Of Things to be Wrong and Things to be Right
Damon Salvatore never thought he'd find love again, not after Katharine and Elena and Rose, and he was wrong. But when he did find love once more, in a wild city girl called Harriet, he just knew that it would never last, and he was right.
When the end came, as he knew it would, it came quietly, trying to sneak upon him when he least expected it. But he did expect it, he had seen it a mile away, so as he sat across from her in a small café along a busy road, with Harry fidgeting nervously informant of him, he thought he might as well tell her now, before the end came. He thought he might as well tell her what would always be his downfall. He thought he might as well tell her I love you before his heart was broken once again.
And broken it was, in a way that was just so much worse than all the other times. Worse that the times with Katharine and the times with Elena; so much worse. And it wasn't because he loved her more, no, he had tried his best to shield his heart as much as he could against Harry, and it had worked, almost. But still it wasn't that it was her breaking his heart, this normal, wild city girl, it was that his heart was being broken. His heart had suffered so much; surely it deserved a little happiness.
And so when he say across from the last person that would ever give his heart, and listened to her go on about how she was sorry and how there was someone else and how she never thought this would happen; he did. She was trying to make it all better, and he didn't have the heart to tell her that nothing could possible make this better, and that this was it for him. He just let her leave, let her leave him broken.
So Damon called the only person left in the world that could ever have a place in his long dead heart; Stefan. Stefan please could you come and get me? He was desperate, and he almost couldn't take the answering: no, you can run, it will be quicker. And all he could think to say again was please, and there was so much behind that word, so much. Please you're my brother. Please I need you. Please I'm breaking. Please you're my brother and I need you and I'm breaking. And Stefan must have heard him because he came.
He came through the door almost an hour later and said: "Are you coming then?" and Damon nodded and sat himself in the front seat of Stefan's car and stared determinedly at his hands. His old hands that had done so much and killed so many, his old blood drenched hands. It was his hands that had ruined him.
"Am I so…" he whispered, "Am I so disgusting that no one can love me at all? And Stefan let out a long, shuddering breath and turned to look at him with eyes just as old as his hands and his eyes that had seen just as much, and shook his head fiercely.
"No Damon." He said, sounding almost angry, "No."
"But…" he trailed of, turning his eyes away from Stefan's and down to his filthy hands once more.
"I said no, Damon." Stefan said, a little softer now, "You're my brother and I love you."
"Are you-" he started and stopped and started again, "But it's not just because you're my brother, is it?"
"No, Damon. Don't you think that after all these years I've learnt to love you because you're you, and not because we're related?" Damon turned his eyes back up to Stefan's "You are arrogant and rude, and sometimes unstable, and all kinds of annoying, but I love you for it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself Damon, it doesn't suit you, and understand that you are loved."
"Oh," Damon said and this time turned to look out of the window.
"Yes, oh," Stefan said and started the car, "Now let's go home."
END
Thing is, I don't actually like Stefan, but this is just how it came out.
Josi
