The Vampire Diaries

TVD Short 1

The boy lay, staring at a crack in the wall. Well it might be a crack, or a smudge, he couldn't be sure. His vision was too blurry.
It was always too blurry.
He could hear the door opening and shouting. He couldn't see his brother getting dressed quickly. He could hear endless rounds of wooden bullets emptying into his brother. He couldn't see him drop to the floor. He could hear the calm and knew his brother had been staked. He couldn't feel the gentle hands cleaning him up and dressing him. He could hear the whispers and the gasps. He couldn't feel them gently pulling him out of the soiled bed.
He couldn't feel a damn thing.

Running. He had to keep running.
"You can't hide from me. Hell, you can't even run," his voice rang through the air. Stefan bounded down the stairs, wishing, wanting -needing- to vamp speed but he couldn't. Damon had practically drained him of blood and kept injecting him with vervain.
He was so weak.
"I found you," Damon whispered...

He woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard. He curled into a ball and muffled a sob. He had never felt so small and weak. Someone knocked on the door but he couldn't, couldn't, look up. His brother had beaten that into him early on. He kept his blurry eyes trained on the sheets. It was too dark to see who was in the room anyways, there was no light of any kind because his brother took his ring... and he didn't want anyone to really see him.
So much shame.

"You've made me mad baby brother," Damon said while intertwining their fingers. Stefan was so laser focused on that that he was too late to stop Damon from ripping his ring off of his other hand. "Now you must pay the price," he smirked. He pocketed the ring then reached up and ran his hand through his hair. Stefan shuddered away but Damon just followed, backing him into a wall.
"Damon please stop," Stefan whispered in a hoarse voice. He had screamed so much lately his vocal cords felt like they were on fire. Whether Damon heard him was beyond him though because he just leaned in and started kissing him like he hadn't said a word.
A hand started trailing down as Damon pulled away, biting his lip one last time before saying one word, "mine..."

When he woke up again his eyes immediately started to water again. His eyes burned so badly and he felt horrible. The boy shivered, the cold seemed to be at his core.
But, of course it was...
He heard voices and involuntarily gasped shakily. He was so afraid. He kept thinking his brother was going to barge in, bloody, and tell him "I did this for you."
"I killed them for you."

"Stefan please stop fighting me. I killed her for you. Everything I do is for you. Why can't you see that?" he walked towards him, his bloody hands reaching out to him.
"You're sick Damon. You're mentally and emotionally sick," Stefan said carefully, slowly edging towards the door. In a flash he backed into a body, immediately knowing Damon was behind him now. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could be anywhere but there.
"You make me better," Damon whispered in his ear, making him shiver in the worst way. Stefan could only scoff in his mind. Damon walked around to the front of him and placed his blood-stained hands on either side of his face. Stefan grimaced and tried to move away. "You really are, so, beautiful. I don't know how I ever restrained myself all these years," Damon whispered, dragging a finger lightly above an eyebrow, trailing down to his chin. Stefan couldn't help but blush, hating himself for it. Damon picked Stefan up, wrapping his legs around his waist, and carried him to his bedroom.
Stefan's bedroom.
The room was supposed to be Stefan's private sanctuary, but Damon ruined that long ago. Damon dropped him on the bed before crawling after him, pinning him down.
"Please don't," Stefan pleaded quietly as the tears already began to fall. "Please stop..."

His panic attack had made him pass out. He had never really thought vampires could be this kind of sick. He always thought if they were sick it was cause they were a psychopath. He never knew depression and anxiety was possible.
Until they found his ring. Until they took him to a therapist. Until he was diagnosed with PTSD, clinical major depression, and anxiety disorder. He honestly barely noticed he was self harming until he was asked about it. When the woman asked him why he chewed on his knuckles to the point on bleeding he was surprised.
When he said he didn't know he did that, she wrote for a long time.
After that he was hyper aware of himself. He sat in the dark, dragging the blade down his arms, watching the blood blossom over his pale skin then fading as the cut began to close. The longer he did it, the longer it took for the wound to heal, until it wouldn't and he'd pass out in the tub, blooding pooling around him.
The drain was plugged.