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Drabble: Death.

His breath catches in his throat as he see her, lying by the edge of house, the stake that killed her pointing straight up from her chest. He runs, with vampire speed, to her side and collapses beside her. Damon’s eyes widen with shock, seeing the pool of crimson blood around her, staining her clothes and making everything around tainted with red.

“Roxie,” he gasps out, reaching out and pulling her towards him. His hands are covered with it almost as soon as he touches her, but he doesn’t care. He moves a shaking hand to brush away a strand of hair away from her face. She always took such pride in her dark hair, the one thing that tied her to him, that made them look like brother and sister.

“Damon?” she whispers, her voice so soft, so far away he can barely hear her. His throat tightens and his chest is suddenly too tight to breathe and he clutches her closer towards him. He closes his eyes and exhales, knowing what he has to do, knowing how much pain it will cause her. He closes his hand around the stake in her chest and heaves with one swift, sharp movement - but it’s not enough. He feels her entire body convulse and she’s wrenched forward in his arms, the blood beginning to trickle faster.

“You’re not dying,” he said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his control as he stroked his fingers through her hair. “You’re not dying on me. I won’t let you.” As if he could stop it, as if he could stop the hand of death, of god himself, of whatever cruel fate had torn her away from him. And as long as he can lie to himself, as long as those words sink into his mind like they could be half true, he can feel his sanity within reach. He can’t lose her.

No. No. He refused. He refused to let her go, refused to let her die. “You are not dying,” he whispered, voice breaking, “You’re not dying.” And then Damon is crying. Her tears begin trailing down her dirty cheeks, mixing with the blood streaked across her face.

His tears drip down onto her bloodstained clothes and a sob wracks through him.

“Damon” He looks down at her through blurred vision, clenching his jaw. “Damon, do you remember Paris?” Damon breathes in, the air around him is suddenly too much and he moves his hand to stroke through her hair again, anything to distract him from the blood, from the pain.

“I do, I remember,” he murmurs, “What about Paris?” He stares into big brown eyes and sees everything she is thinking reflected in her eyes and he can see that she knows she is dying and it sends a dagger right through his heart.

“We were going to go there, weren’t we?” she breathes, a tiny smile breaking over her face, amidst the pain.

“We were - we still can,” he says hurriedly, “We can go. I’ll take you there. We’ll go to Paris, Roxie.” He has lived his whole life with a little sister, and he doesn’t quite know how he’ll go on without one. He doesn’t know how he can be a big brother without her. They are vampires, and he has spent over a century being her brother, and he has lived his entire life believing he would be for an eternity. But now she’s dying, she’s dying and Roxie, his little sister, is dying.

He hasn’t had enough time, he thinks frantically. Not enough, never enough. He’s been in and out of Mystic Falls and he hasn’t seen her enough or talked to her enough. He should have called more, been a better brother, maybe. So many regrets welling up in his mind, making his breath shudder in his chest.

He pressed her tighter to his chest, hugging her with everything he had as he tucked her into his side like he used to when they were children. His chin sits on top of her head, like it always does when she hugs him and he closes his eyes as she does.

And then they’re in Paris and the people are bustling by and the cyclists and moving down the streets and the air smells like cherry blossoms. The sunlight is warm, and everything around them glows with an oddly comforting light. He glances down at Roxie and her eyes are open, and she’s smiling.

The blood is gone and so is the wound in her chest and it fills him with bitter happiness to know that she got to smile one last time before she died. It is cruel, so cruel to do this to himself - but Damon Salvatore will forever be a masochist. As long as she can have this one last memory, he can be happy for this brief moment.

Roxie gets up, releasing herself from his arms and begins to run, she steals a handful of balloons from a vendor and calls for him to hurry up and join her.

Damon feels his eyes blur and he smiles for her, wide and bright and charming as always and he races to catch up to her.

#... O_O

I cant even grasp how or why someone could say that.

#... O_o

you know how i be. just got togepenis and p0k3mon following me...

#nbd #nbd #... O_O