Their Raven

Chapter 33

The room had fallen into silence after Damon dropped the truth.

Stefan stood sat, arms crossed tight across his chest like he was holding himself together. His brows were furrowed, jaw tense, and he hadn't looked at Damon since the confession. "So..." Stefan finally said, voice rough. "We're not brother."

Damon's stomach dropped. "Hey—no. Don't do that."

"But we're not," Stefan said again. "You're not my brother. Not really." "Yes, I am," Damon stepped forward. "Don't make me kick your ass right here in front of the Original vampires, because I will."

Stefan let out a sad little laugh, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You could've told me."

"I was protecting you." Damon's voice softened. "You had enough on your plate growing up. You didn't need to know the man we called 'Father' treated me like a punching bag because i wasn't his."

Klaus shifted near the window, eyes sharp but silent. Elijah remained still, gaze unreadable. Kol lounged in a chair with none of his usual quips. Even Bonnie looked unsure, caught between concern and curiosity.

Stefan's voice rose a little, frustration breaking through. "All this time... I thought we were—" he shook his head. "I thought we were the same. Brothers in everything. But Giuseppe—he treated you like crap. I saw it. I lived in that house!"

Damon let out a breath. "We are brothers, Stefan. We'll always be brothers. Nothings changed."

Stefan's eyes went wide with realisation. "The beatings. The way he'd humiliate you in front of people, the way he treated you like some stain on the family. I thought he was just a cruel bastard. But to treat you like that because you weren't his is sick!"

"He hated that I wan a reminder," Damon said quietly. "That our mother loved someone else."

Stefan turned away for a moment, shoulders shaking with the effort to hold it together. "He was worse than cruel. And I didn't stop him."

"Stefan—" Damon stated.

"I should have," Stefan snapped. "I was there. I should have said something. Fought back."

"You were a kid," Damon said, stepping forward, voice gentler now. "You didn't know."

"I knew enough," Stefan whispered.

There was a pause. Damon glanced around at the Originals and Bonnie, then back at Stefan. "She used to call me il mio piccolo fuoco," he said softly. My little fire, always said I had his eyes, his temper. His stupid smirk." He tried to laugh, but it came out too broken to be real.

"She said he never wanted to leave," Damon added. "That he lover her. Loved me. That's why she held on a long as she did before Giuseppe... broke her."

Kol's jaw clenched, uncharacteristically serious. Elijah gave a faint, respectful nod. Klaus, standing in the shadows of the window, finally spoke. "That man," he said darkly "wouldn't have lasted a day in my house."

The tension in Klaus's voice was edged with something feral, something personal—and when his eyes flickered gold and his fangs pushes out ever so slightly, no one dared say a word.

"Bastard," he spat. "Punishing a child for being born!" Elijah and Kol stare at Klaus with sympathy and regret.

Bonnie reached out and touched Damon's arm gently. "We'll find out who your real father is. You deserve to know. We'll find out who magic that was."

Before anyone could respond—

SLAM

The front doors burst open, and the unmistakable sound of heels clicking across marble rang out like a threat.

"Oh, for God's sake, who the hell died or almost died?" Rebekah's voice carried into the room before she even appeared. "I had to cut my vacation short again. If I don't get an answer in the next ten seconds, I'm burning this house down.

She stormed in, blonde hair glowing in the sunlight, sunglasses perched atop her head, she worse something flowy and expensive—and murder in her eyes.

Nobody answered.

She glanced around and narrowed her eyes at Damon. "What did you do?"

Damon blinked. "Why does it have to be me?"

Kol raised a hand. "Because it is you."

Bonnie sighed. "It's not what he did. It what he is."

Rebekah ached a brow. "Start talking, Salvatore. Or I swear I'll put vervain in your bourbon."

Something in Damon shifted.

The eyes on him, the weight of it all, the pressure to explain himself again. His past, his blood, his secrets. Stefan's pain. Rebekah's entrance. Kol's smirk. Klaus's fangs. Elijah silent presence. Bonnie's worried touch.

It was all too much.

"I... I need air," Damon said suddenly.

He stepped back. "Damon—" Stefan called out.

But it was too late.

Whoosh. Damon vanished in a blur, windows rattling slightly from the sudden speed. No one could stop him. The front doors burst open swung open and stayed that way.

Damon didn't stop running until the tress swallowed him whole.

He stumbled to a halt in a clearing, breathing hard despite not needing to. The wind rushed through the branches above him, but it was quiet otherwise—too quiet. No distractions. No laughter. No smart remarks. Just the heavy beat of truth in his chest.

He dropped to his knees.

A raw sound tore from his throat, almost inhuman. His hands curled into the dirt and his shoulders shook.

It wasn't just the bloodline. Nearly dying. Or Giuseppe. Or even the confusion about his father.

It was everything. The centuries of pretending. The loneliness. The pain of always being less than. Even to the people he loved.

He wasn't a Salvatore. Not fully.

And he wasn't sure what he was now

But as tears slid silently down his face, he heard the echo of his mother's voice again, soft in memory.

"You are my little fire. Damon. And even the darkest night can't put you out."

He closed his eyes.

Let the flames come.

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