[ There's a split second where Stefan considers how far he can get from Damon before he returns. But the truth is, he's reluctant to break away from Damon even in the midst of his brother's determination to address a topic Stefan would rather ignore. There's very little about this place that's familiar to him, and even fewer options that occupy the spaces Damon does.
Whatever else he might be, Damon is his brother. A century's worth of memories always come down to the simple fact that they share everything. Damon is his blood. All his earliest memories are of him. All that they've put each other through, all that they've survived together, all that history that's bound them together from the moment Stefan took his first breaths.
It leaves him here, in a dark building watching his brother tear open his palm to give Stefan his blood. Stefan feels his mouth fill, fangs snicking forward as his face contorts to match Damon's. (He hates it. He can't stop it. He's never able to stop it.) He doesn't reach for the cup, trying to assess the white-hot kick of need that bubbles at the scent of blood in the air. ]
You know it's not that simple.
[ The memory of Elena comes to him so vividly it stops his breath. The two of them in her bed, Elena digging a pin into the soft skin of her palm and offering it to him. (She's not here.) Damon's palm is tacky with blood, wound already healed. Stefan wants to slap the cup out of his hand as badly as he wants to take it. ]
cw: vampirism etc.
Whatever else he might be, Damon is his brother. A century's worth of memories always come down to the simple fact that they share everything. Damon is his blood. All his earliest memories are of him. All that they've put each other through, all that they've survived together, all that history that's bound them together from the moment Stefan took his first breaths.
It leaves him here, in a dark building watching his brother tear open his palm to give Stefan his blood. Stefan feels his mouth fill, fangs snicking forward as his face contorts to match Damon's. (He hates it. He can't stop it. He's never able to stop it.) He doesn't reach for the cup, trying to assess the white-hot kick of need that bubbles at the scent of blood in the air. ]
You know it's not that simple.
[ The memory of Elena comes to him so vividly it stops his breath. The two of them in her bed, Elena digging a pin into the soft skin of her palm and offering it to him. (She's not here.) Damon's palm is tacky with blood, wound already healed. Stefan wants to slap the cup out of his hand as badly as he wants to take it. ]
I'm going to need more. That's the problem.
[ And they both know that too. ]