Title: and i won't make you a hero
Author: sablize
Character/Pairing: Damon/Rose
Summary: She knows something is wrong the second she opens the door. In which Damon falls apart and Rose helps put him back together. Set between Season 2 and Season 3, Damon/Rose.
Spoilers: slightly for 3x01.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's Notes: This idea hit me like a brick wall at nine in the morning while trying to go back to sleep after a dentist appointment. Blame it on all the h/c I've been reading lately (thank you, Suits).
This takes place in the Here, We End Together 'verse but you don't necessarily have to read that first; all you need to know is that Rose is still alive. Takes place sometime in between season 2 and season 3.
Also, WARNING for self-harm (sort of) and a bit of blood.
She knows something is wrong the second she opens the door.
She had only stepped out for fifteen minutes, having been unapologetically annoyed at the lack of tea bags in the boarding house ("How British of you," Damon had said, waving her off with a terse smile) and resolved to fix the problem immediately. Now, standing in the open doorway, she has no idea what could have gone wrong in so short a time. But she can feel it, can feel that something is not right; the air in the house feels dense with tension, and time is slow as if perched, waiting.
She closes the front door behind her and calls, "Damon!" even though it's unnecessary; she knows he would have heard her come in. And even though she knows he's still here—his car is still in the driveway, unless he was somehow kidnapped—he doesn't dignify her with an answer. This is when she really starts to get worried.
Setting her grocery bag full of tea on the kitchen counter, she shucks off her jacket, throws it over a chair, and makes her way quietly upstairs. The door to Damon's bedroom—their bedroom—is shut, so she knocks gently. "Damon, are you in there?" And again, no answer. She pushes the door open.
Nothing seems immediately wrong until her gaze flicks to the right, towards the bathroom. And there Damon is hunched, on the floor with his back pressed to the wall, hands bloody and face tear-stained. On the wall behind him, above the sink, the mirror is shattered, glittering shards littering the floor.
She doesn't ask him what happened, or why, just drops to her knees beside him and takes his face in her hands, mutters a soft "Damon..." and brushes his hair away from his face, wipes the tears from his cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he croaks, voice hoarse. "I just... Stefan... I got angry, and I feel so hopeless..."
"I know," she says, and she does; she feels the helplessness descending upon them every day but knows that whatever she feels is only a ghost of what Damon is feeling. She presses her lips to his forehead in a silent apology—for Stefan, for Klaus, for a universe that hates them—and says, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
He is limp, pliant in her arms as she hauls him up and makes him hop onto the counter, away from any mirror shards. A quick glance at his hands reveals still-bleeding cuts that won't heal, where glass is still caught in his skin. Wordlessly, she rummages in the drawers under the sink until she finds a pair of tweezers. She stands between his legs and takes his right hand, then sets to removing the glass in his skin.
"I can't take it anymore, Rose," he says, head tipping to rest against the wall. He winces as she digs at his skin. "Every time I look at a newspaper, all I can think is that he's getting further and further away from me..."
She swallows anxiously but doesn't answer except to give his hand a gentle squeeze. She doesn't know what to say so she just continues working, depositing a thin shard of mirror onto the counter, noticing the way his hands are shaking just slightly (nearly imperceptible, but she is a vampire, after all) and pitying him for it; he's never looked so vulnerable, so broken. And she knows that she's the only one around here anymore who has seen him fall apart quite like this.
Ten long minutes later and all the glass has been extracted from Damon's hand, his skin knitting back together, becoming smooth and whole once again. Rose finds a washcloth, wets it, and gently cleans his hands of blood. He lets her.
But when she moves to clean up the glass, Damon traps her between his legs and draws her into a hug, pressing a soft kiss into the skin of her exposed shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers, voice tight.
She smooths the hair at the nape of his neck and nods. He wraps his arms tighter around her waist, his heels still digging into the back of her thighs, and they stay that way for a long time.
"Please don't leave," he says after a while, even softer than before, face still pressed into her shoulder.
She nods again. "I won't. I promise."
When they pull away at last, Rose cups his face and kisses him softly, then says, "Would you like some tea? Seeing as we actually have some, now." She doesn't want to worry about the rest of the mirror until she knows Damon is okay.
Damon smiles, and some of the shadows pass from behind his eyes. "Sure, Rosebud. Sounds great."