The True Meaning of Christmas
PG. 12/31/2004.

Stefan walked home from Elena's house, very worried.

It was Christmas Eve and Damon had been expected for dinner. Elena's Aunt Judith had set a place at the head of the table for him, with an elegant placecard: Mr. Smith, it said. But he had never come--not that Stefan really minded. He knew Elena's aunt worshipped his brother and despised him, but he felt it most keenly when they were all together at one table. They had eaten their roast beef (Stefan had a very rare piece) and mashed potatoes and pumpkin pie, and Damon had not appeared. Ms. Gilbert had been forced to make small talk with Stefan, and before he knew it, she seemed to have warmed to him. She liked that he knew of her favorite musicians, and that he had manners. But perhaps it had just been all the wine that Mrs. Flowers had sent with him.

No, Stefan did not mind that his brother was not there. But Elena did. After supper she pulled him outside and asked to make sure Damon was safe. Stefan did not at all like how concerned Elena was for Damon's wellbeing, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, and he could never deny her anything.

So when he called and called with the Powers, and there was no answer, and snow started to fall, he began to worry. For Elena's sake.

Of course, if his brother was indeed all right, then the only reason why he would not have come was carelessness. Or perhaps he had found some sweet little morsel elsewhere in town, to warm his cold heart and block out the sound of Stefan's weak mind. And that, in turn, made Stefan worry as well--for the human's sake, whomever they were, and for his own sake, should Damon be too careless.

He was indeed very worried, as he stepped silently down the streets, the quiet patter of falling snow the only sound about. He kept his mind open for even the slightest thrum of Power nearby, the even smallest sense that Damon was close. But there was nothing.

As he approached the boarding house, he was met with a startling surprise. There were many twinkling lights, neatly hung in rows along its parapets. There was music coming from inside, and good smells.

Stefan approached the house cautiously. Perhaps he had eaten too much pie. Perhaps he was dreaming. Perhaps he was drunk. Perhaps--

Damon stepped out onto the porch, with a jolly elf's hat perched atop his carefully styled hair. "It is nearly Christmas, brother! Do not look so gloomy!"

Stefan could not just let himself stand there agape. He followed Damon into the house. Carols played cheerily on Mrs. Flowers' Victrola, and the lit candalabra in the sitting room revealed many dust motes in the air. In the corner stood a magnificent tree, with a shining star on top.

"What is going on, Damon? Ms. Gilbert was expecting you. Elena was worried."

"How can anyone be worried, boy? Now is the season for cheer!"

Stefan turned at the unexpected voice and found Mrs. Flowers, laden with wrapped gifts, tottering into the room. Damon quickly went and relieved her of her burden, stopping to adjust the false reindeer antlers atop her fragile head.

"I'm sorry, little brother," Damon said, clearly grieved. "But I was sure Ms. Gilbert would understand. She had many people at her home, with which to celebrate. Why, when I came downstairs to leave, and found that this poor woman, who has sheltered us these long months, intended to spend this important evening all alone, with only her memories? I could not leave, Stefan. I am surprised you could." Damon patted him on the shoulder and disappeared into the next room, coming back with a dish of hot sugar cookies. Stefan took one, automatically.

"But, Damon--what's come over you? This is so unlike you, in every way I can possibly imagine. The hat, the--the kindness--what has happened?" Stefan could not help noticing how good the cookie tasted.

"Ah, brother, brother," Damon said, and elegantly stretched his arm over Stefan's shoulder. "Killing and licentiousness is fine for the rest of the year, but Christmas is the season for giving, and giving thanks, not seducing virgins."

Stefan did not know what to say. "I don't know what to say, Damon," he said.

"Say 'Merry Christmas,'" Damon told him.

"Merry Christmas, Damon. Merry Christmas, Mrs. Flowers."

"Merry Christmas. Now put this on, boy," the old woman said, and held out a hat festooned with jingle bells.

THE END

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