I just cannot stop thinking of these things.

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Hearts and Heads

The glass crunches under her sandals as she pulls herself from the wreckage of what used to be her car. She has to be careful in the dark to avoid slicing open her feet. Something is dripping down her right arm already and she's not sure how much more blood she can deal with right now. At this point she's seen enough for a life time.

The deer she'd swerved to avoid is long gone and her car is smoking and wrapped around a tree. She wants to scream, to collapse onto the asphalt and release a flood of frustrated tears. But she can't, doesn't feel a thing even as she uses the light from her cellphone to identify the slickness of her right arm as a symptom of a large gash just under her shoulder.

She's sure the doctors would call it shock. An aftereffect of her very recent trauma. But she's not sure anymore, because she's been living from trauma to trauma for a very long time. And the numbness is a new, although not unwelcome, feeling.

She clicks his number without thinking. It's late and she doesn't want to bother anyone else. But it's also because she knows he will handle it. That he, above everyone else in her life, will be able to deal with her most recent drama without asking questions or passing judgments.

The call goes to voicemail. And she's just about to relent and phone Bonnie when his picture pops up as an incoming number. His voice is low and soft when he answers, "Yes?"

"I'm having a problem," she replies, voice calm despite her trembling hands. She doesn't know if it's from her collision, the dropping temperature of the formerly balmy summer night, or being all alone on a forest road in the dark. She's been more fragile recently, bravery fleeing around the same time as her boyfriend. She's become a blank slate, a bare emotionless face with a fire raging somewhere deep inside. Damon's started referring to her as a ticking time bomb.

"And I'm supposed to what," he questions, and she can hear the amusement in his voice, practically picture the smile playing across his lips. She forces the image out of her head, focusing on the positive aspects of Damon's body parts has been a big problem of hers lately. It makes it difficult to remember his flaws. She only barely catches his voice as he finishes, "come running?"

She channels his patronizing tone, because they are both equally aware he's already on his way. "If you could," she retorts with a sigh. Taking a seat on the still sun warmed asphalt and waiting. Already feeling infinitely more secure.

It doesn't take long. Before a minute has passed she hears his voice again, this time coming from behind her, "You know we've discussed this before. You need to stop assuming I'll do things just because it's you that's asking."

"Why would I," she asks without turning around, "when you prove me right every time?"

"Are you bleeding," he inquires, his voice serious now. And with a puff of air that ruffles her hair he is in front of her, holding out a hand to help her up.

"Obviously," she answers, fighting the urge to flinch as his cold fingers lift her arm to examine the injury.

"What about the rest of you," he continues, ignoring her snarky retort as he's still completely focused on her bleeding wound. He pulls off his coat, rips a sleeve and wraps it tight around her arm. They both try to ignore her small gasp of pain.

"That's the worst of it, physically," she responds after a deep breath, eyes flicking to the remains of her car.

For the first time he glances to vehicle, taking his eyes off her battered body. He lets out a low whistle, asking sarcastically, "Was the text you were reading really that important?"

He gets a forced smile and an ineffectual slap on the arm for that as she replies indignantly, "There was a deer."

His response is equally dramatic as he raises his eyebrows and questions, "So?"

She rolls her eyes and sighs, hands fluttering up to massage her temples, "I didn't want to kill it Damon." There is a moment where they stare at each other, each understanding the double meaning of her words. She holds herself responsible for a lot of death.

But he still scoffs, "And killing yourself was the better alternative?" But he stops after that because she's tired and he can tell. She's too weak to put up the effort required for a fight right now. She's scaring him but now is not the time to deal with at.

After another moment of mental frustration he relents, "Did you report the accident?"

"I thought we weren't friends with the Sherriff's Department anymore," her eyes are dark and heavy as she blinks up at him challengingly. A police officer did recently murder her brother after all. In her mind the fact that he'd lived didn't change a thing.

"Elena, Liz Forbes wants to kill me, but that's because I'm a vampire," he reasons to her, trying not to get too agitated. Control is one of the things she's good at helping him maintain. Just her presence is usually enough to calm him. Although currently she is the object of his distress. This is not the Elena he knows. Dejected and indifferent, staring blankly as she bleeds and her worries. He is not used to being the responsible one. He rolls his eyes as he adds, "She's not going to shoot you for crashing your car." He only realizes the irony of the statement when she raises a single eyebrow. He doesn't remember leaving Jeremy Gilbert for dead; only knows now that is one of the countless crimes she will have to forgive him for.

"Sorry," she shrugs, "It's hard to keep track of who I'm trusting on a weekly basis." He opens his mouth to return fire but in that exact second her eyelids flutter and she stumbles back a step.

"Not our biggest problem apparently," he reasons as he steps forward at rapid speed and lifts her into his arms without asking.

"What are you doing," she asks and he wants to kill himself for night noticing the slight slur of her words sooner. As she looks up at him she realizes she should be scared, but that doesn't seem justified anymore. He's saved her one too many times to really provoke any sort of fear anymore. There's wariness for sure, because his devotion seems to know no bounds. He'd hurt her if it meant keeping her safe. Has done it before. But that's not what she needs tonight. So she lets her heavy head lull against his neck. Willing to let him take the driver's seat if only for a few minutes. She knows she can trust him with that.

"You have a concussion," he answers into her hair, "I'm taking you to the hospital. We can figure the rest of this fucking mess out later." And then he runs.

He's a bit too demanding at the ER. And finally she seizes his hand tightly and forces him to sit next to her hospital bed. Anything to get him to stop accosting the nurses.

"It's just a tiny little head injury," she reasons, body curved towards him as he sits completely rigid in a plastic chair, leg tapping with nervous energy, "the doctor said they'll be releasing me within the hour."

He looks at her skeptically, "Let's not put too much faith in that incompetent idiot. There has to be a reason he's working at a rural hospital in the middle of nowhere."

"Because of our small town charm of course," she smirks. And it's the first genuine grin he's seen from her in weeks. "Quit worrying," she commands, as if saying the words could make him forget how delicate she is. And how often they are both in the position of watching her fight for her life.

He reaches forward and brushes a piece of hair out of her face, "You have to stop this Elena."

She doesn't answer, because she doesn't even know if she understands what she's doing. So eventually he continues, "I understand you're brave. But I'm not. So if you could cease with trying to get yourself killed I would deeply appreciate it."

She sighs and squeezes his fingers, which are still laced with her own, "Thanks for taking care of me."

She's trying to distract him. And it works. Because the realization takes him completely off guard. He'd never thought himself capable of being responsible and reasonable enough to look out for her. That was Stefan's job. But Stefan's gone, and Damon is acutely aware that he is all she is left. The one person who knows the world she lives in and all she's been through.

She is lost and it's his job to find her. He understands indifference, how forgetting your feelings is always so much easier than facing them. And he will help her understand too. There is undeniable darkness in her now, anguish bleeding into her inflexible hope. But she can be saved, and for once he can be the hero. Because for her he would be anything.

He smiles back at her, "No problem."

Jeremy and Alaric arrive a few minutes later. And it's only after they both look at her questioningly that she realizes she is still holding his hand.

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