"Oh, the terrible struggle that I have had against sleep so often of late, the pain of sleeplessness, or the pain of the fear of sleep, and with such unknown horrors as it has for me! How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams."
–Lucy Westenra's Diary, Dracula
Stefan hunted in the forest nearby and fed quickly. Since he was already out, he went for a run. He went further than usual, working out in the denser areas of the trees and burning off built up anxiety he couldn't explain. When he eventually came home it was after midnight but he was wide-awake. He assumed Damon would be out with Alaric for a while, and made his way to his bedroom to strum on his guitar while he had the house to himself.
He didn't make it far.
Thrashing caught Stefan's attention. The rustle of sheets and a strained cry from his brother had Stefan at the door in a heartbeat. He leaned against the door, listening carefully, wary of walking in on a mistaken moan. But the sound leaking out wasn't pleasure, or even the deceptive pain-pleasure he'd heard from his brother's room from time to time. He didn't pause to think how fucked it up it was that he could categorize Damon's sex sounds. That didn't matter when it sounded like Damon was crying.
He moved into action. The door swung open and he rushed to his knees beside the bed. Damon's face was twisted in pain, the sheets tied around his bare hips and legs with the pillows tossed to the floor, but he wasn't physically injured as far as Stefan could tell.
Tentatively, Stefan stood, afraid to wake Damon, but unwilling to leave him to whatever nightmare he was clearly having. Damon turned and thrashed again, slamming his hands down beside him before he curled up on his side, covering his face with his arms. It muffled the sound he had been making, but not enough to disguise the strangled whimper of a word.
Not just any word. A name.
"Stefan."
Surprised that he had anything to do with this, Stefan knelt again, hand resting on Damon's shoulder out of reflex. His brother's skin felt rubbery, the muscles beneath trembling.
"I'm right here." He squeezed slightly, hoping to rouse Damon out of the dream carefully.
Damon stilled for a moment, going quiet completely. Stefan waited in silence as well. When Damon started shaking again, Stefan rubbed his hand over Damon's arm from elbow to shoulder and back again. "It's okay, Damon. You're okay." He doubted his own comfort, but at the sound of his voice, Damon seemed to be calming. "What's wrong?"
Damon turned again, uncovering his face and stretching out of his curled up position. His eyes spun like a marble under the delicate skin of his eyelids, deep in the dream cycle of REM sleep. Stefan couldn't miss the next name either.
"Elena."
Stefan jerked his hand back. What the hell did Elena have to do with anything? "She's at home. Her house." Stefan examined Damon again, wondering what dream his brother could be having about Elena that caused him so much anguish. It didn't take long before another clue slipped out.
"Mine, mine mineminemine mine."
"Shhhhh," Stefan leaned forward, stroking his hand through Damon's sweat slick hair. The sound got choked up in Stefan's throat, his entire body seizing up, refusing to acknowledge that Damon wanted Elena even in his sleep. His hand stopped on the back of Damon's neck, silent again, as Damon's muttering grew more frantic.
"Nonono ElenaNoStefans, minemineminemine."
It was too much, too confusing. Stefan put the pillows back on the bed and gently untangled the sheet from Damon's legs before pulling it over him. Moving towards the door, he took one look back as his brother started twisting again, head rolling into the space Stefan had touched him and burrowing into the pillows. Every time he thought they were making progress, finding some kind of balance, Damon's subconscious had to escape.
There was so much more happening than sleepwalking, and Stefan doubted Damon would ever admit to this. He was weary and wary of Damon's secrets.
"I don't know how to help you, brother."
Damon started muttering louder, thrashing harder while Stefan stood there watching. His big brother needed him. Before he over-thought it, Stefan went back inside and moved an armchair out of the corner of the room. He remembered the way Damon slept peacefully against him on the couch the month before, but couldn't bring himself to invade Damon's personal space like that without consent. He briefly considered pushing into Damon's dream to get some kind of idea of what was going on, but he had never been particularly good at it, and Damon would be furious if he figured it out.
Instead he shrugged out of his hoodie and outer shirt until he was left in jeans and a thin tank top. He brought his chair all the way to the edge of the bed and leaned back in, resting his hand on Damon's shoulder while tracing small circles against his skin.
The gesture worked on his brother too, Damon settling instantly. Rubbing over his face, Stefan relaxed as best as he could in the chair and kept his fingers moving as he closed his eyes.
