|𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓|
Song; When the Party's over by Billie Eilish
"Is he awake?" I asked, my voice barely louder than a whisper as I sat at the top of the stairs that led into the cellar. The air down here was cold, still. Heavy.
Damon sat a few steps below me, his face half-lit by the low lamplight. He didn't look tired—vampires didn't get tired—but there was something drained in him. A stiffness in his shoulders. A quietness that felt unnatural for Damon Salvatore.
"He isn't responding," he said.
That answer sat in my chest like stone. I didn't want to admit how much it scared me—how silence from Stefan somehow felt worse than rage. At least rage meant he was still fighting.
Damon stood and extended a hand toward me.
"There's something I want to show you."
I took his hand and followed him out of the basement, our footsteps echoing softly through the house. He led me into the drawing room, where firelight flickered low and amber across the walls. For a moment, I thought about all the times we'd stood in this room—laughing, arguing, existing—and how none of those memories felt steady anymore.
He held out a small object—cold and unfamiliar—and placed it in my palm.
"It's what John wanted, the thing that belonged to Jonathon Gilbert in 1864. Pearl gave it to me."
It felt mechanical. Odd. Like it didn't belong in this time or the last.
"Do we know what it is?" I asked, watching how it caught the firelight.
Damon shook his head.
"Whatever it is, it doesn't work. Thought she was stealing his vampire compass, but it was a pocket watch. That Jonathon Gilbert was a crazy scientist."
A bitter smirk curled at my lips. The Gilberts were always meddling in things they didn't understand.
"Where's Elena?" I asked, expecting her to have been nearby. She'd spent so many nights here lately. Always close to Stefan. Always trying to be the thread that held everything together.
"School." Damon poured me a glass of water before I could even make a request. When I gave him a look, he raised a brow, already answering my protest before it could form.
"You're too young."
I laughed quietly, some part of me needing the sound just to break the weight in the room.
"I'm 157 years old, Damon. I'm not eleven anymore."
"You are in my eyes." he said, like it was something fond.
But it didn't feel that way.
Because no matter how much I'd grown, how many decades had passed, I was still seen as the little sister. Still not taken seriously. Still the one protected, instead of trusted. That part of me—the part that had fought, lost, and survived—was still invisible to them.
He went back to examining the pocket watch, while I sipped the water just to distract myself from that uncomfortable sting in my chest.
"Do you want to go see Stefan?"
I should've said no.
But deep down, I couldn't shake the image of him lying there alone. Wracked with guilt. Scared of himself. Scared of what he might become.
And I hated it.
Because he didn't deserve to be locked up like that—like an animal. He needed someone who still saw him underneath it all.
Someone who believed he could come back.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
Even if he didn't want me there, I needed to see him.
