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This chapter's theme song is Anytime by Kelly Clarkson. That song is so very Delena it almost hurts.

Baby, take all of your fears and cast them all on me

'Cause all I ever wanted was just to make you see

That I could be the one to give you

All that you've been searching for

Just hold on to my love

~ Anytime by Kelly Clarkson

~ All Girls Want Bad Boys ~

Thankfully, the hospital wasn't loaded, so Damon was instantly admitted. Sitting in the waiting room seemed to last forever and I found myself suffocated by the smell. It was the usual reek of hospitals, death, drugs, one that made me sick to my stomach. Doctors and nurses passed by, chatting, all telling a different story, but none offered answers to the questions I kept asking everyone I deemed to be a possible all-knowing employee: "How is Damon? When can I see him?"

It was when I saw Meredith Fell in the hallway that I allowed myself a small sigh of relaxation. She was one of the good doctors, the best one this poor excuse for a small town hospital had to offer. I have always admired her. After all, Ric wouldn't have dated her in the past if she was a bitch in disguise.

"Damon!" I exclaimed as soon as she approached me, jumping to my feet, finally freeing myself of that awfully uncomfortable, decades old waiting room chair.

Meredith put a hand on my shoulder, a small sign of reassurance, and said: "Don't worry. He's going to be fine."

"When can I see him?" I demanded a bit too harshly and instantly felt guilty. She was only trying to help; such behavior was completely uncalled for. I couldn't help being worried for him. He was my everything, all I had left in this terrible world, the only good thing in my miserable life. I would be lost without him. I had to see him for myself to make sure he was alright or I was going to go insane.

"Soon. They're bandaging him up as we speak," she explained, and I was grateful she ignored my rudeness. I guess all those years in this job taught her a thing or two about grieving and distressed family members and friends of the patients. "I have a question, Elena, and I need you to be honest with me. Is he a slave?"

"Why does it matter? You can't deny him treatment!" I fired and the doctor flinched, startled by my sudden defensive reaction.

"That's not what this is about," she quickly assured me. "He's covered in scars, Elena. I need to know what I'm dealing with here."

"He's mine!" For some reason I felt the need to make that clear. What was wrong with me? It's not like someone would steal him from me. Though you can never know with people in Mystic Falls. Slave stealing isn't exactly as uncommon as everyone thinks. "He… He was hurt in the past, but I've never seen him like this."

I couldn't help but wonder if what Katherine and her father did to him was like this; maybe worse, maybe not. Either way, he's lucky to be alive. I'd ask him if it didn't feel like such a bitchy thing to do.

"Is he allergic to any medication?"

"I-I don't know. I… I don't think so. Meredith?"

The doctor turned to me, looking at me in an almost motherly way. I could see now that she knew. It was written all over my face; this love, desire to protect him, the need to avenge his pain, it was all there. I was an open book and Meredith read me like a pro.

"It wasn't me," I said weakly. I needed her to know I would never hurt him, never allow myself to do something as horrid and monstrous as this to the one person I loved more than anything.

"I know," Meredith soothed, caressing my arm like a mother would a child in need of comfort. "We'll take care of him, Elena. He's going to be okay."

I collapsed into tears again and she said a quick goodbye, leaving me alone to my sorrow. I fell back into that terrible wooden chair and buried my head into my hands. My weeping eyes hurt, swollen and red, and my lips trembled, wetted by tears that brushed past them and fell down to my shirt which was still stained with blood.

Damon's blood, I realized. It was all over me: in my hair, my jeans, my skin. As it dried it turned into this dark shade of red, almost black, and I started scratching at my arms to peel it off, my sharp nails leaving painful marks.

They did this to him.

My thoughts flew back to my parents, back to the two people I couldn't hate more if I tried. He was the light of my life and they almost took him from me. How can someone do such a thing and just walk away like nothing happened? They will pay for what they've done; oh, they will pay so, so much. They will regret the moment they first laid a hand on him.

Revenge.

My shaking hands somehow found their way to my phone and I slowly typed in the number I knew by heart. Caroline's chirpy voice answered with a: "Hello," and for a moment I felt guilty for bothering her with something like this. But I had to tell someone, had to ask for help, and she was the only one who could provide it.

She and Damon met for a few times and while she wasn't too fond of his double entendres and snarky comments, I knew she wouldn't want for something like this to happen to him. Caroline is a good person. Surely she wouldn't hesitate to help a friend in need.

"Care, I need your help," I wept.

"What's wrong?" she questioned, her voice suddenly serious, sensing trouble.

After taking a deep breath, I told her everything from the start, mentioned all the little details and pieces I thought would be helpful. She listened to my every word without interruption, processing the story that from her point of view must have sounded too ridiculous to be true, and yet it couldn't be more real and it fucking hurt because every single word that came out of my mouth was the truth.

"I'll talk to my mom," Caroline finally promised.

"Thank you."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head even though I knew she couldn't see me. "I'll be okay. Just… Thank you so much, Caroline."

"Don't worry about it. That's what friends are for."

Yeah, I guess it is.

Minutes passed, seeming more like hours, the torture of not knowing anything driving me crazy. I frowned at the familiar sound of clicking heels; Rebekah walked in in all her glory, looking as fashionable and expensive as always, on her face a look that seemed to show actual, genuine worry. I have never seen her like this. The Rebekah I knew was a ruthless, merciless bully. She didn't care.

She hurt people and she enjoyed it.

"Not now, Rebekah," I snapped as she approached me, not in the mood for her bullshit.

"What are you doing here?" she asked in her famous British accent, for once with no traces of usual mocking and snide intentions in her tone of voice.

"I thought it'd be fun to hang around here for a change," I snarked. "The Grill's gotten kinda boring lately."

"Seriously, Elena," she said, taking a seat right next to me. Was that concern in her eyes? No, it couldn't be. Bullies didn't care about anyone but themselves; her being this nice to me could only mean she had some hidden intentions I really didn't want to know about nor participate in. She probably wanted to reach to me at my weakest and then humiliate me in front of everyone. God knows, she does that well.

"What are you doing here?" I retorted.

"My brother Finn's being released today," she replied in a not entirely content manner. I heard some rumors recently about the oldest Mikaelson brother being hospitalized for appendix problems or something like that. Guess it was true.

"Good for him," I said, not interested in her family drama. I had enough of my own.

"Did you get into an accident?" Rebekah asked, pointing to my blood-stained clothes. "You're all bloody."

Thank you, captain obvious. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Listen, Elena." She laid her hand over mine and I looked her in the eye. What is it with her all of a sudden? It wasn't like her to be this… normal and friendly. "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" I asked. There was a long list of offences she should beg for forgiveness for on her knees. She had to be a little bit more specific.

"Being a complete and utter bitch to you."

This was new. It couldn't be honest, could it? Someone must have forced her into it. It was probably a bet of some sort. "I'm not interested in your games, Rebekah. Not now," I hissed. I just wanted to see Damon. Everyone else: Rebekah, my parents, all of them could go straight to hell for all I cared.

It was Damon that mattered.

"It's no game. I'm being honest here," Rebekah insisted. "The truth is, I have a lot of family issues. One of my brothers is an out of control maniac, the other one is an over-controlling ass, and as for my parents… It's a long, complicated story I don't want to bother you with. I thought, if I treated others the way I was treated, it wouldn't hurt as much. Turns out my logic has flaws. It was wrong of me to make fun of you for dating your slave, not to mention hypocritical as I'm exactly the same."

I stared at her, deep in thought. Who would have thought Rebekah had layers? I've always thought of her as another one of those spoiled little rich girls who think the entire world has the bow at their feet, turn and revolve around them and them only. These hidden depths she revealed were quite a surprise.

As for her dating a slave, there was only one thing I could think of: Wow. Never took her for a slave whore, as her little bully posse and everyone else (following their lead, of course) liked to call me.

"I'm here for Damon," I finally admitted.

Rebekah glanced at me in concern and squeezed my hand. Surprisingly, I didn't push her away. I could use some comfort. "They hurt him, didn't they? Your parents?" To my affirming nod she added: "My parents hurt mine, too. We're thinking of running away together after I graduate."

"I just feel so helpless," I said. I never imagined I'd find myself opening up to one person I used to despise; actually, I still hate her, only not as much as five minutes ago. What can I say? People in distress tend to seek comfort in the strangest of places. "I want to free him, but I don't know how."

"My brother promised he'd help free mine," she said. "My other, other, other brother. The nice one. Well, nicer. He's a lawyer; it's kinda his specialty. He's helped free quite a lot of slaves and I hope he'll find a way to free Marcel."

"Marcel?"

"My slave. And boyfriend."

"Oh."

If only I had a brother to help me. If I went to Jeremy with this, he'd only make more of a mess, probably even somehow manage to enslave himself. My brother was an irresponsible wreck, and that's saying something coming from me.

"He's married to one, actually," Rebekah continued. "Elijah, the lawyer," she explained as a response to my puzzled glance. "Her name's Hayley. We're quite close, she and I. My other brother, the control freak, took advantage and left her with child. Elijah was kind enough to grant her freedom. They bonded and got married a few years later. My niece thinks of him as her real father."

"How nice," I commented absent-mindedly.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Elijah also tried freeing Sage, Finn's then-girlfriend, but before he could make it happen she and Finn got married." For some reason she seemed to have general distaste to this Sage, but I didn't bother comment on that. The Rebekah I know hated almost everyone, so it was of no surprise that she'd dislike her brother's girl, especially if she happened to have a flaw such as being unpopular or wearing a color Rebekah deemed to be ugly. "Marriage grants instant freedom, you know?"

Interesting. If I was the marriage type, I'd definitely consider it. Somehow I doubted Damon was up for that, either. But if it was the only thing left for us to do, I guess we'd have to do it, even if it went against everything we stood for. I'd have to talk to him about it, of course. I do, however, have to admit that I was interested. Everything and anything that could help and benefit him was of interest to me.

This talk with Rebekah really helped; she really helped. Guess I was wrong about her. She wasn't so bad, after all.

"Here," she said suddenly, startling me. She handed me a small piece of paper; written on it was a number and an address I wasn't familiar with. "This is Elijah's info. Just tell him I sent you."

"Thank you, Rebekah," I said, smiling, and I meant it. I was grateful to no end.

"No problem. But say none of this to no one. This conversation never happened, alright? I have a reputation to uphold," she said with a smirk.

I winked at her, already feeling a little bit better. There was still hope for Damon and me, and hope was good. "It's a deal."

To say I rushed into his room after finally being informed I was allowed to see him would be an understatement.

I could barely suppress tears at the sight of him. He looked so fragile and vulnerable, bandages covering most of his body, making him look more like a living mummy than a man I was so very much in love with. Still, he was my Damon, injuries or not. I loved him no matter what. Hell, I'd love him if he was covered in mud and other suspicious substances from head to toe. Probably.

He smiled at me; it was a forced smile, one he obviously tried his best (and failed) to make look as natural as possible to not worry me further. He looked so broken like that and I just wanted to cradle him in my arms like a child, kiss his wounds away and promise everything would turn out fine even though I knew it wouldn't. Nothing would ever be fine, not after this.

But things could be better.

"Hey," I said softly as I seated myself next to him. This chair, unlike the one in the waiting room, was actually pretty comfortable.

"Hey," he replied. He sounded a bit stronger now, pain medicine they've given him working like a charm.

I gently took his hand in mine. I couldn't resist touching him, making sure he was here with me, alive and soon to be well. I leaned down and pressed a small, chaste kiss to his lips; the lower one was split and he flinched at the touch which I was quick to apologize for.

"It's okay," he assured me, giving our holding hands a squeeze.

"I was told you'll be fine," I said.

"So I've heard," Damon joked, prompting me to let out a small, short-lasting giggle.

"I'm glad."

Suddenly he laughed and I looked at him, confusion hanging over my face like a bag of bones. His seemed to be in some kind of delirium, a rush of joy and ecstasy completely taking over, his new demeanor more like that of a local drunk than an injured, broken man he was.

"Man, this stuff is good," he said through his little fit.

I looked over to the medical chart attached to his bed. There was a long list of meds I've never even heard of, though some, and their respective side effects, were all too familiar to me. When your parents are doctors, you learn a thing or two over the years. "It's morphine," I told him

My parents… I couldn't help but wonder where they were right now. They obviously weren't at work, otherwise I'd have already seen them, and no doubt Meredith would have informed me of their arrival. What they were thinking about? Were they sorry for all the harm they'd caused? No, they weren't the kind of people capable of remorse, especially over harming (which in their dictionary meant disciplining) a slave.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm having a hell of a time," Damon said a bit too enthusiastically. "Should've tried it sooner," he added, following it with that eyebrow thing that made him all the more attractive and desirable, the thing that made me all the more crazy inside – and it was the good, welcome kind of crazy I yearned for.

"I'll remember that…" I trailed off, lost in thoughts. I'll remember that for next time. I shouldn't have said that, but it was almost completely out when I realized just what I was implying and how fucking wrong it sounded. There would be no next time. Not now, not ever. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"I know," he said, suddenly growing serious, his grip on my hand tightening in a supportive, comforting manner. Why is it that I always manage to ruin the mood? I'm such a killjoy without even trying.

"It won't-"

"I know," Damon repeated, looking me in the eye to show he meant it.

"We need to talk about this," I said. I hated to ruin his fun, but this was something we couldn't ignore, a conversation that needed to be held as soon as possible.

"Does that mean I get to take some of this stuff home?" he asked with a wink, trying to bring back the fun because that's what he does best at times like these and he does is so fucking well that I couldn't help but feel guilty for ruining it for him.

"Not that, Damon. This. This mess we're in. Remember how I said I'd sue my parents? I will. I will file a report, take them to court. I'll make them pay for what they did to you."

"What's the point Elena?" he demanded, suddenly serious. I could see the look of pain in his eyes, helplessness rushing to the surface like a hot, destructive geyser. "Last time I checked, I was still a slave. It's my word against theirs. No one will believe me."

"I believe you," I said, leaning in for another kiss, this one to the forehead.

"Yes. You, Elena," he said sharply. "Only you."

"No." I refused to believe that. There had to be someone out there, anyone, willing to take his side; our side. "I heard about someone. There's this lawyer, Elijah Mikaelson. He's an expert in these kinds of things."

"Mikaelson?" he inquired with distaste. "As in Rebekah? That bitch that told everyone about us and humiliated you in front of the entire school?"

"She… We talked, Damon. Turns out, she and I have a lot more in common than I thought. Her brother has almost a one hundred percent success rate when it comes to aiding slaves. Please, just consider it."

After Rebekah left with her newly-released brother, I Googled Elijah and found some rather interesting info. Most of his slave-freeing and defending cases turned out to be successful. He was America's number one lawyer in cases involving mistreatment and abuse of slaves, and much to my joy, he lived right in this shithole of a small town.

As such, his services were probably expensive as hell, but I would find a way. Everything just to avenge the man I loved and protect him from future harm.

"Fine," Damon said after a short while, though he obviously still wasn't completely convinced this idea could bring much good. "But don't get your hopes up, Elena. Even if he's the best of the best, your parents have influence in this town."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "If this doesn't work, there is one other option for us to consider. This one would grant you instant freedom."

This piqued his interest. "And what would that be?"

"Marriage."

He burst into uncontrollable laughter, in complete disbelief, not sure if I was messing with his head or giving him false hope. It was short lived, however; his expression darkened when realization that I was serious sank in, the look in his eyes that of compete defiance.

"Do I look look like the settling-down type?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm and mockery. "We've known each other for, what? A little bit over three months? And you want to get married?"

"It doesn't matter what I want," I said. "This is about you, about setting you free. So yes, I would gladly say 'I do' in a room full of strangers pretending to care, when all they want is to get the goddamn ritual over with to get wasted afterwards, because I can't be selfish with you Damon. I will do anything for you because I love you, and because I know that, if roles were reversed, you'd do the same for me."

According to law, marriage has to last at least six months for the slave's free status to catch on. If things don't work out, we could easily get divorced after that half a year period. It pained me to even think about it. Separation from him seemed like fate worse than death; it equaled suicide in so many ways. I wanted to stay with him forever, and I knew he wanted that, too. We needed each other like we needed to breathe the air; we were each other's sky and stars, sun and moon, life and death.

"That I would," Damon finally said.

"The sheriff will be here soon. She's gonna need your statement," I said, looking at the clock. Caroline sent me a text a while later, saying her mom would arrive as soon as she handled some things at the station.

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. "Why'd she wanna talk to me?"

"Because you're the victim," I pointed out. The word victim left a bad taste in my mouth; it was a word I didn't want to associate with Damon, and judging by the way he uncomfortably shifted in bed, I could see he didn't like it either. "I'm just a witness."

"You also happen to be my owner, in case you forgot," he reminded me in a snarky manner.

"I will be here the entire time," I promised. I wanted to be by his side, hold his hand as he told the sheriff everything, relived one of the worst experiences in his life through a story I just knew would break him all over again. And even if I didn't, the law required the owner to be present during their slave's interrogation.

You can see the flaw in that, right? Not every slave is as lucky as Damon to have an owner as kind and supportive as me.

"What if that's not enough?" he asked and I sighed. It will be enough – it has to be. I know they say hope is a bitch, but it was all we had.

"Sheriff Forbes is the best this town has to offer. Trust me, she'll do her best to help us," I said. "To help you."

"Then what? We go back home to those very people we're fighting against? Doesn't seem like it'll hold in court," Damon told me.

"No, we're not going back there. When they release you, I'm taking you to the lake house. You'll be safe there."

"You'd really do that, wouldn't you?" he asked. I shot him a puzzled look and he elaborated: "Go against your parents for someone like me."

"I'd go against anyone for you," I stated.

"They're your family."

"You are my family now, Damon. I chose you," I said. "And I will always choose you."

"Even if I'm bad for you?" he inquired.

I nodded, once again kissing him with care. It was hard to be so in control in his presence when all I wanted to do was rip all those bandages off him, chain him to that bed, and take him all for myself in all the wrong ways whilst all nurses and doctors watched wishing they were us, wishing their love lives were as strong and epic as ours, and knowing that nothing they would ever experience could compete with something as powerful as what Damon and I have.

He was a bad boy, a bad influence, a force not to be messed with. Yet I wanted him so, so much, with all my being, all my heart. And I would fight for him even if it killed me.

All girls want bad boys. I am no exception.

"Especially if you're bad for me," I said teasingly.

"My, Miss Gilbert, you never cease to amaze me," he joked, his eyebrows giving that irresistible waggle I loved so much. "Never thought you had it in you."

"Should I be insulted?" I wondered with a giggle.

Damon simply shrugged, wincing in the process, and I instinctively laid my palm against his bandaged shoulder to prevent further movement. I hated seeing him this vulnerable, in pain I should have been able to prevent, and mostly I hated the fact that I could do nothing about it. If only there was some way for me to magically remove his injuries and make him all well again, to somehow kiss all this hurt away and make those gorgeous lips of his widen into the most beautiful of smiles and show off those pretty pearly teeth.

But there wasn't. And it tore me apart to be so helpless when the person I loved most was hurting.

"Careful," I instructed. "You'll hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes; he actually rolled his eyes and if this was any other time I would be annoyed, but now I was kind of glad to see he still hasn't lost his spark that attracted me to him in the first place. He was still that arrogant ass of a man and I loved him for it, loved those virtues that would send any sane person running away in tears, but not me. No, I adored that about him, cherished him for feeling free to be himself around me because that's what I wanted from him from the very first moment I laid my eyes on him.

He was an ass, but he was my ass. And he had quite a nice ass, actually.

"You don't have to go all mama bear mode on me, I'm fine. This is nothing," Damon said nonchalantly, as if it would change anything. His words only made me worry more. Who knew what he'd attempt while I was away? This is Damon we're talking about. The man would probably do something just to piss someone, usually me, off if no one was looking. Actually, he'd do it especially if someone was looking.

"You're not fine. You're far from fine. So," I said, raising my forefinger to prove my point, "you will stay right here in this bed and not move a muscle unless you really, really have to until the good doctor says otherwise."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that an order?" he asked, his voice bearing traces of childish playfulness I've gotten used to, and I decided to play along just for the sake of fun because god knows he needed some fun right now in these distressful times.

"As a matter of fact, it is."

"In that case, mistress," he purred the word in my ear, making me quiver and shiver all over. The influence that man had over me was infuriating. Sometimes I just wanted to both hug and kiss him at the same time and never did it occur to me why. It was just the way he was – highly addictive, dangerous, and so, so fucking irresistible that I never wanted to leave his side again. "I guess I'll have to obey. But," this time it was him who raised a forefinger and waved it in my face, "you are gonna have to make it up to me."

I giggled. Challenge accepted. "Oh, I will make it up to you. Once you're all better, of course." Wouldn't want him to break. He was already broken enough as it was, I didn't want to add more to his pain.

"You better. Otherwise I'd be forced to punish you," he teased. His hand wandered over to mine and he brought my fingers to his wounded lips, pecking them one by one, his kisses tender, gentle, almost inviting to what we both wanted but unfortunately couldn't do right here and now, and it was killing me how much I just wanted to forget about where we are and how much pain he's in, and just do it for the sake of forbidden danger that was this temptation.

You're already punishing me, I thought, but instead of saying it out loud I just leaned down and brushed my lips against his, doing my best to be as careful as possible. This time he didn't flinch. Instead he deepened the kiss, pulling me in, his hands attempting to wrap around my neck before pain took him over and he groaned, turning away from me in embarrassment for ruining the moment and being a weakling I never thought of him as.

"Hey, hey," I said. My fingers caressed his cheek, slowly turning his head to face me, his eyes locking with mine bearing a look I've never before seen in them. It was shame and self-loathing, hatred for being a coward when he was everything but, his dark, self-destructive thoughts reflected in those mesmerizing orbs that made my own well up with tears. "Don't do that. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It's okay to feel. You're only human, Damon. I still love you; I will always love you, no matter what. Don't ever forget that. It's okay, I promise."

And just like that he crumbled, allowing me to wrap my arms around him in a comforting hug before burying his head in my chest and letting those tears he tried so hard to hold back fall, soaking my shirt as he wept, and wept, and wept like an inconsolable child, physical pain all forgotten in favor of all those emotions he kept hidden in a Pandora box-like safe place that had now broken apart and let all the anguish, all suffering and despair out.

"I'm here, Damon," I whispered, resting my face on top of his head, my own tears spilling into his silky hair. I pressed a small kiss to his head before closing my eyes and shutting everything out, that familiar scent of his hair welcomingly filling my nostrils as I allowed him to let everything that hurt, everything that pained and held him back out. "I will always be here."

Because I love you, my beautiful bad boy.

Don't you all just wish you could nurse Damon back to health? Because I sure as hell do. I have a soft spot for hot men in distress, especially when one of them happens to be Damon Salvatore.

Tell me your thoughts and I'll keep the chapters coming.