Whiplash
Summary: Stefan Salvatore is an expert at inflicting pain. Dealing with it? Not so much.
In the beginning, he was the sweeter of the two. But that was never the whole story.
Stefan is popular with the girls because he listens, instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. He knows how to act like a gentleman; no girl has ever opened a door for herself in his presence, or pulled out her own chair, or walked home alone. Most importantly, though, he knows exactly how to say what they want to hear without letting them know he's doing it.
Damon never bothered with that. He's good looking and sharp witted enough to reel in almost any girl for a night, and so far, that's all he's been interested in. It's true that the next day, these girls are ready to take a swing at him for sneaking off without warning, moving on to the next pair of long legs and bright eyes, but really, Damon's method is the more honest one.
For all that Damon's women get angry, in truth they knew what to expect the moment he sidled up beside them and flashed his bad boy grin. Stefan lies to his girls as easily and as often as breathing, with the mask of perfect sincerity he'd mastered years before Katharine stormed onto the scene. When he leaves them, it's more like a knife in the back than the sucker punch Damon makes sure everyone knows he's throwing.
Damon ruffles feathers, but he doesn't break hearts. Not like Stefan does.
And, honestly? He doesn't usually feel too upset about it. The girls all disappoint him eventually, with their naïveté, their vapidness, their complete and utter lack of character. Behind his Prince Charming smiles and thoughtful attention, he's slowly going crazy with boredom. A restless itch begins to build up under his skin—he asks himself why he stays. Eventually (in fact, not always after long), he can no longer come up with a good answer to this question. And when he leaves, it's because he feels he's played the martyr long enough.
Damon never stays long enough to let hearts enter into the equation. Stefan's been manipulating the equation for so long his heart's no longer a variable.
Katharine senses this; predators recognize their kind. Truly, the only thing Katharine's ever loved is a challenge. And she wants to make Stefan's heart flip over in his chest, wants to hold it in the palm of her hand and watch him dance. Wants to see if she can turn the predator into the prey; use his particular brand of offense against him, and see if his defense is strong enough to counter the weapons he wields.
Damon is not interesting to Katharine in this way—he's built himself an impressive wall around his heart, but once she pokes at the weak spots with her practiced hands, he's hers without a fight. Stefan puts up a fight. Katharine thinks she's winning, until the day they're forcibly separated, and all she can think about is how to get back to him. Stefan simply shakes it off and waits for the next exciting thing to cross his path.
This happens to be Elena, and everything turns upside down.
When Stefan sees Elena for the first time, she's more of a curiosity than a human being. He denies this, of course, when she asks, but he's rather impressed by her perceptiveness. (This isn't the only time she catches him off guard). Elena is not Katharine. She is not a predator, not dangerous in the same loud and aggressive manner. She is prey with a bite; a fighter, and tenacious at that. Stefan steps into the ring with her, and emerges with her heart in his hands. It's almost routine.
Almost, because when he leaves, he finds he's missing something too. His own.
Time doesn't stop, but it slows to the point where every day becomes a struggle, because now, every day matters. She tugs on his heartstrings like they're attached to an invisible bridle at his mouth—he follows her will almost involuntarily, but in a way that is not totally unpleasant. He has the same power over her, but finds himself reluctant to use it. It frightens him a little, how far he's gotten himself into this. The words are familiar to him—I love you, he says, but he's said it before. I will never leave you. I just want you to be happy. I will do whatever you need me to do.
Only this time, he means them. Unconditionally.
The days pass, and he starts to settle back into his skin. He can live with this, he tells himself. It's easy, most days—keeping Elena close isn't difficult, and she makes him laugh. (She makes his blood rush and his head spin and his mouth spout unpredictable things). And then Damon rolls into town, and suddenly the ground is shifting under his feet again.
Damon, who never gets involved, never even pretends, takes one look at Elena and immediately accepts what it's taken Stefan months to come to terms with.
Elena looks at Damon and sees the same vulnerability that turned Katharine off—it brings Elena closer. For the first time, Stefan is afraid he might lose someone before he's ready to leave. (He will never be ready to leave her). When he pushes the outer limits of their relationship, running off with evil Original vampires, killing innocent humans from her town, telling her he's finished with them…she doesn't break. She doesn't back down; there's belligerence in her eyes when he advises her to get over him.
Except, except.
There's belligerence in her eyes when Damon tells her he can't be saved—stop trying. Try as he might, Stefan can't convince himself that there's a difference between the way she looks at the two of them.
It's like being under a knife, a new cut every time she says his name when she used to say 'Stefan' instead. He pushed her to it, but he hates how she turns to Damon when she needs advice, when she needs a babysitter for Alaric, when she wants company.
Fear is not an entirely foreign emotion, but this anxiety is insidious—it crept up on him from behind and wove itself into the fabric of his mind. He's not sure how much longer he can handle this, or whether he'd been able to handle it at all from the beginning. He just doesn't know.
And that uncertainty is worse than anything.