"Stop the car!"

Not that Alaric had much choice. They were just about to pull out of the cemetery drive when Damon grabbed the emergency brake, effectively stopping the car in its tracks and nearly snapping everyone's necks in the process.

Whiplash was a bitch.

Elena shoved Damon's shoulder from the backseat. "What was that?"

Damon didn't see fit to answer her, though; he was already getting out of the car, and had it not been for Alaric nearly lunging across the middle console, he would've been long gone before anyone could get hold of him.

"What are you doing?" Alaric's tone was calm, but there was a sharpness to it that couldn't be missed. He knew Damon, knew that look in his eyes and that set of his jaws: Damon had seen something.

Damon wrenched his wrist away. "Stay here and shut off the car. No lights, no sounds."

"Damon, whatever you're thinking—"

Raising a hand, Damon cut Stefan off mid-warning. "I get you have a hero complex, and you want to look good in front of your girlfriend, but unless I'm mistaken – which I'm not – those headlights up there belong to a certain sheriff. Since I'm pretty sure none of you want to get on her radar, it's best if you sit tight and let daddy handle it."

"Daddy?" Alaric said, raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

"A simple 'thank you' will suffice. Now," he drew his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion, and with one last salute, he slammed the door and took off running.

"Wait." Everyone turned to see Bonnie looking confused in the backseat. "What just happened?"

"Let me see," said Elena. "Damon just ran off to do his own thing, leaving us here sitting like idiots because he said to. That everything?"

Stefan gave a single exasperated nod, complete with long-suffering sigh. "Just about covers it, yeah."

Bonnie forced a smile. "Great. I feel so much better now that's cleared up," she said. "So, what do we do now?"

She'd no sooner asked than a scream ripped through the air around them.

"What was that?" Elena said.

But there was no one there to answer her. Stefan and Alaric had both taken off towards the sound, Damon's instructions be damned.

They were too late.

The first thing Alaric saw when they made it to the road was the Sheriff. She was slumped against a tree at the edge of the brush they'd just emerged from on the side of the road. The way her head lolled limply to the side would've been enough to tell Alaric that she was unconscious, even if he couldn't see the trickle of blood from her temple reflecting in the headlights of the cop car.

It was chaos.

There were lights flashing everywhere. Red. Blue. White. Lighting up the place, and then flashing out so that only the dim streetlight kept them all from darkness. A siren was blaring in his ears, and it was almost impossible to think through it all.

But then he heard it. Screaming, and this time, not the Sheriff's. More masculine, more…pained. No. Agonized.

"Damon."

Nothing else mattered, then. Not the rain beating down like needles on his face, not the thunder and lightning rolling and cracking…

Not the body of the dead vampire he had to jump over, just to reach the huddled form on the road just in front of the cop car.

The screaming got louder as Alaric dropped to his knees next to Damon. He was curled up on his knees, his head in his hands. There was steam rising from between them, and looking around, Alaric could see broken shards of glass in the rain pooling on the concrete.

Another scream startled him into action, and he quickly reached around the curled up form and grabbed his wrists.

"It's okay," he said as Damon screamed and fought against him. Somehow, though, even though Damon tried to stay curled up, he was able to get him pulled back against his chest, his hands held away from his face. "Damon, what happened? What's wrong?"

"It's in my eyes!" The cry was feral, filled with such intense pain that it made Alaric feel sick. "It's in my—burning, and I can't—" Another choked sound, half between a snarl and a sob caught his words in his throat.

"Vervain," said Stefan as he knelt in front of Damon. He didn't touch him, Alaric noticed. He couldn't – not unless he wanted to feel the same burn as Damon was feeling now. "I think the sheriff tried to get the vampire with it and got him instead."

The nausea grew. Vervain. That stupid bitch had doused him in vervain. It was in his eyes: that was why he was screaming. He'd seen the pain it could cause when it touched their skin; he was seeing it now. He couldn't imagine, though, what this had to feel like.

Damon was scared; he could hear it in his voice, but more than that, Alaric could feel it. He was scared, and he was in so much pain.

It was all Alaric could do to keep it together, but he forced himself to. For Damon. He had to keep his head together and get Damon somewhere safe, preferably before the sheriff got there.

"Okay," he said, and turned to where Bonnie and Elena were standing a few feet away. "Bonnie, go to my truck. There's a bottle of water there – get it for me, and bring it back as fast as you can." Bonnie must've sensed the urgency in his voice, because she didn't even bother nodding before she took off back towards the SUV. Alaric didn't care to watch her go; in fact, he hardly paused in his litany of orders. "Elena, you and Bonnie are going to stay here, call the police. Stefan will take care of the body and make sure you're safe, and when the Sheriff comes around, make sure she didn't see anything."

"Where will you be?" Stefan said.

"I'm going to take him back to the boarding house. Try and clean him up and see what I can do for him."

Bonnie came running over right about then, bottle of water in hand. "Here," she said, twisting off the cap and holding it out for him.

"Hang on." Alaric hadn't really thought about how this was going to work, but something told him he was going to need a free hand. However, it was a lot easier than he'd thought it would be trying to get that worked out. Granted, the way Damon was pulling and twisting, trying to curl back up again – it made it hard for Alaric to keep a hold on him. But he wasn't super-human strong, what with the vervain coursing through his system, and he managed to get one arm around both of Damon's wrists, pinning the vampire's arms to his chest with his elbow while he used the hand of the same arm to hold his chin firm. With Damon's hands restrained and his head tilted back against his shoulder, Alaric took the now-open bottle of water.

"Hold still, okay, Damon? I'm gonna try and wash your eyes out, but I need you to try to open them for me."

But Damon was hardly listening. He had his eyes tightly squeezed, and he kept tossing his head trying to get out of Alaric's hold. "Fuck," he said through gritted teeth. His chest heaved with strained pants, like he couldn't catch his breath. "It—"

"Shh, I know it hurts. I know, and I'm trying to help. Just try to open your eyes."

As soon as Alaric saw the first sliver of white, he tipped the bottle so that some of the clean water splashed onto Damon's drenched, too-red face.

He knew the instant some of it hit Damon's eyes, because the wounded vampire hissed out a yelp and tried to jerk his head back.

Alaric wasn't having it, though. He needed to get that shit out of Damon's eyes – who knew what damage it could do? Short- and long-term. So, he let up on Damon's arms and instead devoted his whole attention to getting at Damon's eyes. He pulled Damon's head down, holding him in a sort of headlock with Damon's chin in the crook of his elbow. The vampire tried to grab at his arm, trying to pry it loose, but he couldn't quite get him loose.

With his newly-freed hand, he put a finger on each of Damon's cheekbones and pulled them down so that the whites of Damon's eyes were exposed again.

Damon kicked and twisted as Alaric poured more of the water into his burning eyes, screaming curses and clawing. His teeth extended to points and the veins around his eyes jutted as his instincts took over. Fight or flight, or apparently any combination of the two he thought he could manage.

"Easy," Alaric said, ignoring the painful bite of Damon's fingers into the skin of his arm. Bruises would heal; the real pain was seeing the man he'd (reluctantly) grown to love in so much pain. And finally, when the bottle was empty and he'd done all he could, he took his hand from Damon's face and devoted both arms to just holding him. "Okay, it's over. It's over."

"Not any better." The words were ground out through hard breaths and gritted teeth, and Damon's grip on his arm didn't loosen much if any. "It's not getting better."

The fear, barely concealed beneath a terse aggravation, cut at Alaric like knives in his chest, and he held Damon tighter. "But at least it won't get any worse. Now, come on. We need to go."

"Can he walk?" Elena said. She looked dubious.

Alaric didn't blame her. Even if Damon could get on his feet, with the vervain not only weakening him, but disorienting him, he probably wouldn't be able to stay on them. At least not long enough to make it to the car.

He had another idea. Freeing up an arm from Damon's vice grip, he slipped it under the man's knees and lifted him off the wet pavement.

He hadn't been expecting him to cry out. Hadn't expected him to tense and then just go limp, unconscious in Alaric's arms.

Alaric guessed he should know better. With Damon, you always expected the unexpected.

He just hoped he wasn't due anymore surprises.