Dust.
Yelling.
The acrid taste of smoke and blood.
He freezes up under the sensory overload, struggling to breathe.
Except...there’s none of those things.
Only cold air and bright light. The scent of sunshine and flowers.
“Damon?” The voice comes from far away.
The angelic voice repeats his name.
He blinks repeatedly and studies his shaking hands. No rifle. Only a metal crutch.
Trembling, he lowers his makeshift weapon and his head. But his muscles don’t recognize that there is no danger.
Get it together, man. You’re home. You’re fine.
But his body doesn’t feel fine.
His heart continues to slam against his ribcage. His chest feels hollow, as though the adrenaline burned up everything inside him.
Just breathe. In for four. Out for six.
“Are you okay?" Grace’s concerned face filled his vision.
And then her hands were on his body. One at his waist the other on his shoulder as her gaze continued to rake over him.
He flinched, still trying to convince himself she wasn’t a threat. Anger and irritation—with himself and Grace—filled the emptiness inside him.
Then comforting warmth seeped through his shirt where her hands rested and slowly spread through him, calming his angst.
"Did I hurt you?"
No. But your touch is doing crazy things to me.
Much more enjoyable things than the terror he’d just experienced.
“I’m fine.” He shook his head in a jerky motion, his words clipped and sharp.
He straightened slowly, careful not to move too fast, fearing his body might revolt if startled again. He exhaled, attempting to dispel the fog that hung over him.
"I'm fine," he repeated, a little softer this time. He shrugged his shoulder, hoping she would remove her hand.
She did, and a chill swept over him. He told himself it was because the door was open, letting in the chilly winter air, and not because he missed her touch.
Embarrassed and eager to put some distance between them, he hobbled out the door, letting her close it behind them. She hovered nearby as he made his slow descent down the stairs, spiking his irritation.
When they hit the driveway, she hurried around him to open the passenger door. Nervous energy radiated off her, making the air surrounding them crackle with electricity. She stayed close to his side, blocking his way.
"I can get into the car by myself," he snapped.
Her smile faltered, and she fell back a step. "Right. Of course you can." She rounded the car and climbed into the driver's seat, staring straight ahead.
Damon dropped onto the passenger seat, moved it back as far as it would go, then maneuvered each leg into the car. He scowled at the crutches he still held outside the car. Usually whoever drove him put them into the back seat, but he was not about to ask Grace to get out and take care of them after snapping at her.
