Chapter Seven: To Zero

*Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I read every single one, I promise, even though I don't always get time to reply. And please, keep the reviews coming. I love hearing anything you guys have to say :) *

The world, always so brilliant, so bright and bold, has faded backwards, blending together. Sounds, which should be crystal cut, are distant, as if they are emerging from underwater. Everything, even his thoughts, seems to be tinted with a slight red haze, and whether that red is from blood or anger he doesn't know.

Because Damon is sure he has never been angrier.

It's a deep, dark sort of anger, an anger that stems from the complete and utter helplessness he's feeling. It's an insatiable anger, an all-consuming anger, an anger that he can taste.

He wants to rip Silas' throat from his body. He wants to tear him apart limb from limb, to set him on fire and watch him burn and burn and burn...

He thinks, for a moment, that his anger will give him enough strength to rip free and exact his revenge. That with it, he can do anything, even the impossible. He will rise up; he will...

But then, just like that, the anger starts to fade away. He tries to latch on to it, wanting to keep the fire of hate burning in him as long as possible, but his attempt falls short. The anger is still there, somewhere in the background, waiting, but he can feel it no longer. The fact is, he can't hold on to anything for long, not thoughts and not even feelings. There's a blur surrounding him, a blur colored white hot. He tries not to think of it, because any time he does it brings the that blur into brilliant focus. But the fact is, pain like this is hard to ignore.

He has to to hand it to Silas, he thinks darkly, the witch sure knew what he was doing. He had brought Damon to the very edge and left him there, hovering. His body isn't healing, not anymore, so everything just lasts and lasts.

The anger is gone though, so the thought of Silas' success doesn't invoke the same emotions it would have five seconds ago. Now, the thought just makes him so incredibly tired. His body, rigid with pain, starts to relax. He tries to fight his sudden sleepiness, but only for a moment. The second the blackness of sleep starts to take the edge off, Damon stops struggling, letting the cool liquid of darkness engulf him in one single wave.

...

Stefan really wishes he had more of a plan. He's armed with one thing and one thing only, a syringe full of the cure. He hadn't had time to call Bonnie, and he has a feeling she wouldn't have been able to help him if he had. Silas is a thousand year old witch. And not only that, but Silas has accomplished what was supposed to be impossible, becoming immortal while retaining his witch identity. Bonnie, even with all her dark expression, is very much mortal and is very, very young. Silas would have an answer to anything she would be able to throw at him.

No, Stefan is alone in this.

He sits in his car for a second, gathering his breath. Silas' directions had led him here, to this dark house in the middle of nowhere. It's fitting somehow, that this is where he should be. Silas is something from the past; he doesn't belong in the modern world. Steeling himself, Stefan gets out of the car, shutting the door softly behind him.

Damon would call him idiotic for coming here with no back-up and with no plan to speak of. He would sneer at Stefan's insistence that he had no choice but to come as soon as possible. Stefan knows this, but it doesn't matter, because he also knows that despite Damon's probable disgust, Damon would have done the same thing for him if the roles were reversed. They may hate each other at times, curse each other up and down, but blood runs thicker than anything. Even thicker than their feud over Elena.

So that is why, even though he knows that he is destined for failure in one form or another, he opens the door to the old wooden house and steps in.

The silence is what hits him first. It is so incredibly quiet; even his almost soundless footsteps seem to echo through the house. Inside his jacket pocket, his hand clutches around the syringe, his only defense. It seems so flimsy now, so pointless. However, he doesn't let go of it as he wanders out of the foyer, his senses on super alert. His eyes search the shadows; his ears are fine-tuned for even the slightest sound.

He holds onto the hope that he will get to surprise Silas; it may be his only chance to be on the offense. He taps into his vampire instincts, hoping they will lead him where sense cannot. He lets his predatory sense wash over him, ignoring the fact that he feels more like the prey than the hunter. Surprisingly, the attempt works. The next moment he feels someone behind him. It's the same feeling he gets when someone is staring at his back; he doesn't know how he knows someone is behind him, but he just does.

He only gives the feeling a moment to settle in before he whirls around, leaping forward, no time left for thought. He holds the syringe outward like the weapon it rightfully is, aiming it straight for Silas' heart.

But the attack is stopped almost before it starts. The syringe shatters in his hand mid-leap and Silas quickly darts out of the spot Stefan had been aiming for. Stefan is left grasping only air.

"Over here," a voice purrs. Stefan whirls back around. Silas is standing right in front of him. Despite what he knows is the futility of his actions, Stefan leaps for him again, his face twisting into an angry scowl.

Silas makes a tsking sound, sliding easily out of the way. "Don't try again," he scolds Stefan, "I'm older and faster than you. You're only making yourself look stupid." He smiles at the end of his sentence though, as it to take off the edge off his words.

Stefan stands in the spot Silas had just vacated, staring at the ground as the liquid of the cure soaks into the floorboards. He takes a steadying breath. He reminds himself this is no bar fight; he can't let his emotions get the best of him. Then he shoves down his anger, trying to regain his self-control. When he speaks, his voice is level.

"Where's my brother?" His words sound steady and strong.

"Ah," Silas says, making a sound of knowing. "I didn't misjudge you at all. For a moment, I thought I had it all wrong...but nope." He grins. "You didn't disappoint."

Stefan only stares at him.

"You see...I find you supremely interesting." Silas eyes range up and down him, as if his is studying him. "You have this emotional self-control that is quite above and beyond what your brother can manage, but when it comes to the other side of things...Well, let's just say your blood lust isn't quite under control yet."

Stefan flinches, less because of what Silas is saying and more out of surprise and disbelief. How does Silas even know this?

"And the funny thing is," Silas laughs, "your out-of-control brother has the physical side of vampirism well under control, almost down to a science. No wonder you two have a difficult time getting along, you're complete opposites."

Silas takes a step towards Stefan after he finishes his sentence, his steps smooth as flowing water. It's unnerving. For once, Stefan feels like a human...a human witnessing the strange, predatory power of another species.

"Where's my brother?" he asks again between gritted teeth.

"Yes, Damon Salvatore. I suppose you want to see him, to verify that he's here. Don't worry, I'll lead you to him. But first, I'll answer the other question burning in your mind."

Stefan's eyes narrow.

"How do I know all I know?" Silas continues. His voice is lyrical, as if he is enjoying a particularly engrossing conversation. "Quite simple, really. Your brother's mind has been very forthcoming. And I have to say, I couldn't help myself from discovering your whole story. It's really quite entertaining."

Stefan realizes one thing very quickly. Silas is very, very strong. He had just stolen that question from within his mind, and Stefan had been putting up all the walls he could to prevent that from happening.

This will be even harder than he thought.

"Now that we have that out of the way," Silas waves his hand forward, not waiting for Stefan to respond, "let's go visit your brother, shall we?"

He weaves his way through the house, Stefan on his heels. The whole time Stefan tries to think of creative ways to take the witch down, and each time he falls short. His mind is in a frenzy; they need some sort of an escape. Brute force won't do it; Silas is too fast. Trickery won't exactly work either; not if Silas is going to keep peering into his mind.

Hopefully Damon can think of something helpful.

Silas has led them to the back of the house. He starts descending a flight of stairs. Stefan stops for a moment, peering down the flight into a dark, dingy hallway. Silas hears his pause, turning around to face him.

"Come on," he waves, his eyes glistening with excitement. "Down this way."

Stefan shoves down his uneasiness, taking carefully measured steps down into the hallway. Silas doesn't mention his obvious discomfort, only sending him a knowing smile. When Stefan arrives next to him, Silas motions to a door off to their right.

"You can go first," he says politely.

Stefan turns to the door, taking another beat. Then, he reaches out, pushing open the door. It swings inward with a loud, unsettling creak.

"Damon?" He calls, stepping through the doorway.

It only takes him a second to realize why Damon does't answer.

He is assaulted by the sight of red, red everywhere. Such a dark and brilliant color... It's splattered across the room..on the walls, on the floor. A large pool of blood rests underneath the chair containing the very limp form of his brother.

"Shit," he whispers softly to himself.

The chances of their escape just went from less than ten percent to zero.