When Damon was human he thought vampirism was the key to everything. In a lot of ways, he hadn't been entirely wrong. Strength, power, influence over others, and most seductive of all: walking free of the chains that bound the rest of humanity. He couldn’t remember the last time he labored for money, he didn't answer to any government, he killed whoever he wanted when he wanted, and none of these things were of any consequence to him. Ever.
But, as it turns out, immortality is a bigger bitch than hindsight. There were just some things even eternity can't outrun. Rather, turned your ghosts into solid stone, built to last the sands of time for as long as your body did. Every where he stepped, all of Damon’s faults and fears lingered in his shadow, nibbling little chunks out of him like open mouthed fish at the edge of a creek. The thing is, Damon already hated himself in his human life. His father had been very skilled at making him believe there was something inherently wrong with him, so, for Damon--the transition into a monster was never much of a fall from grace at all. Rather, slipping into a form that finally fit.
As usual, Damon and Stefan could not have been more opposite in this.
Where Damon felt at home with a sharp set of teeth and the monster in the mirror, his brother was desperate to file them off: enough to crucify and bleed himself dry, if only someone would tell him he was good. Whatever that word means. Damon had spent years chewing on it. He knew he wasn’t good, not in the sense that most people meant it, but he knew this was about choices. Sometimes he chose to make the right ones, but most of the time he didn’t see any point in bothering—especially when there was often no good deed gone unpunished. Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? An invisible judge, jury, and executioner ? God ? please. If the bible had any truth to it there would be a vampire out there old enough to tell it. And, even then, he really wasn’t sure he’d care.
He supposed that was what was so annoying about Stefan’s martyrdom, running to confess each and every sin. There was no hell to go to, so he would build one right here on earth to blister in for all of eternity. And that would have been fine, except he wanted Damon to take his hand and stand atop the pyre with him, only to condemned him when he didn’t. Damon didn’t know what it was about Stefan that made him a ripper, and he wouldn’t pretend to understand the kind of bloodlust he struggled with, but he would not hate himself further just to prove he was worthy being loved.
If Stefan wanted to resent him for that, fine. They had plenty of other reasons to hate each other, far be it from Damon to pick and choose which ones made the list now.
Sitting in the living room, Damon was reading an old Gilbert journal. Whatever went down with the Gilbert watch and the Lockwood's left him with a lot of questions regarding the entire bloodline. He wanted to see if there were any buried secrets he missed over the years. As the fire crackled, the scent of it mingled with his lit cigar, wafting over the room. The sound of Stefans footsteps echoed down the hall well before he emerged in the entryway.
"Ugh." Damon groaned softly as he entered his peripheral. With out looking up from the journal, he turned the page and said, "I can feel you brooding."
2087
titsay
gracieabrams
germansingergirl
