*Won't Let Him*

by: WhiteGloves

I've finally caught up to TVD season 7!

It was worth it! (Salvatore forever!)

1851

Young Damon Salvatore ran up to his room, knocked the door open and headed straight for the basin of water atop his side table and threw his right arm deep in it. It was followed by a half cry, half groan sound that escaped his lips before he pressed it closed and shut his eyes in pain. He opened his teary eyes moments later, unable to conceal the relief the cool water had brought to his skin. He watched his shaking hand as he raised his arm little and tried to brave the pain that was ever stinging on his wake. He couldn't help the trembling of neither his lips nor the fall of tears down his already damp cheeks. The injury was so painful it was making his throat dry.

But was it really the pain... or the terror? Damon thought his shoulders would fall apart from the fits of quivering he was going through.

He shut his eyes and shook his head, reprimanding himself for he was a man! Like what his father would always say... and men do not shed tears over such pain.

That was why... fleeing from the dining room... without showing his old man his tears was such important task. It had saved him—and probably even his younger brother—another set of injury.

Calming down a little, Damon saw to his burned skin and tried to look around for medication in his room. There was none. Pressing his lips closed, he dipped his injured arm down the water once more as he tried to figure out what to do next. In his panic and pain he had blindly went back to his room after the infliction his father had made. He would have run towards his mother but his fear of his father was so overwhelming he was afraid the very man was watching his back that very moment. The thought sent him to snap his head back and looked at his door.

There was none.

Gulping, Damon concentrated on his injury more thinking... thinking... but no thought came to his mind except how the injustice was made. He did not steal the money—and Stefan would never go near their parent's quarters even if it killed him—no. For the love of god his younger brother was more terrified of their father than anyone. None of them stole that stupid money and frankly, Damon was not so concerned of who did it. But he would never let Stefan get beaten or hurt and that was what he was most scared of. His father might just have just been looking for an opportunity to punish him and his brother... like it was all part of his hobby.

A grunt escaped his lips next that surprised him, and Damon was surprised even further as he found himself smiling ironically. The pain had started to wane and for the first time, as he looked at that burn mark on his arm, he saw it for what it truly was—

Resentment... anger... pure injustice.

The words played in his mind for awhile. Had he looked at the mirror across him he would have noticed how impassive and cold his own reflection had become.

His silent reverie was then cut short when out of nowhere he heard his door opening. Jumping a little for he thought it was his father, he was a little surprised to see his younger brother peeking in from the door way, his little hand clutching on the side of the door with expression pitiful. He must've tried his best not to cry in fright there at the dining hall where their devil of a father was. Damon shot him a look from where he was then frowned.

"Go to your room."

Stefan remained immobile by the door, staring at him mutely. The older brother studied his face and saw how pale the younger boy was. A sudden thought struck Damon that he rounded to his brother, gave one glance at the door, took Stefan by the shoulder and closed the door.

"Did he hurt you?" he quickly asked, scanning the younger boy's face and arms for any injury.

Stefan shook his head with his eyes glistening. Damon sighed.

"If you're not hurt then go back to your room. Mother will be tucking you in, she can't find you here. Don't cry."

"I'll tell her you're hurt." Stefan uttered with less sound and his eyes began to water, "I'll tell her what father did, brother."

"No, listen," Damon lowered his head on the level of his brother and stared him in the eye, "don't tell mother what happened. You'll make her cry. We don't want her to cry, right?"

It took all ounce of the small boy's power to shake his head.

"There you go, now off to your room."

"But why did father do that?" the boy went on unstoppably, the innocence in his eyes filling with doubt, "why did he use his cigar? It's painful, isn't it? Why did he hurt you? You didn't take the money, we were always together brother. Why did he use that?"

"He's mad."

"Huh?"

Damon pressed his lips closed and then gave another sigh.

"No, it's okay. It's not painful anymore. Now just go back to your room and don't go to mother and father's room, alright? Don't let him think you enter his bureau, okay Stefan?"

"But I did, will he burn me too? I found his gun—"

The very thought struck Damon like lightning that he fastened his hands on the younger boy's shoulders and shook him.

"Why did you go there? I told you many times don't!" his voice had gone loud but he didn't care, Damon's eyes were bright in anger, "Listen, you do not go to father's room, do you hear me Stefan? You do not touch his gun or anything in his room! Are you listening? He will hurt you!"

The boy nodded his head, his young face showing little comprehension of why but registering the adamant order of his brother and so he nodded.

Damon gripped Stefan's shoulder, blinking at him to the point of pain.

"He will hurt you," he repeated as he straightened a little and rounded back to the basin where he sighed heavily, almost forgetting the pain of his injury, his eyes looking straight at the mirror. "Go back to your room."

"I'm scared."

Damon stopped, his eyes transfixed at the mirror.

"We should be." He whispered.

Late that afternoon Damon found himself seated by their porch and attending to his injury with an ointment he had asked one of the maids to fetch for him. He was wearing a white long sleeved suit that would easily cover his fresh scar, not that it was any comfort. The constant contact of fabric to his skin was truly agonizing.

Yet he covered them anyway and fixed the end of his sleeves. The afternoon sky was plain and no point of interest was able to take Damon's mind off his bitter emotions. During this time of the day he would be at the fence, feeding Sammy. A friend. Now he was alone again. Was it just last night that he actually tasted her meat?

The scar on his arm scorched like... hell. Damon's green eyes glinted.

[BANG!]

Birds flew from the trees in panic as the loud gunshot came out of nowhere that startled Damon. The thing was the gunshot didn't came from afar—the next thing Damon was running to the inside of their house knowing full well whose gun it was— and who were the only people inside when he knew well enough their mother had some errand in town.

He barely reached the second landing of the floor when he heard Stefan's cry and his father's angry voice— it confirmed his fears. Dashing frantically to the sound of voices, Damon found them inside the old man's study with Stefan shrinking behind the door crying and their father hollering at him like a madman. And then Damon saw the gun in his hand—

"Stefan!" he shouted that immediately attracted the attention of the old man who looked at him behind red eyes and gritted teeth—the same moment that he, Damon, jumped in front of the small body trembling helplessly next to him and faced their father. There he smelled the scent of alcohol. "What are you doing with that gun?"

His father stared at him with his fuming expression, "Get out of the way, Damon— get out!"

"No! Stay away from him!"

"That boy deserves to be whipped—now get out!"

He reached a hand down Stefan but Damon, with all his senses screaming to act, grab hold of his father and tried to push him away—only to be overpowered and sent hurtling down the floor—

Stefan's cry of panic made Damon to immediately get back on his feet and tried to pull his father away— he could not think of anything to do but to try to pry him away from his little brother—

"You little pest. Why were you in my room? Were you planning to steal more money?"

"He didn't steal anything!" Damon growled as he successfully ripped his father's hands away from Stefan's wrist, "I told you I did!"

"Then why is he even here?" the father roared with the gun in his hand swinging above their heads, making Damon push himself backwards with a hand reaching to Stefan behind him. They needed to run. His father was drunk. They'll be killed. He needs to get Stefan out.

Only to find his father's leering eyes on him. And then the gun.

"Brother..." Damon heard Stefan's tiny voice behind him and felt the little boy's hands clasping the hem of his suit. He gave him a reassuring squeeze yet he could not take his eyes off the gun.

"Father... please..."

"Oh right... you stole my money. And lighter."

"I...What?"

"My lighter you fool," his father's breathe reeks of alcohol as he stepped closer to the two, "I don't remember raising thieves! And do you think you can already smoke, boy?"

"I do not smoke," Damon answered vehemently, his eyes finding his father's, "And Stefan wouldn't have anything to do with it either."

At the mention of the little boy's name, the father's eyes fell on the little boy again and instinct told Damon to stay right where he was. Between the two.

"Heh. You think he's incapable of playing fire?"

"He's young!" Damon retorted, unable to help himself, but indeed, cautious of the object wavering from his face to his brother, "He won't touch your lighter!"

"I saw him taking my stash from my drawers now get out of the way or I'll shoot you!"

"You're scaring him with your gun, please!" the older brother had realized the coldness of Stefan's hands, or was it his own hands that had gone all frozen, he could not tell. But at that moment, their father suddenly stopped, as if recovering from delirium as he frowned and put his gun down. The gesture made Damon sigh and realized his own cheeks were damp.

He was crying.

At his own... helplessness.

His father suddenly turned away and paced the room uncertainly as if trying to remember something he forgot. Damon watched him warily, his jaw tight at his old man's every turn. Behind him Stefan had gone silent, as if he, too, was watching their father's next moves. Only when the old man faced them and waved the gun to the door did Damon sigh and was about to pull Stefan out of the door when—

"No, no leave him. I need to talk to him." His father declared.

"I won't leave him here." Was Damon's ready response and god knows how he nearly saw his death at his father's disposal. Those eyes that glared at him told him as much.

"Are you disobeying me?" was the crunchy question that made Damon tastes his answer.

"I don't care. You're not having him here alone to beat."

The gun was raised—the same time that their mother's howl came piercing their ears.

"What?" the mother entered the room with an ashen face as she looked at her husband and children and at the gun, "oh dear god... whatever are you doing?"

The father lowered his gun and started breathing hard as he tried to come up with things to say but Damon was already listening to their mother who was instructing him to leave the room immediately—

Leave the room with Stefan on his grip he did and pulled him to his room where he locked themselves in. Turning to Stefan, Damon couldn't help but get angry—

"What—just what were you doing, Stefan?"

The boy was silent, but his body was shaking still. Damon gritted his teeth but all his anger disappeared when upon closer inspection, he saw that Stefan's face had a bruised mark under his left eye. It made Damon stared hard and long.

It made him sigh and pull the boy close to him and attend on his bruise. He set Stefan to sit on the bed while he used a damp towel to wash his face all the while... talking.

"Didn't I tell you not to go there?" he could feel bitterness engulfing him again. "Do you not know how to listen?" there was a hard edge on his voice.

Stefan's lips trembled. Damon saw it as weakness.

"Stop crying. Men do not cry."

Stefan bit his lips but his tremor continued it made Damon berate himself a little for scolding his little brother. Stefan was no man... but he needs to learn to be one.

"Does it hurt?" he whispered after awhile as he put ointment on the boy's bruise. Stefan nodded silently, his tiny hands still clutched on his knees. "It's okay. I got you."

Stefan's shiny face looked at him, the dampness of his cheeks making Damon glare towards the wall where he knew their father and mother would be.

"Why did you go there?" he finally asked after helping Stefan untangled his clutched fist, "Why did you enter his bureau when you know he'll punish you?"

The little boy gulped but surprisingly, his eyes were firmly staring at his brother.

"Lighter."

Damon frowned, "You smoke?"

The boy shook his head. "I wanted... throw it away. So he can't hurt you again."

Damon stared at the young boy in front of him and decided against it. No. This was no boy. A man. His brother. Without thinking about it, he raised his hand and stroked Stefan's head gently. He smiled at him like how a brother would smile at his precious brother.

"It's alright, he won't hurt me again." They looked at each other, "And I promise he won't touch you anymore. So stop worrying about me, okay?"

Stefan took his time before he nodded his head and Damon watched him long after that. He watched after Stefan even more because of that. No. He was not alone. Much more than Sammy, he's got a brother to protect.

His father will not take this one from him. Won't let him.

~THE END~

A/N: I think they are doing okay without the lady lead!

Not a vampire story! It's a story about vampires! xD

Thanks for reading!