[ He's trying to turn this back to her, which is the surest sign he could give her that there really is something wrong. It's deep inside him and he's trying to hide it, hide from it maybe, and she can't help but think back to that summer they'd spent together. All the times he'd known she was crying, hurting, dying inside in the wake of losing so many people she'd cared about so deeply, and yet he'd stuck by her, never pushing his way in to fix things but just being there. So while usually Elena would demand answers, try desperately to find a way to make things better, she has to accept that maybe, this time, that isn't the right approach.
She moves to the side of the cot and kneels down beside it, her hands touching the edge of it but not him. She wants to touch him, desperately, to hold his hand, stroke his hair, rub his back, anything and everything to soothe that feeling he's buried inside him, but she holds back for now. This isn't about her. ]
(No, they're not. But you're helping me through them.)
[ It's what Damon does, what he's been doing for so long now. Helping her. Protecting her. Isn't it her turn to do the same for him now? ]
(So let me help you, Damon. Please? You don't have to tell me about it, just tell me what I can do.)
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She moves to the side of the cot and kneels down beside it, her hands touching the edge of it but not him. She wants to touch him, desperately, to hold his hand, stroke his hair, rub his back, anything and everything to soothe that feeling he's buried inside him, but she holds back for now. This isn't about her. ]
( No, they're not. But you're helping me through them. )
[ It's what Damon does, what he's been doing for so long now. Helping her. Protecting her. Isn't it her turn to do the same for him now? ]
( So let me help you, Damon. Please? You don't have to tell me about it, just tell me what I can do. )