I wrote fic! Holy SHIT, y’all.

Specifically, I wrote Stefan/Damon, which I apparently had problems gacking in my head...until I saw spoiler pictures, at which point my brain went “PERIOD PIECE” and fell over in a heap.

If this ends with me writing a fucking threesome, I’m punching someone.

By gale

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, everyone had been like Vicki. [Stefan/Damon, 724 words]

It’s very loud out here. Stefan’s most surprised by that.

Actually, no: he’s most surprised by everything. Everything is loud and vivid and sharp; smells are more pungent, sounds too crisp, textures so clean they almost hurt. He ran into a tree and braced his hands against the bark, and almost fell over at the feel of it against his skin.

Something’s wrong, he knows. He can feel it just inside, the same way people can sense storms before they come. He’d spent all afternoon crouched under a bed of leaves, trying to will the sun away – and that’s just in the afternoon; he can’t bear to think about what daylight will be like. It’s too bright, too hot, too close to him. It makes him feel heat-sick.

A mile-and-a-half back, wolves prowl. Stefan can hear the pad of paws on damp leaves. He shivers and keeps moving.

His fingers are clumsy, now – clumsy and strangely firm, like he’s hiding strength even from himself. It’s mad; he’s always been the clever-fingered one – you have to be, to be a doctor – but now it’s like he’s relearning how everything works. Which is ridiculous, because all he’d done was fall down. Fall down! He’s fallen countless times since he started walking. Granted, it was kind of a hard fall, and the angle had been terrible, but it was a fall, not a rifle blast or a knife to the chest.

When he’d gotten up, head muzzy and throbbing, he’d grabbed onto a branch to steady himself. It had shattered in his grip like a pastry.

Stefan’s trying not to think about that.

Half a mile away, he sees an owl perch on a tree limb and has to swipe at his mouth. Owl, for godsakes! He’s never been the best hunter, exactly, and he’s cold and exhausted and confused, but owl? That’s ridiculous. Running’s made him mad. This whole day’s made him mad. Katherine made him--

Stefan tries not to think about that, either.

He can’t go back to town; they’d name him collaborator, if they haven’t already, and string him up. Maybe burn him, like they had Emily – which was a shame, and a bit strange, since as far as they knew Emily worked for Miss Pierce, and if she hadn’t done what Miss Pierce wanted, she’d at the least be horsewhipped. A small part of Stefan, not confused and scared and wobbly like a new colt, is starting to get exactly how unfair that is.

He hopes her children are all right. He thinks he’d seen Damon hurrying them away, but the whole night is still a blur.

And that’s something else: Stefan’s been out here for hours, and he hasn’t seen his brother once. He’s heard him once or twice, but kept himself away for – why? Damon’s his brother. They’re in this together, the way they have been since Katherine had arrived. And yes, Damon’s angry at him, but it’s not like they haven’t ever quarreled. They’ll be fine. They’ll be fine, and then Stefan can finally relax long enough to find something to eat--

Something. Not owls, not rabbits. Something.

Damon will help him. Damon’s always helped him, since they were children. Stefan’s always wondered, in the back of his head, if Damon blames him for their mother; it had been his birth, after all, that had weakened her, and she’d never really recovered. But Damon’s uniformly terrible at hiding his emotions – one of the reasons he’d left the military; commanding officers don’t take well to that sort of thing – and he’s never so much as hinted that he was mad at Stefan. All he’s ever done is love him.

You love me, Katherine had whispered, more than once, and you love each other. So I don’t see why not--

Stefan doesn’t let himself think about that, either. Only sometimes.

As if prompted, Stefan can hear Damon. He’s a quarter-mile north, cold and not dressed for the weather and still furious. But he’s scared, too, just like Stefan. He’s lonely, just like Stefan.

Maybe he’s hungry, too.

Damon’s voice sounds very close, now. His heartbeat is steady, if a bit faster than normal, and he only has minor wounds and abrasions. He smells all right.

He smells better than all right, actually.

Stefan picks up speed, and moves towards the future.


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