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Stefan has never thought about death before. Not like this.
It was never really on the horizon. He's immortal, and aside from wooden stakes and wildfires, nothing can really hurt him.
This hurts though, more than anything he ever felt, more than actually dying or the lonely ache of years spent alone, or even the guilt of becoming a ripper, nothing, and it won't go away.
He tries to ignore it, to self-medicate with alcohol or blood, but nothing works.
It's his fucking catchphrase now, nothing, although he uses the word "never" every once in a while too.
Nothing matters. He'll never see him again and everything has an ending. Everything is temporary and corporeal, and he never thought he would feel like this ever again, weak, human.
He's still undead, but he feels a little closer to death now, scooped out and hollowed to the core, heartless, heartbroken.
The world could've been his playground, but it's his factory instead, and he clocks in as a pseudo-human automaton, pretending to love, pretending to care.
It gets to be too much and he leaves. Stefan doesn't want to see her or any of them; he can't listen to her voice.
They all remind him of what he lost, and it's still intangibly and fundamentally wrong.
Of all the outcomes and possible futures, he never could've predicted this.
There it is again- never.
His brother went away and never came back. Stefan used to think that Damon would return, but the thought nearly drove him mad and he had to push it down, away.
The road stretches on ahead, but he doesn't want to go any further. Stefan hates himself for being so weak, but he knows it isn't weakness. It's a longing for a constant, a familial connection, love, and he's fucking lost. Lost.
It's been 160 days since he last saw Damon, and he's starting to get angry.
Angry because reality is finally setting in. His travels and research were pointless, fruitless distractions.
It sinks in again. He can create a new life and dissociate into a new self, but it'll always be there. That ache will always define him.
No matter where he goes or what he calls himself, he'll never be able to escape that shadow, the person who used to define him, the love and hate that made the world turn and stop.
Yes, it had been unhealthy at times, but he needed it. He still does.
Stefan lets the anguish seep into his bones, and it hardens into anger. The anger turns into rage and then blame, and he learns to hate his brother all over again.
Damon might've saved him, but he also abandoned him. Stefan feels selfish, but he can only focus on his own pain right now. His heart aches for Elena, who lost her love, and Caroline, who lost his friendship.
The world is an upside-down version of itself, and he isn't sure if he wants to live there anymore.
Maybe they'll come back someday. Maybe.
No. Stefan won't entertain such foolish thoughts. No.
He crosses a day off on the calendar, and the finality of it brings an ironic grin to his face.
He's never kept track of time, really, but now he does.
Who knows how long he'll be around? Stefan isn't sure if he wants to know, but a tiny part of him wonders if his days are numbered too, just like Damon and Bonnie's were.
His brother did the unthinkable: he died.
They were supposed to have time to reconcile and travel the world. They hadn't even taken that fucking road trip.
The whole business of it makes Stefan feel nauseous, or at least what he remembers nausea used to feel like.
They weren't supposed to live this long. They should have died 148 years ago, but they didn't, for better or for worse.
It doesn't make sense. Stefan is thinking too damn much. He shuts down his brain and turns off his iphone.
No distractions, no history, no memory. Nothing matters.
Nothing matters to him, and he thinks nothing ever will.