A single moment of the never ending what if? Damon stands before the open window, ready to burn, accepting his fate. And Stefan?
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A Second Too Late, Brother
He was always dependable, Stefan Salvatore; you could always rely on him to be on time. More often than not, he was even early.
But not that day.
He was punctual and calm; never rushing, never hasty. If he said he'd be there, you could bet your life on it that he'd be there. And he always was. A lot of the time, he was there without promises. If you needed him, he'd arrive right on time, shoulder and ears at the ready.
But not that day.
That day was different.
He sat in his room that day. A century and a half washing over him in a blaze of fiery hate and anger, his fists clenched, his eyes shut, and a storm raging in his mind. The injustice burned his core, and his existence, already a nightmare, was more painful than ever. He contemplated his fate, were he not to succeed in finding a cure.
One hundred years…two hundred years…one thousand years? Could he live so long?
An eternity of misery was promised to him, and whether his brother was there to witness it or not, he was sure misery was what it would be. An eternity had never seemed so long before.
His vampire ears heard the crackle, but he ignored it.
He sighed, and as he bit his lip, he knew he was biting back tears with every fibre of his being.
Again that crackle – what was that, fire?
And then the hiss. The hiss, not of flame, but of breath issuing from reluctant lips.
He knew that hiss. Or perhaps more accurately, he knew the tone of voice, barely noticeable, within that hiss.
It took him three and half seconds to run from his bedroom to the living room.
The flames swirled around a single entity, whose skin was cracked and sore, flesh burning beyond the point of repair. And for one moment, a moment shorter than a second, but longer than a lifetime, an understanding fell between the Salvatore brothers. Gazes met, and in that single lost moment, not a word spoken, Damon Salvatore asked his brother for help.
But a second can be all it takes.
The flames engulfed him, and heedless to the pleadings of the younger Salvatore, merciless fire took Damon away, both body and soul. Nothing remained but a scorched ring crusted with blood, a charred glass that still smelled of whiskey, and a circle of ash, forever burned into the carpet, now part of the very house.
And he was gone.
A second too late, brother. I needed you. In a way, I suppose I always needed you. Where were you, Stefan?