Stefan stared into the fire. Sitting completely still, he mentally tried to get a grasp on his tortured mind. It was no use; wherever his thoughts turned Elena's voice echoed around his head.
"I kissed Damon."
Those three words had shattered him - he could feel them still tearing him apart. He didn't know how he got home, but the fire was lit and Damon couldn't be seen. Originally he'd been waiting for his brother. Now he just sat.
"I kissed Damon."
He wanted to scream, to shout or just feel something; but he couldn't. All he could seem to do was sit here, staring into the embers, trying not to think.
"I kissed Damon."
It explained a lot of things really: why Elena had looked so guilty when she met his gaze; why Damon had looked so smug. He guessed he should feel angry them, but he couldn't even do that. Instead he just felt empty. He had forgotten that he still cared - and he did still care. He cared about Damon, about Caroline and Bonnie and Matt and Jeremy, and he cared so much about her, about Elena - even if he couldn't bring himself to show it.
"I kissed Damon."
Over to his right he heard a stiff crack. The glowing embers of the fire shifted suddenly in the heat. Startled, he looked up. How much time had passed? How long had he been sitting here? He was sure that those same embers had been a roaring blaze when he first took up his watch, yet now they cast a weak, ambient glow over his mood, imperceptibly warming his skin.
"I kissed Damon." Damon…
A voice spoke behind him causing him to rise dazed from his thoughts, only to see Damon standing there. "You should really put some more logs on that fire." He said casually strolling into the room. How dare he stroll? Thought Stefan cynically. How dare he…
Damon regarded Stefan slowly, his eyes flicking over him from beneath his cool gaze. He wasn't injured as far as he could tell, but there was definitely wrong with his brother.
His eyes looked wild and dangerous, and unusually dark beneath his brow. The way he was holding himself defensively, defiantly, as if waiting for any justification which would give him cause to lash out. Extra broody. There were other things too, things only a hunter would notice, but Damon noticed, and he did not like what he saw.
Something had obviously happened tonight, but brotherly bonding wasn't an option. Stefan's gaze hit into Damon almost physically, the intensity making Damon shift uncomfortably in his leather. Wisely, he decided not to bait his brother, instead smoothly glossing over his ruffled state. Stefan did not say a word. Damon was only mildly perturbed by this behaviour, knowing that he'd no doubt he'd find out soon, one way or another. Still, he decided as he ascended the stairs, he would be keeping a close eye on his brother until he knew more.
When Damon had left, Stefan turned to the fire again, tentatively lowering himself on to the couch. His mind whirled around him as he sat, desperately trying to understand his emotions. What was wrong with him? When had he given up hope? When had he given up?
Elena had never given up on him. Even in his darkest memories, she was ablaze with hope, the last light in the black of night, the reason he let himself live on. How could she turn her back on him now?
She hadn't, that was the worst thing. Deep inside, he knew it was his fault. He knew he had driven her away. But he couldn't even think of that now. Because really, who could blame Elena for loathing him, when he loathed himself? He had hurt her, he knew that. At Wickery Bridge, at the school, he didn't deserve her. Was it any wonder she hated him? But why did she have to kiss Damon?
It struck him hen how pitiful he was. He would sit here for eternity, contemplating the past, arguing with his demons. He would desiccate and mummify and still be seated here in a thousand years of time. The notion caught him somewhat off-guard; it seemed so morbid. It wasn't the Stefan Elena knew. Hell it wasn't the Stefan, Stefan knew!
Somewhere inside him an idea began to take hold. It was Damon's fault. Damon turned her against him. Damon made her do it. Damon was the one to blame.
It struck him from behind, a word. It was carried on a feeling and with a rush, he felt it take control of his mind, tugging them in an altogether new direction. He felt himself laugh out loud, whether in love or spite he couldn't tell. Revenge. That was it. He would take revenge, on his brother, for corrupting Elena. Revenge. The word tasted sweet and bitter in his mouth and all at once, he didn't care anymore.
Revenge. He would play Damon at his own game. The Damon game. May the best brother win.
Somewhere in the back of his mind was a voice that sounded too much like his own was troubling at this new frame of mind. You'll only hurt her… the voice hissed menacingly. Stay away from Elena Gilbert…
He pushed the voice down. He didn't want to think those thoughts preferring denial to acknowledgement; it was him against Damon after all, with both of them vying for her affections, he couldn't be distracted. Winners don't listen to voices in their heads. He was playing brother against brother. There are no rules, he thought to himself.
He heard himself muttering under his breath. "Game on Damon." he whispered and chuckled quietly to himself. Game on…