Author's Note: Hello! I'm trying to get a feel for the characters, so I thought I'd write a few drabbles. I'm using the "word of the day" feature at to generate prompts. I'll probably focus on the brothers. The characters don't belong to me.

Panacea: A remedy for all diseases, problems, or evils; a universal medicine; a cure-all.

Damon has always considered himself a natural at vampirism. Not because he looks the part, though he knows he does. Not because he is strong and quick. Not even because can just as easily be vicious as charming. He is a natural because his life, even as a human, has been about the one thing that he thinks defines vampires most: the inability to avoid losing oneself in wanting.

~*~

When he was small, he wanted his father's approval. He had sat in his father's lap and listened about the history of the town and the Salvatore family. He tried his hardest to make Giuseppe proud, but, as often as not, he said something out of place. When he was eight, the minister had come for supper and Damon had asked him how he knew for sure that someone hadn't just made God up. He hadn't meant to be disrespectful or rude; he had just wanted to know. The minister had glared at Damon and muttered that Giuseppe, devoid of a wife, was clearly raising the boy to be a perfect heathen.

After the minster had left, his father had grabbed his shoulders and shook him. "What are you doing asking questions like that?" He had yelled. "Especially where your brother can hear you! You're supposed to be setting an example."

Damon had cried. He hadn't thought not to ask. He never thought not to ask. Later, Stefan sidled up to his brother and whispered "I wanted to know, too." Yes, Damon thought. But Stefan knew better than to ask. Damon knew better than to ask again, no matter how much he wanted to.

~*~

Eventually, he had gotten tired of seeking his father's approval and decided that he wanted to horrify Giuseppe instead of make him proud. His first real opportunity came on a sticky July evening. His father and Stefan were in the General Store; his father had said that Damon could wait outside until he learned to keep a civil tongue in his head. He had been standing around the side of the store, fuming and rehearsing the snide things he would say when Giuseppe remerged, when Mary Thornton had come along.

Everyone in Mystic Falls knew that Mary had had a child out of wedlock and had been cast out by her family. She was twenty-five now and she made a living, and not a bad one, for herself and the child by, as Honoria Fell had phrased it, "succumbing to loose morals." He was forbidden to as much as look at her. Damon grinned at her every chance he got.

He had already begun to suspect that he was handsome, but he knew it for sure when the town whore pushed him against the side of the general store that night and kissed him; she whispered that there wouldn't be a charge. He hadn't known quite what to do. He kissed her back but made no move to follow her when she reached down and tugged at his hand. She was pretty and he was fifteen, but part of him was repelled. He didn't like Mary, for all he grinned at her. She was usually mean and always drunk. He had been afraid of her as a child, and, as a teenager, he still found her unnerving. So, he didn't leave with her. He did kiss her, though, his body pressed between the building and her body, until he heard his father yelling. Mary pulled away from him and hurried off and he stood still, wiping his mouth.

Giuseppe began to yell in earnest. Damon slumped, looking down at his feet, embarrassed and nervous. His first impulse was to make excuses: she kissed me, it wasn't my idea, I didn't want to, I was just standing here and nothing more than what you saw happened….And then to make promises: it will never happen again, I didn't mean to disappoint you, I know that I shouldn't have anything to do with her….Then, before he could say anything, he looked at his father's enraged and worried face and the whole situation began to strike him as funny.

He ignored the part of him that knew that his father was right to try to keep him away from Mary. He ignored that part of him that was a little overwhelmed by the most significant sexual experience he'd yet had. Suddenly, all he wanted was to egg his father on. So, he straightened up and smirked.

"You told me to keep a civil tongue in my head. I thought her tongue might be more civil than mine," he spat out at his father, starring directly into his eyes.

Giuseppe had been too angry to form words. He had just stood there, spluttering, and then finally stormed off in the direction of home.

Stefan, who had been watching the exchange with wide eyes, fell back in step with his brother. Damon had been pleased to note that the expression on his little brother's face had been admiring.

"I've never seen father that mad!" Stefan chirps in his still childish voice. "Weren't you scared?"

Yes, Damon thought. "No," he said, reaching down to lightly shove his brother. "He looks pretty funny when he can't think of anything to say, doesn't he?"

Stefan threw his shoulder against Damon's side in retaliation and laughed, glad to be in on a joke, no matter how feeble, with his big brother. "Have you been going around with Mary Thornton?" Stefan teased.

Damon thought of going after Mary. Of grabbing her hand and pulling her to him and ripping open her dress and lying down between her thighs and –

"No." Damon had said, looking down at his brother's expectant face. "And you shouldn't go anywhere near her. And you don't say anything about what you saw to anyone. You hear me?"

Stefan had nodded, confused but willing to follow Damon's lead. "Why not?" he asked.

Damon wondered if Stefan knew what prostitutes were. Damon, grinning, resolved to tell him.

~*~

He had wanted his father's final condemnation. He deserted the army. He was in love with a demon. He was going to be a vampire. Instead, his father pushed him into a wall, his eyes wide and his voice panicky. "They'll kill you, too," Giuseppe said again, trying to hold Damon back.

But Damon had been beyond caring. He wanted Katherine back; wanted to see her teasing smile and to feel her breasts and her teeth pressed up against him. He wanted to save her. He didn't.

~*~

He had wanted to punish Stefan. The wanting wouldn't let Damon stay still. It wouldn't let him be content; so he threw himself into tormenting his little brother. Always following, always pushing. Half of the time, though, he wanted a friend more than he wanted vengeance, and so he acted like a brother instead of a menace. Then, he would remember the quiet in his head when he was with Katherine and her face as she was dragged away.

"Why?" Stefan had yelled at him as Joseph Salvatore's body slid to the ground.

"Because I wanted to," Damon had said, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows.

~*~

Now, he can almost admit to himself that he wants his brother back. But 145 years has finally made him tired of wanting things that he doesn't know how to get. This time, he wants to lose himself in something he can have. He knows that Katherine is selfish. That probably, even if he does save her, she will not love him the way that he loves her. Katherine had never cared what he wanted, had always wanted things even more strongly than he did. It had been a relief. He is desperate to have that again. Freedom from his wants. Katherine. His panacea.