A/N: I have not put up a fic in many years, though I am often here reading. This may be a one-shot or may evolve into a longer story. I have some ideas for extending it but it depends on where my muses send me. Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy!

'My hair's getting dirty.' Oddly was the first thought that came to her. It had hurt so much at first. The ground had come up at her hard but she felt little pain at this point. The asphalt was rough beneath her head and she was sure she'd given herself a concussion when she'd went down- not that that was her biggest concern at the moment. She was laying on her side, seeing the vaguest outline of trees. Her hands sought out her neck, where her heart still pumped what little remaining blood she had out through the veneer of her skin. She managed to stop the flow of the oozing wound, but a small puddle was already beneath her, staining her clothes and getting into her hair.

Jessica had never been one for blood. She freaked out at the sight of it, just like she freaked out when she saw a spider or a snake. She wasn't brave at all, yet she had stopped here in the middle of the night to help a person laying out in the road whom she had thought was in trouble: her killer. It hadn't even registered that he might be faking, that he might be dangerous.

"Please don't kill me." She whispered to the dark. She didn't see him anymore and wasn't even sure he was still there, but she also couldn't really move her head and there was a darkness creeping on the edges of her vision. The pain had become a dull memory, but she still knew her predicament and still wanted to live. For a long moment, she heard nothing but the dull rumble of her car, still on and waiting to take her away from all this. Then a dark, humorless chuckle reached her ears, informing her that he was indeed still present and listening.

"Should have finished you off." His speech was still slurred, but he sounded calmer. "Don't know why I didn't... but it doesn't matter. You'll be dead soon."

She wanted to protest, but as she thought about it, he was probably right. "...Do you feel better now?" She asked sincerely, She must have been light-headed from the blood loss, belatedly realizing what an odd thing it was to ask of her killer. He seemed to think so too, for he laughed a rich, genuine laugh.

"Well Jessica, no, I don't feel better. Not at all." He said as if confessing a dark secret. "I can't be human again, so I try to embrace what I am. Not feel, but I still feel. She was right, I feel everything. But what does it change? I can't have what I want... and neither- neither can you."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed, like they were out of her favorite flavor at the ice cream parlor. It was strange, she had been so afraid of him earlier, afraid to die, but now it just felt something like oh well... "I always wanted to have my life mean something. Die for a reason."

"Can't have that either." He whispered, sounding both sensitive and intoxicated. "You don't get to be the hero, y'know... save the babies and win the damsel in distress. You die alone, senselessly, like everyone else. There's no such thing as a happy ending."

She took a deep breath, and he waited expectantly for her last words, philosophical and wise- befitting a dying woman. "You're pretty fucked up aren't you?" She said with a rasp and a gurgle.

He looked at her incredulously for a moment and then another laugh rang out, diffusing the tension. Apparently he thought she was funny. "What an understatement."

Silence settled for a moment, Jessica's mind was racing as fast as it's oxygen deprived neurons would carry it, knowing only that she had to keep him talking, keep herself talking if she were to have a chance.

"She's not going to forgive you, you know." Jessica said, trying one last time to reason with him, remembering his drunken ramblings from before he'd dealt the fatal blow. "Whoever she is. Murder's pretty high up on the not good things to do list."

He went utterly silent for a moment. A lump had formed in his throat and a pang in his heart. "I'm not very good at being good." It was Jessica's turn to laugh, which was a mistake. Blood welled in her mouth, some of which she aspirated, but she managed to keep breathing.

"I can tell." She finally replied. "Can I at least know what your name is?"

"Damon." He replied honestly.

"Damon." She repeated. "Will you come out where I can see you?"

He did, seeming to materialize from the dark, stumbling like a drunken sailor, in spite of his lightning quick movements earlier. Her blood covered his lips looking like he'd been sucking face with a cheap whore. Tears streamed freely from his river-blue eyes. 'What a horrible, pitiful sight,' she thought.

"You know, you're not bad looking. Too bad about the whole homicidal maniac bit." She said deliriously. Damon couldn't help but smirk at the ego stroking, but his face soon warped in conflict. "So you're going to keep pretending to be what she wants, all the while participating in questionable nocturnal activities?" She challenged.

"You know, it doesn't even matter?" He said, defeated. "She doesn't want me, no matter what I do, and she never will. But I... I keep trying s-so hard to be good and it just isn't my nature anymore, but I keep trying because... because I love her."

"Pretty fucked up way to show it if you ask me." Jessica said snappishly.

"Yeah, it's not every day you realize that nothing you do is going to change who you really are no matter how much you try to fake it. Nothing's gonna get better and even if you do everything right, life will still fuck you over."

"You're too pessimistic." She tried to move her feet, somehow feeling better, but she barely flinched.

"Says the dying one." He continued to approach her and sat down beside her. She didn't even protest as he lifted her bleeding head into his lap. Settling comfortably into his limbs, she pondered the oddness of the scene.

"I don't have to die. I don't really want to." She whispered. He could sense that she had little time at this point. "You could save me."

"You ask this of the villain that tied you to the train tracks in the first place." She felt the weight of his hand on her head and realized he was running his fingers through her matted bloody hair.

"Well, I need a hero. A hero needs a damsel in distress." She pointed out.

"Your offer is weak." He chided as he worked out her tangles.

"I'm young, I'm healthy- was healthy. I have a family and people who care-"

"I don't care." But he cut her off too quickly and she saw his weakness, how her words affected him.

"But she would care. That means you have to care. She'll never forgive you if I die. Why would she love you, knowing you were capable of this?"

He paused. Were Elena here, she would be screaming, crying, and begging him to save the life of this stranger. But Elena wasn't here. This girl had fallen for the oldest trick he knew, and had the audacity to bargain for her life.

'Rose would have saved her too, wouldn't have wanted me to do this.' Suddenly it became a question of which 'she' Jessica was talking about.

She scoffed, or tried to, but it came out as a burble. "You think you're evil, but if you were, you wouldn't be here, a drunken mess crying on my shoulder about the injustices of the world. Lashing out. Crying for help." She was losing her fight with consciousness. "You're more human than you think."

He didn't respond, he didn't have to. She had passed out.

Out of nowhere he felt a heavy disappointment settle over his heart, weighing on his conscience. He had enjoyed talking to her. Would he kill this girl just to try to prove a point to himself?

Her heart slowed. Soon it would stop. He had a decision to make and would have to make it quickly.