"Hang on, Damon. We're almost there."

Alaric's arms were on fire from the lactic acid building in them. Damon was lighter than he looked – lighter than he should've been – but Alaric had carried him all the way from the car inside and up the stairs to Damon's room.

Damon hadn't regained consciousness since he'd blacked out on the road, though he'd stirred a few times. Soft groans whenever Alaric accidentally jarred him just so, little shifts and twitches like he was flinching in his sleep.

It wasn't until he got him in the bathtub in the corner, stripped down to his blue jeans, that he started to come around. Just a little shifting at first, and Alaric ignored it. He needed to wash the rest of the vervain off Damon before it got any worse. The skin of his face, especially around his eyes, the skin of his neck and shoulders, and a bit of his chest and belly were a bright, angry red and getting redder by the moment.

As soon as he turned the shower on, though, Damon woke up.

…and promptly flipped his shit.

"Hey, hey." Alaric grabbed Damon before he could jump out of the tub, pushing him back down onto his back. He started to hold him to it, but Damon let out a cry when he put a hand on his shoulder. Alaric quickly jerked his hand back, and his eyes fell to a mass of blue-green blotches and swelling around Damon's shoulder. Four long gashes ran from the top of it, and in his head, Alaric matched the marks to fingers.

He felt his stomach give another twist, and he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to hold the nausea at bay.

"Christ, Damon, you – no, you don't." Alaric grabbed Damon again as he made another lunge, but this time, instead of trying to hold Damon to the bottom of the tub, he pulled him against the side of it, wrapping an arm around Damon's thin shoulder carefully in a sort of half-hug. Damon tried to get out of it, to get out from under the spray of cold water still cascading over his head and shoulders, but all of his movements were weak and sluggish from the vervain.

He made a noble effort, though. He kicked and writhed and twisted and pulled at Alaric's arm barred across his chest, his bare feet squealing on the bathtub linoleum. It just wasn't enough.

Alaric watched him squint his too-red eyes trying to see, watched the tendons on his neck stand out as he ground his teeth from the pain and the anger. Damon hated being helpless, hated being weak, and he was struggling against it with all he had.

"Moving only makes it worse," Alaric said, holding fast. Damon had told him once what it felt like, that poison running through his veins: all his muscles tearing apart, all his nerves burning, all his bones grinding.

Damon kept struggling, though. His fingers dug into his temples, and sharp, keening snarls broke from his lips.

"Damon? Damon, hey! Don't fight me!"

"I can't—can't see." He was blinking furiously, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, getting more and more agitated by the second. "It fucking burns."

"I know, I know," Alaric said, pulling Damon's hands away from his eyes and pulling him closer. "Just listen to my voice. You're okay, just listen to my voice."

But he wasn't quite ready to calm down just yet. "That bitch," he said, agony hidden beneath seething fury. Aggression was Damon's favorite crutch, his favorite safety blanket to hide under. "I'll rip her apart next time I—"

"Damon, listen to me!" His tone was firmer this time, sharper, and it worked. Damon gave a few more half-hearted kicks, and then he just…stopped. Like the fight had left him, like he was just too tired to keep on. "Good," Alaric said. "This is good. Just calm down."

"Ric, what—" Damon tried again to open his eyes, only to hiss and turn his head in towards the crook of Alaric's neck where the light wasn't so bright and offensive to his abused eyes. "What the hell?"

Alaric frowned at the sound of his voice, muffled as it was against his skin. He was hurting, and even through the usual Damon bite, Alaric could hear how miserable and confused and, damn it, upset he really was.

"I'm sorry," Alaric said. "I had to wash the vervain off of you. Whatever Forbes doused you with wasn't coming off on its own."

"The w-water." Damon was shivering. Honest to God, teeth-chattering, whole-body-wracking shivering. "It's freezing."

"Hot water would've made it burn more," Alaric said, but pulled Damon a little closer all the same. "Just give it a little longer. Make sure you're clean."

Damon let out a grown, and Alaric could feel his brows furrowing against his neck. "Bastard," he said.

"Yeah, I'm a bastard." Alaric pressed a kiss to Damon's wet hair, then brushed his fingers through the same spot. But I'm a bastard kneeling under cold water trying to wash poison off you, so that's got to count for something."

"It won't help," Damon said through gritted teeth, furrowing his face deeper into the crook of Alaric's neck. Alaric might've been nervous, having the teeth of a distraught vampire that close to his jugular. But Damon wouldn't do that, not to Alaric, not anymore. Besides, if he did, he'd get a mouthful of vervain, and neither of them wanted that. "It's already in—" he stopped short, his body seizing up and a choked groan breaking from his lips, "—in my blood."

Another wave of pain brought another spasm, and Alaric held him through it. "It'll pass," he said, and as carefully as he could, he reached over and turned off the water, grabbing a towel from the rack by the shower. "Here." He pulled the towel around Damon, careful not to drag it across his injured shoulder. "Can you stand?"

Damon huffed, his breath blowing across Alaric's neck. "Why not?"

"I'm serious, Damon. If you can't—"

"I'm fine." Damon started to push himself up, only to grimace when it tweaked his bad shoulder. "Shit."

Alaric scowled. "You're not fine," he said, and started to pick Damon up again.

"What're you doing?" And even shivering, bleeding, half-blind and violently ill, Damon actually managed to sound annoyed.

"I'm—" Lift. Adjust. Walk. "—carrying you to your room to get you in bed."

Damon let out a chuckle that barely even registered and leaned his head over on Alaric's shoulder. Now Alaric knew he was tired. "I love it when you talk dirty to me."

"Oh yeah?" Alaric couldn't help laughing to himself, though it didn't quite make it outside. "Wait until I start getting you out of these jeans."

"Kinky."

"You're impossible."

"Yet oddly lovable."

Alaric smiled at that, pressing a quick kiss to Damon's temple. "Lucky for you. Alright, here, easy." As gentle as Alaric tried to be, though, Damon still groaned in pain when Alaric laid him on his bed. It didn't get better as he slid his jeans and briefs off his slender hips; any movement seemed to hurt, and Alaric was relieved when he finally had the soggy clothes off of him. He eased him back so that he was lying against the pillows and pulled the blanket up over his bare hips and torso, his hand lingering on Damon's chest as it heaved to pull in sharp breaths. "You're okay," he said, his thumb brushing what he hoped was a soothing pattern over Damon's collarbone. "You're okay."

Snap.

A scream ripped from Damon's throat as, with a sharp jerk, Alaric popped his shoulder back in place. The vampire sprang up, his scream becoming a snarl as his teeth sharpened to points and his red, raw eyes darkened. Alaric caught him before he could go any farther, pulling him forcibly into his arms and holding him there.

"I'm sorry," he said, half-trapping, half-cradling Damon's head against his shoulder. Damon was still screaming into his shoulder, and even though the sound was muffled, it was still the worst sound Alaric had ever heard. For Damon to scream like that, he had to be in real pain, and knowing he'd had a hand in it made Alaric's stomach roll. "I'm sorry, I had to. You can relax; it's over." The scratches could wait; Damon had been through enough that night.

Brushing his thumb along the nape of Damon's neck, he just held him as some of the tension finally began to ebb. "Hurts," Damon said after a long moment. It was barely more than a mumble, quiet enough to make Alaric wonder if he'd even meant to say it. "It hurts."

"I know, Damon." Reaching down, he pulled the covers up from where they had fallen and wrapped them around Damon's slim shoulders. The shivering had finally started to ease, especially once Alaric tossed his own wet shirt to join Damon's jeans on the floor. As he laid down, he pulled Damon to him and tried not to wince at the unusual heat of Damon's face as he buried it in Alaric's chest. The vervain…his eyes.

"Stay—" Damon swallowed. Shifted. Winced. "Stay here…just a bit, 'cause I—" he tried to move, tensed, and let out a muted groan as he realized it was a bad idea. It took him a couple seconds to get his breath back, but then, "—cause it turns out…I need you, too."

Alaric felt his chest swell, felt his heart beat faster. Gently, soothingly, lovingly, he brushed his fingers through his lover's still-wet black hair and pressed a kiss to his brow.

"I know."