Mystic Falls, 1840
The sound of piano music filled the hallway as Giuseppe Salvatore made his way down the main staircase of the Salvatore Mansion, straightening his shirt cuffs and the collar around his tie.
When he reached the bottom landing, he threw his suit jacket over his shoulders and checked his pocket watch, debating with himself whether or not to speak to his son before he left.
It was already half past five—if he didn't leave now, he told himself, he would be late for the Founders Council meeting at the church.
Giuseppe's eyes moved to the closed parlor doors, then he closed the cover of the watch hard and sighed, disgusted with himself.
It had been four months since his wife's death and he was still making excuses not to see or talk to his son—well, both of his sons.
He didn't mean to ignore Damon, but, it was just so painful to look at him…he looked so much like his late wife, it hurt.
And the constant playing of the piano didn't help.
Deep down, he knew it was Damon's way of coping—Lucianna had been teaching him to play before she passed away—but it just made Giuseppe want to keep more of a distance.
Distance…
Giuseppe cursed himself as he walked past the parlor doors, glimpsing Damon sitting at the piano as he made his way down the hallway.
What decent Father would want to keep his distance from his six year-old son at a time like this?
"Celeste, I'm leaving!" Giuseppe called as he grabbed his hat from the coat tree near the back door and put it on his head, then reached for his cane.
Soon, the black housemaid appeared at the end of the hall, having ascended the stairs from the summer kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Will you be home for dinner, Sir?" she asked
"No, I'll be dining with the Gilberts this evening," Giuseppe responded as he reached forward and opened the door, then stopped and turned back, his eyes shifting to the hall and the parlor doors again for a few moments, before he looked directly at Celeste, "Take care of him?"
Celeste gave a sympathetic smile and nodded, "Of course, Sir."
"Thank you," Giuseppe replied in a low voice as he turned and exited through the threshold and down the steps to the waiting carriage.
# # # # # #
"You ain't gonna consume that food by osmosis, boy..." Celeste chided as she squatted down next where Damon sat at the kitchen table, picking at the food on his plate with his fork.
"Not hungry," Damon said in a soft voice, leaning his head in his free hand as he stared down at his plate.
Celeste frowned as brought her hand up to stroke his dark brown hair.
Finally, after letting out a sigh, Damon looked over to her.
"May I be excused, please?" he asked
Celeste nodded solemnly as she stood
"I'll be up to draw your bath in a few minutes," she said, then watched as Damon dropped his fork and pushed back his chair, hopping down and dashing up the kitchen stairs to the first floor.
When he reached the hallway, Damon looked around the empty first floor with sad eyes, as he moved slowly toward the main staircase.
As he reached the landing, Damon automatically stopped and found himself turning toward the front parlor, his eyes focusing on what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye—the solo portrait of Lucianna Salvatore hanging over the fireplace mantle.
Even at a young age, Damon somehow knew that now life wouldn't be the same without his Mother.
His relationship with his Father over the last few months had proved that.
But, it wasn't just Damon that he was ignoring, he was also ignoring Damon's new brother.
Damon let out a staggered breath as he thought about that night—the night Stefan was born.
His Mother's labor had lasted far longer than anticipated and Damon could see by the way his Father paced in the hallway on the second floor that even he knew something was not right.
Then it happened.
After his brother was born, the baby was hustled from his parent's bedroom by one of the nurses and his Father rushed in without even gazing at his new son.
Damon remembered being anxious to see his Mother after so many hours of having to stay away from her and getting up quickly from the window seat in the second floor hallway and moving to peer through the half-open door to see her.
How she was lying on the canopy bed… she looked like she was sleeping.
It wasn't until he saw Doctor Fell's face as he pulled his stethoscope from his ears after checking his Mother's pulse and turned toward his Father, that Damon knew something was terribly wrong.
"No…" he remembered hearing his Father whimper as he fell to his knees at the end of the bed, crumbling the sight of his pale and still wife, "There has to be something you can do to help her—Please…"
But, Doctor Fell just shook his head as he moved to comfort the new father and widower.
A noise suddenly pulled Damon back to reality…it was a cry—a baby's cry.
Damon took in a sharp breath as he looked up the stairs to where the noise was coming from, then back to smiling portrait of his Mother.
As he took in her face for a few moments, the crying continued.
Where was the nurse? Damon thought to himself as he looked back up the staircase.
His Father had hired someone to care for the baby the last four months, since he didn't have the heart to have anything to do with him, yet.
Surely, she should be up there now and get him to stop crying.
Damon looked back to his Mother's painting and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. He shouldn't judge his Father. He, himself, hadn't even looked at his new brother since the night he watched nurse huddle the newborn out the door, leaving his dead mother behind.
Damon narrowed his eyes as his green irises met his Mother's behind the oil canvas.
And suddenly, he heard her voice in his head.
"Your brother needs you, Damon…" she whispered to him
Damon closed his eyes as he broke eye contact with the painting and turned back the staircase and his crying brother.
After taking in a breath to steady himself, he took hold of the railing and climbed the stairs, the baby's crying becoming louder as he made it to the second floor landing.
As he approached the nursery, Damon looked around for the wet nurse, but saw no one.
Cautiously, Damon peered around the threshold of the open door and swallowed nervously as he slowly approached the crib in the center of the room and his now screaming brother.
As he pushed back the tulle wrapped over the canopy top, Damon caught his first full glimpse of his baby brother and his breath caught, a warm feeling suddenly filling his chest.
"Hello Stefan, I'm Damon…" he said in a soft voice as he placed a hand on Stefan's chest, "Your big brother."
After a few moments, Stefan stopped crying and, as his wet eyes focused on his older brother, Damon couldn't help but smile a little.
His baby brother also had his Mother's eyes.
"It's alright…" Damon soothed, still rubbing the infant's chest gently as Stefan cooed, "I'm here. You're not alone."
Stefan flailed his arms and took hold of Damon's fingers with his small hand and Damon giggled at how strong his brother was.
"You've got a grip there," Damon smirked, wiggling his brother's hand
Then suddenly, he stopped, his face softening as he thought of his Mother.
"You know," Damon whispered, leaning over the edge of crib and looking down at his brother's hand still gripping his fingers, "You don't ever have to let go if you don't want to."
# # # # # #
Damon smirked as he watched his brother sleep soundly on the couch from where he sat across the room.
They had been looking through some old family albums, drinking and reminiscing for hours after their piano serenade.
It was around 9:30 when Damon had looked up and found that he had lost his brother to slumber.
As creepy as it sounds, he had spent the last two hours just sitting in the leather recliner near the fireplace, watching his brother sleep—his chin resting gently on his chest, his scotch still in his hand.
Damon had missed this—all the centuries they had been apart—just being with his brother. The truth was that Damon may have been angry at Stefan and felt he couldn't really ever trust him again after Katherine, but it didn't mean he ever stopped missing him or loving him all those centuries.
That was something time and space could never destroy—that bond that was formed the night Damon first looked into his baby brother's eyes.
Damon sighed as he finally sat up and put the lid on the picture box sitting in his lap, then pulled himself out of the chair and began collecting the albums and picture boxes scattered around the parlor, stacking them as quietly on the coffee table as he could without disturbing Stefan.
He then reached for the folded Afghan blanket on the end of the couch, unfolding it over his brother's lower half before gently removing the glass in Stefan's grip.
Just as the tumbler left his brother's fingers, Damon felt Stefan grabbed his hand.
"Thanks, Damon," he mumbled
"Sure, Stefan…" Damon smirked, looking down at his brother's hand in his.
Stefan took in a deep breath and his eyes opened heavily, focusing on Damon
"What if she never comes back?" he asked in a low voice, half-asleep
Damon squeezed his hand as he took a seat on the coffee table next to his brother.
"She will…" Damon encouraged, though he, himself, had doubts
"But what if she doesn't?" Stefan murmured, his eyes fluttering
Damon smiled as he watched Stefan fall back asleep
"Then, you'll still have me," he whispered