This fanfiction takes place during the early hours of Season 4, Episode 15 ("Stand by Me"). While Elena remains trapped in a state of catatonic denial at the Salvatore boarding house beside Jeremy’s body, Damon temporarily leaves under the guise of chasing a lead on the cure. This is the untold confrontation that occurred in a dingy motel room just twenty miles outside of Mystic Falls, hours before Elena finally turned her humanity off.
Title: The Burn of You (A Damon & Katherine Fanfiction)
The windshield wipers of the Camaro scraped against the glass, a rhythmic, irritating screech that did nothing to drown out the noise in Damon Salvatore’s head.
He was suffocating. Back at the boarding house, the air was thick with the scent of copper and the sickly-sweet, distinct smell of decay. Since vampires had a heightened sense of smell, Stefan and Caroline had been trying not to gag all morning, but Elena... Elena just sat there. She sat by Jeremy's cold, lifeless body, insisting his Gilbert ring would bring him back, entirely ignoring the fact that his skin was turning grey.
Damon had told Stefan he was going out to search for Bonnie, who had gone missing on the island. But that was only a half-truth. Damon knew that the only way to save Elena from a total, permanent breakdown was the cure. And he knew exactly who had it.
After shaking down a hybrid contact who had seen a "brunette in high heels" buying a burner phone at a gas station, Damon tracked the signal to the Route 9 Motel in Grove Hill.
He stepped out of his car, the rain immediately soaking his black leather jacket. He strode toward Room 104, his expression a mask of cold, concentrated fury.
He didn’t knock.
With a single, effortless kick, Damon shattered the deadbolt. The door flew open, slamming violently against the drywall.
Inside, the room was small, smelling of cheap pine cleaner and old cigarettes. Standing by a laminate dresser, entirely unbothered by the violent entrance, was Katherine Pierce. She was wearing her signature tight leather jacket and dark, curled hair, slowly pouring a glass of amber liquid into a plastic cup.
She didn't run. She didn't even drop her cup. Instead, she slowly turned around, a soft, mocking smile playing on her lips.
"Damon," Katherine purred, her voice a slow, deliberate drawl as she tilted her head. "No knock? And here I thought Stefan was the only Salvatore brother who forgot his manners."
Damon stepped into the room, kicking the broken door shut behind him. He stood there, rain dripping from his dark hair, his blue eyes wide, locked onto her with a dangerous, unstable intensity. He let out a short, cynical laugh—the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"You know, Katherine, for someone who has spent five hundred years running, your choice in real estate is severely lacking," Damon said, his voice dropping into a low, menacing register. "Where is it?"
Katherine took a slow, delicate sip of her drink, her brown eyes flashing with playful innocence. "Where is what? The cheap bourbon? It’s on the counter. Though I doubt it’s up to your snobby standards."
"The cure, Katherine," Damon snapped, taking a threatening step forward. "The cure you stole after you fed a teenager to a two-thousand-year-old immortal fossil."
Katherine’s smile faded, replaced by a look of exaggerated boredom. She sighed, setting her cup down with a soft clack. "Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re actually mourning the little Gilbert. He was collateral damage, Damon. Silas was hungry, and I needed a head start. It's called survival. You of all people should understand that."
"He was Elena’s brother," Damon hissed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle twitched. "And right now, she is sitting in my living room, staring at his rotting corpse, waiting for a miracle. She is losing her mind, Katherine. And it's because of you."
Katherine took a step toward him, her hips swaying with deliberate, cat-like grace. She stopped just a foot away, looking up at him through her lashes. Her fingers slowly reached out, lightly tracing the lapel of his wet leather jacket.
"Let's be honest, Damon," she whispered, her voice dropping to a sultry, intimate murmur. "You didn't drive all the way out here in the middle of a storm just for Elena. You're exhausted. I can see it in those pretty blue eyes of yours."
Damon stared down at her, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling. He didn't pull away from her touch, but his expression remained icy.
"You're playing the devoted protector, trying so hard to be the man Stefan wants you to be," Katherine continued, her fingers sliding up to his collar. "But you're suffocating under the weight of her grief. Elena wants a saint, Damon. She wants Stefan's version of you. But I... I know the real you. The one who doesn't feel guilty about wanting to burn the world down."
"You don't know anything about me," Damon growled.
"I know you're a monster, Damon. Just like me," Katherine whispered, her eyes locking onto his lips. "And I know you've been dying for a distraction."
In a blur of motion, Damon’s hand shot up, his fingers clamping tightly around her throat. He shoved her backward with terrifying vampire speed. Katherine’s back hit the wall with a dull thud, a framed picture of a landscape shaking on its hook beside them.
"I should rip your throat out," Damon breathed, his face transitioning for a fraction of a second, the dark veins pulsing beneath his eyes before he forced them back. "I should carve you to pieces."
Katherine didn't gasp for air. She didn't claw at his hand. Instead, her hands slid up his forearms, her grip firm and unyielding, holding him close. She tilted her chin up, exposing her neck, a defiant, breathless smirk on her lips.
"Then do it," she challenged softly, her voice barely a whisper against his chest. "Kill me, Damon. Or kiss me. But stop pretending you're the good guy. It doesn't suit you."
The silence in the room was deafening, save for the rain pounding against the windowpane. Damon looked at her—at the woman who had defined his eternity, who had taught him how to love and how to hate. He was so incredibly tired of being the anchor, of watching the girl he loved slip away into a tragedy he couldn't stop.
With a low, frustrated growl, Damon let go of her throat, only to slide his hand up into her dark, damp curls. He gripped her hair, tilting her face up, and slammed his mouth onto hers.
The kiss was a collision of centuries of resentment, betrayal, and an undeniable, toxic hunger. It was bruising and desperate. Damon pressed his body hard against hers, pinning her to the wall, his mouth crashing against hers with punishing force. Katherine met his intensity instantly, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck, her fingers tangling in his wet hair as she pulled him deeper into the kiss.
She tasted like expensive perfume and cheap bourbon. Damon groaned, his hands sliding down to her waist, his grip so tight it would leave bruises on her hips. Katherine wrapped her legs around his waist, lifting herself up, gasping into his mouth as his teeth nipped at her lower lip.
They rolled onto the bed, the cheap mattress groaning beneath their weight. Damon was on top of her, his hands frantically tearing at her leather jacket, while Katherine pulled at his shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin. It was messy, violent, and completely devoid of the gentle romance he shared with Elena. This was a dark, familiar drug, and both of them were overdosing.
For a few feverish moments, the tragedy in Mystic Falls vanished. There was no dead brother, no cure, and no guilt. There was only the raw, consuming burn of each other.
But as Katherine’s hands slid down his back, her nails scratching against his skin, Damon’s mind suddenly flashed to Elena—to the hollow, dead look in her eyes as she sat by the fireplace.
The contrast was sickening.
Damon abruptly pulled back, his breathing ragged, his forehead resting against Katherine’s for a fraction of a second before he pushed himself off her. He stood up, his boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud, and stepped away from the bed.
Katherine lay there, her hair tangled, her chest heaving as she breathed in the cold air of the room. Her lips were swollen, and for a fleeting moment, her eyes held a rare, raw vulnerability.
Damon pulled his torn shirt straight, his expression instantly hardening back into a mask of cold, distant detachment. He looked down at her, his blue eyes icy and vacant.
"This changes nothing," Damon said, his voice flat and steady, though his chest was still heaving. "I'm going to find the cure. And I'm going to use it to save her."
Katherine sat up slowly, brushing her dark curls out of her face. The vulnerability in her eyes vanished, replaced instantly by her defensive, arrogant smirk. She leaned back against the headboard, crossing her legs.
"You can try, Damon," Katherine said softly, her voice dripping with pity. "But you can’t cure a broken heart. And you certainly can't cure what's wrong with us."
Damon didn't answer. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, stepping back into the freezing rain, leaving Katherine alone in the flickering, buzzing light of the motel.