Season finale was fantastic. I don't even know what to say to actually get my point across.

This story takes place as Damon is dying from the werewolf bite, before Katherine delivers Klaus's blood.

Delusions of Grandeur

His eyes slowly blinked open. His forehead was...wet. He could feel it on his entire face, making him wish he had the strength to wipe the liquid from him. But he felt weaker than he had in so long. Even as a human, he'd felt stronger than this.

He was overtaken by a sudden coughing fit, feeling the scraping in his throat. He didn't have to look down to know that blood was splattered across his shirt; his nose was itching from the smell.

The vampire in him wanted that blood, wanted more than he had the right to take. But something was pulling him away from that impulse. Something was slowly destroying the vampire's control on his once-human mind.

"Damon? Damon, are you awake?"

That voice. So perfect. Angelic, calling to the part of him that longed for humanity. Every part of him focused on keeping that beautiful, perfect sound in his hearing.

At first, he wondered if he had finally died and gone to hell. A part of him knew that the voice belonged to an angel that was just beyond his reach, forever taunting him. Though he would try to grab her, she was pulled out of his hold just as his fingers would be ready to grasp her. Her light shone brighter than the sun and his ring couldn't protect him from such purity. He knew that he would never be able to have her, but he would keep trying until the end of time.

But as her face came into focus, he knew there was no chance she was a part of hell. She was an angel who must have fallen from heaven only to land in his lap. Her face was perfect, brown eyes staring down at him worriedly as she gently patted away the moisture on his forehead. She was whispering something to him with tears in her eyes.

How dare someone put tears in those beautiful eyes? How dare they give her something to cry about!

He tried to sit up, to fight the weakness spreading through him so that he could rip apart the bastard. But his angel—she was his, he was sure—gently placed her hands on his chest, holding him down with those dainty hands. Finally, her voice once again came into focus.

"Damon, you have to stay lying down. Please conserve your strength."

She knew his name. That proved it to him. She had to be an angel if she knew him. She was there to take him away from the life he made for himself and he would follow her to hell if he had to. Never would this angel cry again.

He blinked, several rapid then a few slow, trying to clear his head. He needed to remember. Though his mind was hazy, unfocused memories, barely more than voices in his head, came to the forefront of his mind. Never had he been so close to this angel, never had she lain so close to him before.

"You and I...we have something."

"I care about you, Damon!"

"I'm so sorry, Damon."

The memories that came with these words tore at his heart. Had he ever met her during a happy time in his life? Were there no good things that came from their time together?

A flash of his younger brother and a woman came into mind. They were playing football in the front garden and he was almost positive it was his angel. She looked the same, her long brown hair curled and pinned up. But one look in her eyes showed him that he wasn't right to assume she was his angel. Her eyes glowed not with purity and innocence, but with manipulation and deception.

She wasn't his angel. And he wished that he could change the memory and the love he felt despite her obvious selfishness.

Staring into the eyes of the angel above him, he decided that he didn't care. Everything he'd done in his life had led up to meeting her and being with her now. His sins might not be forgotten, but he knew they could be forgiven. And the look in this woman's eyes told him that they would be, he just needed to give her something in return.

Elena.

Her name. He could remember it! But with her name came images of himself, destroying every shred of trust and love she might feel for him. He'd tortured her and Stefan, tried to drive them apart. He'd nearly killed her brother, only saved by a magic ring on his finger. He'd taken her trust and dashed it.

"I wish you could have met me in 1864. You would have liked me," he said weakly as she curled into him.

When she shifted her weight to look him in the eye, their gazes locked and her eyes were filled with such a passionate fear for him that he wondered if he couldn't fix things with them. "I like you now...just the way you are."

He gave her a small smile as the fatigue of his body took over and made him close his eyes, his breathing labored. Soon, he'd be gone. She'd have to find someone else to worry about, to argue with.

Her lips touched his softly and he wished that he had the power to kiss her back. His willpower, however, was a different story. For her, he would hold on, he would stay alive. He could feel the begging in her kiss, something she would never say aloud. She was pleading with him to hold on until they found some kind of cure for him.

And he would. Only for her.