her some relief.

Leaving her side felt like the hardest thing I had ever done, but I knew she needed more than just a cold cloth. I descended the stairs to the kitchen, my mind racing through centuries of knowledge, herbs, and remedies that could aid her.

In the kitchen, I began to prepare a broth-a simple, healing concoction that my mother once claimed could cure more ills than most medicines. As the broth simmered, the mundane act of cooking grounded me, giving me a focus beyond the fear of losing someone who had become a cornerstone of my world.

With a bowl of the steaming broth in hand, I returned to her room. "YN," I whispered, my voice soft as I reached out to gently shake her shoulder. "I've made something for you to eat. It should help."

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and weak, but when they met mine, there was a flicker of the fire I knew so well. "Elijah?" she murmured, her voice hoarse.

"Yes, I'm here," I assured her, helping her sit up to drink. "Just try to eat a little. For me."

As she sipped the broth, each swallow a struggle, I couldn't help but feel the weight of her fragile human life in my hands. Her recovery would take time, but as long as it took, I would be there, her vigilant guardian, watching over her in the darkness until she could once again stand in the light.

After YN managed a few more sips of the broth, her eyelids grew heavy, a sign that her body was succumbing once again to the desperate need for rest. Helping her to recline, I adjusted the pillows to make her as comfortable as possible. She murmured a faint thank you, her hand gripping mine with a weakness that belied her usual strength. The touch of her fingers, even feeble, sent a warmth through me, a silent reminder of the profound connection we shared.

I pulled the blanket up to her chin, ensuring she was enveloped in warmth. "Rest now, my dear. I'll be right here," I whispered, and her faint smile before drifting back into a deeper sleep was all the reassurance I needed to know she felt safe.

As the night deepened outside, I took up my vigil by her side. The house was silent except for the occasional creak and the soft, rhythmic breathing from the young girl as the fever began to loosen its grip on her. Sitting in the quiet, my mind wandered over our past encounters, the challenges we had faced together, and the unspoken promises that had grown between us. It was in moments like this, with her vulnerability laid bare, that I felt our bond deepen beyond the usual thrills of our supernatural entanglements.

Hours passed, the moon tracing its path across the sky, and slowly, YN's breathing became easier, her face less pained. The cool cloth on her forehead needed changing periodically, and each time I touched her skin, I felt a slight decrease in the fever's heat.

As dawn approached, the first light casting a soft glow into the room, she stirred once again. This time, her eyes opened with more clarity, and she looked up at me with a weak but genuine smile. "Lijah," she began, her voice stronger than before, "did you stay all night?"

"I did," I confirmed, offering her a small, reassuring smile. "You needed care, and I wanted to ensure you had everything you could have needed."

She reached for my hand, her grip stronger now. "Thank you," she said, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn't quite fathom.

"It's nothing less than you deserve," I replied earnestly. The emotional weight of the night had clarified many things in my mind, feelings and fears alike.

YN shifted slightly, her strength returning in small increments. "I do admit, I'm feeling a bit better," she admitted, sitting up with my help. "I think the broth helped. Thank you for that."

"Of course," I said, my voice soft. "I will always take care of you, my dear. Especially in times like this. You mean more to me than letting you lay in suffering like you were."

Her cheeks flushed with a color that had been absent since her illness took hold, not just from the fever but from the words that hung between us. "Elijah-" She paused, her eyes holding mine, a mixture of gratitude and a deeper affection mirrored back at me.

Before she could continue, I squeezed her hand gently. "Let's focus on your recovery for now. We can discuss everything else when you're feeling stronger," I suggested, knowing that our conversation was veering towards territories both delicate and profound.

"Agreed," she nodded, her energy waning as she settled back against her pillows. "But don't think I'm letting you off the hook that easily," she added with a playful glint in her eye.

I chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the lightening of my heart. "I wouldn't dream of it."

As I helped her settle in, making sure she was comfortable and well-supported, the sun rose fully, bathing the room in warm light. It felt like a new beginning, or perhaps a return to something precious that had been momentarily lost.