They take a stroll in the woods. Stefan had insisted that they spend the last day of their afterlife doing something normal, and Lexi had only rolled her eyes before looping her arm through his. They don't hear Bonnie. They don't hear Enzo or Silas (apparently the Hyde to Stefan's Jekyll is still out here somewhere) or Alaric. Instead, they hear distant screaming and big whooshes of air that could come to pull them out of existence anytime.

But they continue walking as if it's just another Tuesday, as if it's 1987 and they're both walking home from the concert and still going apeshit about hanging out backstage with Bon Jovi. Stefan looks at Lexi then, thinks about how she'd managed to show up in his life right when he needed her the most, as if she'd kept a diary with all the things he'd told her when he was too drunk to remember (and Lexi wouldn't remind him about them the next morning), or when he's going through his dark, brooding phase (she'd sat through night after night listening to him complain incessantly about Damon), or just when he was lonely (she'd jokingly suggested painting the town red — with blood, but they would just spend the day doing illegal things and compelling the townspeople later).

"What?"

"Nothing," Stefan says, smiling. "Just thinking about you. About us."

"Ugh, don't get sappy now, you'll make me cry." Lexi elbows him in the ribs. "We're a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," he agrees.

"Hey Stef, is that…?"

It's Damon, sitting on an old bench by the Fell church, looking down at a slab of rock as if it were a gravestone. Stefan sees the small hip flask in his brother's hand and feels a sudden lump in his throat. He knows exactly what Damon is doing. He's mourning.

"Goddammit, Stefan," he mutters, tossing the hip flask aside. "You are a dick of a brother."

Stefan doesn't have to look at Lexi to know that she's flinching. But he only continues to smile, because he knows Damon more than anybody else does; he knows how his brother mourns, how he grieves, how he loves.

"I was supposed to go first," Damon says quietly. He falls to his knees then, slams his hands onto the flat piece of ground around the slab of rock and digs his fingers into it. "I was supposed to go first."

Stefan untangles his arm from Lexi's and makes his way to Damon. He wants, more than anything, to put his hand on Damon's shoulder; to hug him, even. But there's nothing to it; just as there's nothing to his brother's words, meaningful yet empty.

"I'm sorry, brother." Damon drops his head, letting it hang loosely from his shoulders and Stefan has to bite his tongue at the shakiness in his brother's voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the good brother, I just… even if… even after all the… bad spots we've been through, I just… I want you to know…"

"I know, Damon," Stefan replies, and he sees Damon smile slightly as if he can hear him. "I know."

"It's weird seeing him with feelings," Lexi finally pipes up.

"Yeah, you'd be surprised."

"He's not going to make it, is he?"

Stefan watches as Elena joins his brother, wrapping her arms around him as Damon weeps silently over the slab of rock that is, apparently, Stefan Salvatore's gravestone, and weeps along with him. Stefan shakes his head with a smile.

"Nah," he says, "he's going to be just fine."

"Good, because I was getting a little worried about our eternal ever after pact."

"It's a peace pact, Lexi. It's not like we're getting married or anything," Stefan quips. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

"Ouch," she pouts, "and here I thought you were the good brother. Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman or something? Doesn't that come with the package?"

"If I were going to propose to you, I'd have done it a long time ago."

"I don't do long-term engagements. You either marry me right now or we're done."

"Deal, but we've gotta find a minister first." Stefan masks a thoughtful look. "You think there're any witchy dead ministers hanging around?"

"I don't know," Lexi says, and the approaching white light towards them makes her smile. "Why don't we find out?"

"After you."

"So he is a gentleman after all!"

They clasp their hands a little tighter as the warm, blinding wave of light washes over them.