VD: Datherine

Set Fire To The Rain

Summary: Set in S5E1, but revised to be a Datherine one-shot, sort of.

I let it fall

My heart

And as it fell

You rose to claim it

It was dark and I was over

Until you kissed my lips and you saved me

My hands

They're strong

But my knees were far too weak

To stand in your arms

Without falling to your feet

But there's a side of you

That I never knew

Never knew

All the things you'd say

They were never true

Never true

And the games you play

You would always win

Always win

It was a dark, rainy night in Mystic Falls, as Damon Salvatore search through the streets, needing to find Katherine. She had ran as usual, the moment he had told her to come back to the boarding house. IF anything happened to her because of him, he didn't know if he would or could forgive himself. She had sired him 145 years ago and half an hour ago, he had been ready to hand her over to Silas on a silver platter, just because Silas had said that he knew where Stefan was. She was human now, but though they were a lot of time that they would be at each other's throats, beneath everything, he and Katherine still had a connection. It was so strong that he always knew when she had something up her sleeve, when she was lying, and when something was wrong. He hated to admit it, but they were alike in so many ways that he hated it.

An hour and a half of walking, hoping to find her in one piece, he stopped, recognizing his black car. It had crashed with such force into a street light pole that all the windows had shattered, part of the street light pole bent so that it was on top of the roof. Right now though, he didn't care that his care was most likely totaled. What he cared about at the moment was that his now human sire was in the crinkled and dented car.

"Katherine!"

He was instantly at the driver's side door and immediately smelled the familiar scent of human blood. With inhuman strength, he forced the door open and looked at her, as he assessed her condition.

She sat in the driver's seat, eyes closed, head to the right, pale, blood on either side of her head, a shard of glass in her left thigh, blood from that wound covering her left hand and arm that was loosely on the seat at her left, and another shard of glass protruding from her right side. He didn't need to assess her any further to know that she had lost a lot of blood.

He rested a gentle hand on the right side of her face, as he went closer to her, trying to use vamp hearing and eyesight to see if she was still breathing and still had a pulse or not, despite the rain.

After a few moments of nothing, he pulled the shards of glass out of her wounds and tossed them to the floorboard. He then slid an arm gently under her, crook of arm supporting her head, his other arm under her legs, and vamp-sped home, hoping he wasn't too late to revive her and take care of her wounds. He was no doctor, but he still knew some things. Back in the war, everyone had to know at least some first-aid. For once, he was glad for that.