The candlelight flickered low as Stefan sat quietly at the edge of your bed, smoothing a blanket over your small frame. You were only four, your dark curls tangled from a nap, clinging to the soft stuffed rabbit Damon had won you at the summer fair.

Downstairs, voices were raised—Father’s deep, commanding tone, and Damon’s, sharp with frustration. The war was closing in. Draft notices had arrived.

Stefan turned as the door creaked open. Damon stepped in, chest rising and falling, a torn envelope in his hand.

“Don’t wake her,” Stefan whispered.

Damon ignored him. He walked over and looked down at you for a long moment, jaw tight. Then, quietly, he said, “They’re sending me.”

Stefan’s face paled. “No. We’ll tell Father no. You’re not going anywhere.”

Damon laughed once—bitterly. “It’s already done. My name was on the list. Volunteering just... makes it cleaner.”

Outside, thunder rumbled low.

You stirred in your sleep, murmuring Stefan’s name. He held your hand.

Damon sat at the foot of the bed now, shoulders heavy. “She won’t remember me, will she? If I don’t come back.”

“She will,” Stefan said, eyes fierce. “Because I’ll tell her every story. Every time you held her when she cried. Every time you made her laugh. She’ll remember the way you always came running when she scraped her knee.”

There was silence.

And then your small voice broke through the quiet: “Where are you going?”

Both brothers froze.

Damon blinked quickly and leaned close. “Just for a little while, dove,” he said softly. “Be good for Stefan. And no more climbing trees, okay?”

You reached up and touched his face with your tiny hand. “You’ll come back?”

He nodded. But even at four… you weren’t sure you believed him.

And neither was he.