A/N: The past week and half has sucked because of family medical drama. I wrote this in response to a prompt at a comment ficathon for TVD, just to hear myself think for a few minutes. I don't have the energy to do proper headers right now; I'll come back and edit later. If you've left me a comment recently, I'm sorry that it's going to take me a while to get back to you. Free time is not in great supply right now.

Prompt: Damon/Elena, All I need is a little more of you to go on

Note: Assume that Klaus has already blown through town, and Elena's survived.

throw your soul through every open door (Damon/Elena, PG)

Mystic Falls: a sad small town of suffocating secrets and full-moon magic. Nothing it holds in its poisonous breast will be enough to keep her there; not forever. Daughter of Isobel and great-great-great (he eventually stops counting the "greats"), granddaughter of Katherine has their wanderlust buried in her veins, a pulsing backbeat her delicate ears will eventually detect - and obey. Blood, Damon knows, will always out.

Too soon, he and his brother are going to lose the girl they love. (To college; to Spring Break; to road trips; to adventures that don't include undead bloodsuckers wearing flashy mood rings. To all the things that the living want, take, and do.)

Never a question of if; always a matter of when. This knowledge is just one more thing he and his dear brother share. They never speak of it; that would make it too real. A tilt of his head, a quirk of Stefan's eyebrow. These gestures telegraph more than words could ever capture. He teases Stefan about his penchant for brooding, but more than the occasional quiet night finds them sitting side-by-side, silent and still at the old boarding house, the fire hissing and crackling dire portents as it casts strange shadows on the walls and on their young-old faces.

The half-life he leads holds many things: burning hungers never fully sated, the whisperfallcrunch of a solitary autumn leaf in the depths of the forest, the sweet quickening of Elena's pulse as he makes her space his own, and she pretends not to notice. But peace? No. Not that. Pathetic romantic that he is, he thinks he might taste that if she would kiss him just once - and see him. Only him.

"It's always going to be Stefan."

He'd have better luck wishing he was human again.