Guilt trips, a vampire diaries fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own the vampire diaries.

There are some things in life that Damon Salvatore, reformed serial killer turned baby-sitter to his girlfriend's eighteen year old annoying baby brother, did not do. Like think twice before uttering a witty little retort back at the person helping him out with his grocery list, or hesitate before snapping an innocent citizen's neck when he's bored, or wonder if the woman he was compelling to sleep with him wanted it or not.

But most of all, there was one thing that Damon Salvatore never did- guilt trips. Oh hell no. If he starts now, he will have to go back to the first time he fed on a human, and the fire in his living room is much warmer and comfortable than that bottomless well, thank you very much. Drowning in self-righteous "I did something so horrible OMG, OMG!" was just not in his blood, no puns intended. It just wasn't his cup of scotch.

(You're sleeping with your brother's girl.)

It's the perfect Sunday morning, with the sun's rays being reflected brightly off his shiny little Lapis Lazuli, and with her tucked safely in his arms, her eyes closed so contently, the slightest hint of smile on her lips- making him wonder what it is she's dreaming about, and stray strands of hair all over her face. He leans in to give a soft kiss on her forehead, when his ears pick up a sound downstairs. Stefan. Moving around in the kitchen, making breakfast for Jeremy while they talk, laughing over some silly incident from three years back, joking about Bonnie being Qetsi- I'm crazy-yeah's descendant.

It's like a knot in his stomach, like vines of vervain twirling around his intestines while somebody puts a dagger into his heart and pulls it out again every now and then.

(Shut up.)

It hits him every time he looks at Stefan, like a lightning that's being controlled by Aaron Stone and his play-station- searching for him and hitting him with perfect accuracy every single fucking time. This must be Mr. Webster's definition for "haunted".

"Hello, brother." He greets curtly, but his voice is small, thanks to that thing that he swears he never does.

"Hello, Damon", Stefan greets back, half-smiling. "I just dropped by because Jeremy wanted to see me." He feels the need to explain.

"It's alright, it's your house too. You can come here any time." He assures sincerely.

Only, he's not sure himself if he really means it, if he really wants him around so that he can be reminded of that thing for every single second for all eternity.

(You're sleeping with your brother's girl.)

It hits him every time he remembers how this is supposed to be their destiny, how he's the one who's standing in between them, separating them like two halves of a sphere being pulled apart by the wind, how he might be the one holding her back when all she might want to do at the moment is run right back to his brother.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should do the seemingly right thing and walk away, let them find each other again, be happy, be together, be the way they are apparently meant to be.

Then he looks at her, sees that look in her eyes, that love, that care, that warmth, that…. God, she's his everything.

(Shut up.)

It's like a poke with the sharpest little needle that's reaching deep inside parts of him that he wants to rip out, shove down the throat of whichever poor creature is in front of him at that moment, and never think about again.

He sees them talking, and a part of him is relieved at how things are returning to somewhat normal between them, while another part does one more thing that he swears he never does. It's that word, starting with an I, ending with an Y, and having a weight approximately twice that of the Stone Henge in between, he's guessing.

Insecurity is just a thing for emo-teens listening to Taylor Swift, so spare him the-

Oh. She's smiling at something Stefan says. And it hits him yet again.

(You're sleeping with your brother's girl.)

But most of all, there was one thing that Damon Salvatore never did- guilt trips. He doesn't sit down in the Mystic Grill on a Monday evening when she's back at college, doesn't think about how someday he might wake up to find her gone, back to him, back to where she apparently belongs, doesn't curse Alaric for being an idiot and winding up dead and not telling him that he is overthinking and it will be fine, and leaving him all alone to drink, and totally doesn't not pay attention to the person sitting next to him who won't stop whining about the F-s his kid is getting in whatever the hell they teach in school nowadays, not comprehending the F-s he doesn't give about it, and he most definitely doesn't try to drink away his guilt.

Only, he does option D- all of the above.

(Shut up.)

A/N: I feel this way right now, dating a friend's ex, that's how I got the idea, lol. Hope you liked it :)