Work Text:
Leaving a self-righteous Damon skulking downstairs celebrating his (potentially disastrous) minor victory over Klaus, Stefan retreated up to his room with two bags of blood and a badly frayed temper. As the door closed behind him, he let his chin drop and squeezed his eyes tight against regret almost too overwhelming to bear.
Elena thought he’d been apologizing.
She was begging him to say something when all he could do was bite the side of his tongue hard enough to remind himself why he was sticking to such a devastating ruse. He could see he’d played the part too well. Hurting her like that, that night by the bridge — he’d dashed whatever remaining faith in him she’d had left.
Why should she remember the silent promise he’d made on her birthday? Why should she believe in him when he’d threatened to send her to her death in a gruesome mimicry of the accident that had killed her parents? If the stress of the situation drove her into his brother’s arms, how could he blame her?
He had to let her go. She’d never fully trust him again; she’d never love him the same way as when things were simpler. Stefan didn’t blame her. He couldn’t blame her.
He didn’t have the right to blame her.
So he spoke aloud the truth, as a reminder of what had just been made abundantly clear: “I shouldn’t have kidnapped you. The car, the bridge — it was too far.”
“Thank you.”
She thought he’d been apologizing.
It was better this way.
He’d keep Elena safe. He’d keep Damon safe. He’d keep them all safe and finally get rid of Klaus. He’d do it all, without any more hope for a happily-ever-after ending in return.
It just wasn’t in the cards. The Salvatore brothers, neither of them had the right to drag Elena into the shadows. She deserved better. If she couldn’t be made to see it, well…
Maybe then he’d offer her a real apology.