The stillness of the quiet morning settles deep in Stefan's bones. He watches the sunlight dapple across the peaks of Damon's sleeping face.
There's time to feel the sadness and emptiness there wasn't time to think about when they were fighting. Stefan thinks about it now, lying in bed with his head pillowed on Damon's chest. They're naked but it's been a few days since they've done anything particularly sexual. Sometimes Stefan thinks it's a waste not to express their love that way every chance they can. So many people died because of what they became. The façade that almost consumed them just because they couldn't admit to themselves that this was all they wanted.
He's racked with enough guilt to last them both a dozen lifetimes over the lives that could have been saved if Katherine never came between them. If they didn't just use her as an excuse to have each other, she'd have never turned either of them. If Katherine was the catalyst for their hatred of each other, Elena was there to bring them back together.
Not that she would know now.
It's another great loss that the fight was over and no one was left to care that they finally made it to this point.
Stefan runs his hand down his brother's torso, fingers bump-bump-bumping over his ribs. It's his daily devotion to all their lost friends. The penance he pays to their memory is the only thing that leeches the guilt away. It's been so long since he's seen the survivors; it'd be their great grandchildren he'd run into instead of the group of weary teenagers they left behind in Mystic Falls. He's never looked them up, happy to let them live their life in peace and humanity.
Damon shifts under him, not yet waking, but his hand moves from Stefan's back to the base of his head, fingers tangling in the soft hair. His knee tightens over Stefan's hip. This is what fills the emptiness. It's more intimate than anything his brother would consciously try while awake, and Stefan hopes whoever is watching over them understands.
This is his peace.