#archiving here

Call it worry. Call it brotherly whatever. Call it him butting in after being gone since the jail and the events that unfolded. Call it as you will. Stefan was now parked out in front of the Salvatore house and twisting his keys through his fingers as he drummed on the steering wheel with the other set and gathered his thoughts together. It'd been since the night with Ric that he set foot in the house for more than a brief stopping by to grab this or that. It was his home, too. Supposedly. Though for a very long time it felt anything but that. There were too many possibilities inside those walls. None he want to experience. The possibility of having to actually talk things through with Damon. The possibility that Elena would be there and an uncomfortable silence would fill the entire place because the three of them housed in the same home wasn't something (at least he, himself) really wanted to or could imagine given the circumstances of their current situation be it now or months ago. He was the one who walked away. He knew it. Wouldn't deny or blame it one anyone else other than himself. It was his choice, his solution to many problems, his simple way of avoiding the things that had the chance to hurt him the most. A habit he was certain he might never lose at this point. Even if he stumbled his way through doing exactly that many times over. Funny how bad he was at his own avoidance techniques or impossibly bad, usually ineffective but still worth hanging onto for habit's sake coping mechanisms.