Hold on,
I still want you.
Come back,
I still need you.

Two months after.

It was strange how quiet it had become in the time resulting after hell fire had damn near consumed all of Mystic Falls. I mean, for the past five years, all Mystic Falls has ever wanted was some God damn peace, but when it actually came, and days greeted them long and uneventful, it created a strange and unsettling feeling in Damon Salvatore. For over a century and a half, he lived reckless and impulsively, demons crawling at his heels in every continent, country, state, and small hometown he settled in; danger followed him as close as his shadow. Even through the victories and disasters, he had become accustomed to the rush of needing to save his town, his brother, his best friend, his girl.

And now?

Well, Mystic Falls was utterly boring. But, he assumes, it was the best kind of boring for him.

He laid in his large bed, laying beneath the soft red sheets, created with a thread count that surpassed the age of Katherine Pierce herself. It was near noon; he didn't need a clock to recognize the mid-day sun shining into his room through the French doors. He pushed himself up, holding the sheets against his stomach to cover his waist while he looked around his bedroom. The bedroom he has had nearly a century. Filled with luxury; solid wood furnishing, a king sized mattress clad in Egyptian cotton, a marble tub, a stone shower; nothing about it seemed real. And the longer Damon looked at it, the more it began to look more like a fantasy than anything else. A hundred lifetimes of fantasies.

And now he was down to his last one.

As he slid out of bed, and his bare feet touched the cold wood, guilt rushed over him, and it clutched around his gut so hard he bit his lip to keep it from quivering. He was sick of crying; literally, it would make him vomit with how hard he could cry some days. Years and years and years of keeping emotions in a steel cage, only for them to spill out of every orifice in his mutilated soul. Out of all the fucked up shit Damon Salvatore had done over the years, the one reality he could not shake was the fact he had to wake up every day, and he was supposed to be happy to wake up next to the love of his life, without his brother.

It made his bones ache as he leaned down to grab his sweats and pull them on. Stefan, as a human, was no different than he was as an undead being: he was emotional and selfless and filled with guilt, and the need to redeem all the harm he had done. Every night, he dreamed of the night in the tunnels.

He felt the needle enter the back of his neck, and, at first, he waited for the burn and the exhaustion that came with vervein, but it never came. Instead, his entire body fell limp as he laid on the floor, feeling paralyzed as he watched his baby brother struggle with Katherine Pierce. "Goodbye, brother," was the last thing Damon usually heard, with Stefan's bright eyes blazen with the approaching fire, up until the column of inferno consumed the worst person in Damon's life, and the best.

And then Damon would wake up, sweating and panting heavily, and it used to be the preface to a pair of slim, olive arms wrapping themselves around him, and he'd lay his head on Elena's chest while she stroked and kissed his hair, but now Elena would look at him in a way that made him feel like a nuisance. Not that she ever felt frustrated or irritated at him; he would wake up, and turn to see her awake, staring at him calmly, but soon her eyes would water and her lip would quiver. The only person who felt more guilty than Damon Salvatore was Elena Gilbert, who was the entire reason Stefan sacrificed himself - who was the entire reason Damon couldn't sleep. Now, Damon woke up, and spent the rest of the night telling Elena he would get better, that he would get used to his brother's absence.

At least he wasn't burning the house down.

By the way, Elena didn't appreciate that joke as much as Damon did. But it would get better, he knew. Take this day, for example. He slept through the night, but, of course, Elena had spent the night with Bonnie instead of celebrating in the most exciting thing that's happened to him since Elena woke up. He had to shower alone, eat alone, and get dressed alone.

Grievance aside, Damon Salvatore wasn't unhappy with his life. He was prepared to be human with Elena, he wanted to be human with Elena. He was prepared to stay in Mystic Falls and either die with Elena or for her, but he'd never allow a third option. He didn't spend all day in a graveyard, fondling his brother's gravestone, leaving flowers and weeping about memories they've had over the past 170 years; he spent days chasing Elena around the house and realizing he really needs to start building a cardio routine, and he drinks with Alaric (who gives Damon parenting tips and instructions on how to install car seats when he gets enough bourbon in his bloodstream), and he has lunches with Caroline. That's usually his lament for Stefan: his weekly lunch with Caroline, who still wears her wedding ring.

Those lunches used to be gut wrenching, but they're at a point where they can talk and grieve without all the mess, which Damon appreciates more than anything. It's not like he's a very emotional person.

The worst part was, Damon didn't have a job. Not yet, at least. There was still some contemplation of when Elena was returning to school, which was more a question of when not if, and where they would go afterwards. Elena even brought up the possibility of Damon going to the community college in Mystic Falls, but Damon sure as hell was not going back to school. Stefan was definitely a bonified genius by the time he died; after going to high school and college over and over and over again, but Damon had his own vast field of knowledge, and no college degree was needed to make that valid.

He was lying on the couch, arms crossed, with his cerulean gaze aimed towards the ceiling as he calculated the probability he had of convincing Elena to allow him to become a gigolo.

"There's no way in hell," Damon mumbled. And he knew what he was talking about; he'd been in hell.

"No way in hell what?" A playful and soft voice came from the door, and Damon turned his head to the side to see Elena standing in front of the door, a crinkle nosed smile. Damon immediately sat up, brows burrowed.

"I didn't hear the door open," he mumbled loud enough for her to hear, running a hand through his disheveled hair as she padded into the living room, a duffle bag on her shoulder that she promptly dropped in front of the couch before plopping into his lap. His lip twitched; he had missed this. It had been two months, but he still wasn't used to touching her or hearing her voice. His arms curled around her as she ran her hands up into his hair, fingers playing with raven locks at the nape of his neck.

"Maybe your old age caught up to you and you're going deaf," she whispered into his ear, and he could feel her lip curl into a smile. That 'You're not the only one who can be witty' smile she gets when she fucks with Damon. And then she started nibbling on his ear, making him growl softly as he ran his hands up her back. "Maybe I should perform a physical examination... Make sure we don't need to get you a hearing aid," she continued as she pulled back and cupped his face with both hands, smiling bright, impressed by her own adorable form of teasing. Like gravity, their foreheads fell forward, their faces so close, their noses brushed against each others.

"I didn't have any nightmares last night," Damon mumbled, trembling as Elena's nails scraped against his scalp, nuzzling her nose against his.

"That's good, baby," she whispered, and then she kissed him. Damon was constantly perplexed that despite all his sins, he still sat there, holding and kissing someone who embodied the perfect woman: funny, selfless, kind, sexy. Someone he could roll around the sheets with, and then spend the rest of the day doubled over laughing, not even caring-or realizing-that they're naked. God, he was so fucking lucky, and if he does end up burning in hell, at least he can have the best next sixty years living with the closest thing to an Earth-bound angel.

The revelation of just how amazing Elena Gilbert hit him between the eyes very suddenly (not that he hadn't already known) and he felt both dizzy and impassioned. The kiss became deeper, and as her tongue pushed into his mouth, his hands moved to cup her body and he rose as easy with her weight as he had as a vampire. She always felt light; that was Elena Gilbert for you: light. In every sense of the word.

God, he loved her.

He wasn't able to make it to his door; he paused to press her to the wall at the top of the stairs, pulling away as he heard her gasp against his mouth desperately, allowing himself to detour down to her throat, nibbling on her pulse. Such a temptation it served him for years, and now he felt no need for anything except her.

Her hands dropped down from his hair, moving over his shoulders to fist the collar of his shirt in her hands, tugging impatiently. Groaning softly, he didn't stop in his ministrations, mouth latched onto her throat, tongue and teeth working her skin. "Damon," Elena whimpered softly, neck arching back as he released her skin, pupils dilated and panting softly as he observed the bruise he'd left. A small smirk twitched at his lip and he noticed Elena's indifferent expression; who is more possessive than Damon Salvatore? Nobody.

He leaned back, pressing his hips forward to hold her weight at his waist while she pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. She moved forward to kiss him again, but he pressed his hand to her stomach, holding her back against the wall before he pulled her shirt over her head in return, throwing it behind him and pressing his face against her chest. His teeth latched onto her nipple through the fabric of her bra, his hands dipping down into her shorts to squeeze her ass.

She moaned loud, grateful that, for once, it was just them occupying that house. Despite being the only ones living there, most nights out of the week they had visitors. Bonnie, Caroline; hell, even Ric and the twins would stay there. They loved Damon and Elena, despite how Damon never felt like he could talk to them. He wasn't exactly kid appropriate.

Take this moment as an example.

They were falling onto the bed, pushing clothes down their legs and off their shoulders until they were both naked, looking back at each other from where Damon hovered above her, and she laid beneath him. A hand rose and he let his fingers brush over her cheeks, gasping air as if the sight of her would suffocate him.

"I love you," he breathed, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. He was anchored to her, emotionally and physically. Especially in his moments of grief-to be without her made him want to weep with the pain it cause. She had done such a good job taking care of him and making him forget about his grievances during the day; she could make him laugh and smile and have a good time.

Sometimes, she did such a good job, he couldn't wait to come home and tell Stefan about it.

He made love to her slowly, with her hands clawing at his back and his ass, moving against her as sweat beaded along his skin, his eyes squeezed tight as she curled a leg against his hip. His hips sunk deeper, his cock filling her completely. His mouth dropped open as he sucked in a wild breath, letting out an unexpected wheeze. God, she felt amazing. His hips rolled against hers and she cried out softly against his ear, fisting his hair as he fucked her slow, his length brushing her clit with every movement until she unraveled beneath him. She squeezed him tight, trembling until he came hard inside her, growling loudly into her throat as he did.

Their bodies shook and sweat ran down their face. Damon moved, groaning softly as he pulled out of her, raising his head to look at her expression, which was soft and hazy and she was smiling as she raised a hand and clutched his disheveled hair at the top of his head. "Hi," she whispered, rising to kiss his mouth softly.

"Hi," he murmured against her mouth, rolling onto his side, smiling lazily as she moved to press her chest against his, cheek against his chest while her arm draped over his waist. He barely remembers wrapping his arms around her before he fell asleep, completely exhausting.

Numb.

Helpless.

Like when you're trying to run in a dream, but you're going nowhere.

Fire.

"Goodbye, brother."

"Stefan!" Damon cried as he shot up, his arm reaching out before he realized where he was. His room. It wasn't dark outside yet, but it was close; he must have been sleeping for quite some time. He turned, noticing Elena, sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees, and he imagined she would look scared or tired, but she looked irritated at him.

"What's wrong?" he breathed, his lungs feeling constricted and heavy. However, instead of a response, all she did was slide off the bed and move towards their closet, yanking her robe off the coat hanger on the back of the door, and rushed out of the room. Damon scrambled off the bed, pulling on his briefs and moving after her, catching her before she descended the stairs. "What is wrong, Elena?" he repeated in a firmer voice.

"You didn't kill Stefan!" she snapped as she spun around to face him with bright and angry eyes. "God Damon, you spend every night dreaming about his death," she cried out, "and you didn't have one when I left, but when I'm here, you suddenly have them again. Be honest, do you miss your brother, or do you regret not dying?"

Damon didn't know what to do as he sat there under the heated gaze of Elena Gilbert. He missed his brother, of course he fucking did. Most of the world only gets to be a brother for eighty or so years-if they're lucky-but Damon got to be one for over a hundred and seventy years, only to lose him. But there was a part of him that no matter how happy he was with Elena, feels he should have died that night. He was ready to die that night.

And so he couldn't be mad or offended by what she was saying, and all he could do was clench his jaw and look down.

"It's not your fault he died," he heard her say softly as she shuffled towards him. "But your grief is selfish, Damon, and you know it. I miss him too. I loved Stefan, the same way you loved him, and the fact that he's gone doesn't go unnoticed. Just like my parents and Jenna and John and Jo... None of it goes unnoticed. But you can't sit here, grieving the fact that you're not dead. Grieving the fact that I would have had to wake up to you being gone," and her voice cracked, and that killed him. She reached up and cupped his neck, pushing at his jaw with her thumbs until he rose his head to look at her. "He wanted this. This is what he needed to feel free of his guilt in the next life. And I know there is one for him, just like I know there is one for you too, Damon," she whispered.

He had to look away. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he was getting peace. He wouldn't see Stefan when he died, only Katherine. And while Stefan and Elena spent their time in peace, he'd spend his in misery.

"Shut up," she snapped suddenly, and he looked down, confused.

"I didn't say anything," he argued.

"Yes, but I know what you were thinking and you're wrong. You've done awful things; don't pretend like I ignore that. You've killed innocent people and you've hurt several people in the actions and words you've chosen to say or do-including me. But, at the end of the day, you tried and tried to fix those mistakes with the best of your ability, And you've admitted to them, and you've at least attempted to do right by them, and, in the end, you will have your peace, Damon. But I need you to stop living each day like you aren't meant to live it," she sighed.

All Damon could do was stare at her with bright eyes, his face softening as he dropped his head down close to hers, resting his forehead against her. "I want to thank him. God, if there was one thing I could say to him, it would be thanks. He... He gave me you. He kept me sane when you were gone, and then... when it was time for you to come back to me, he gave himself up. Like I didn't need him anymore," his voice cracked in turn, his eyes watering. "I still needed him, Elena. I love you, and you are... so, so good for me. But I wasn't ready to say goodbye, and some nights... I wish we had died together, or that I at least wasn't the one feeling the pain of his absence."

"But you'd rather him live with yours?" Elena retorted softly, stroking his cheek. Damon's lip twitched ruefully and she pulled his forehead down against hers. "I love you, Damon Salvatore, even in your selfishness."

He smiled softly, curling his arms around her, his hands running up and down her back, and they stood in a warm bubble of solitude.

For a moment.

"Marry me," Damon whispered softly, brushing his nose against hers. Elena completely froze in response, blinking fast as she leaned back.

"What did you say?" she demanded, holding her breath.

"I said marry me. I should have asked you two seconds after I found out you'd waken up. Stefan kinda ruined the moment," Damon grunted, looking towards the ceiling. "Bastard," he muttered before lowering his attention to Elena. "Marry me."

"Damon... You don't even have a ring... Obviously, you weren't prepared for this. You need time to think."

It was just like it was three years ago: her panicking and wanting him to change his mind, but Stefan wasn't there to give him fantasies of a broken marriage. Turning around, Damon drug her by the wrist back into the room, leaving her standing by the door as he moved to open his pants drawer, digging into the pocket of one of his older pairs of jeans, and producing a velvet box.

"Bullshit I wasn't prepared. Elena, I've wanted you every second of every day since the day I saw you. I'm ready for a future with you and me and selfish little fucking pricks that color on our walls and invade our bed," he declared, pausing at hr wide eyed expression. "Well, maybe we can wait on the kids. I'll vouch for that. But I want to marry you."

He moved forward, and dropped to one knee. "I want to live every day with you. Because I don't regret surviving that night, I just regret the fact my baby brother can't be my best man. I guess you'll brat will have to do... That is, if you want me to marry me," he mumbled, nervous. Yes, Damon Salvatore, the eternal stud, was nervous that this woman, young and pure, would reject him.

She slowly fell to her knees, and reached up to cup his face softly.

"That's all I've wanted, Damon. Of course I'll marry you."