Thank you for the reviews and all! I greatly appreciate them!

Warning: I have encountered another round of writer's block. I've been thinking how to write this chapter, and have re-written it too many times, all failing miserably. School is, unfortunately starting next Monday, and I'll have to prepare and focus all my attention on my studies (I'm taking the major examinations this year, and sadly, it's my top priority; writing is but a form of de-stressing and hobby). So, I'll have to wrap this story nice and quick. I hope it'd be nice, because I really have no idea which words to stitch together.

Okay, seems like I forgot the disclaimer the previous time.

Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Diaries or any of its characters.

You're still sick, Damon. Get on the bed and don't move, will you?

A small, uncharacteristic scowl contorted the Salvatore's features as he folded his arms tightly across his chest, unable to throw his brother's words that constantly danced before his mind's eye out of his train of thoughts. Another wave of indignation rained on him, tempered only by the concern that had been etched in Stefan's voice.

Damon! Please! Stay on the damn bed!

A soft breath escaped his dry lips. Who was his little brother kidding? He was fine! Maybe not up to his tip-top everyday condition, but okay nonetheless. The scowl became more prominent. He was the older brother, not Stefan.

I'm fine, Stefan. I'm the older brother, not you.

A wilful, stubborn older brother, you mean.

Damon glared at the dust trailing before his eyes as if they were to blame, wishing he could erase them out of existence. He hunched over the railing, leaning as much of his body weight as he could onto the cold metal. Other than his hair flailing madly under the current of air, Damon stood as still as a statue, as motionless as only a vampire could be.

He had donned his typical black t-shirt and jeans, his inhumanly pale (too pale, as Stefan had kindly put it) skin a stark white against the midnight dark fabric. Standing barefoot, his toes closed in on each other as a feeble attempt of a shield from the wind that blasted from the skies above. The weather only gave cloudy skies and little more than a breeze, but it already proved too much for the vampire.

And Damon hated it. With a passion.

He absolutely loathed the fact that he was weak. That he was sick. That they - humans, vampires and witch alike - had to look after him. Every time someone so much as uttered 'Damon, are you okay?' or 'How are you feeling, Damon?', an immediate surge of anger would rack through his mind, a deep, crazed fury that simply yearned to explode.

And the fury only amplified whenever it was Stefan. A series of rage-filled questions tore through his mind before he absent-mindedly pushed them away.

Another inaudible sigh left Damon's parted lips as a single drop of sweat trickled down his cheek. He shivered slightly.

"Damon?"

Damon instantaneously stiffened and clenched his fists as Stefan appeared at the doorway, scanning the room in confusion. The latter looked towards the balcony (Is there a balcony?) and his oak green eyes widened.

"Damon! What're you-" he took in Damon's trembling form and his eyes hardened. He sucked in a deep breath. "Get -"

"Out of my life," Damon muttered sullenly.

Stefan blinked, his words dying in his mouth. Hurt wailed at him, overriding the surprise, as he stared at his brother, completely rendered speechless. His hand which had initially reached for Damon's shoulder dropped, as if brought down by a sudden weight. Confusion clouded his verdant eyes.

There was a moment's pause as Damon waited for Stefan's biting remark. When all he heard was an abrupt intake of breath, he turned slightly, arching an elegant eyebrow at his brother's still shocked composure. His annoyance tipped down a notch.

"What's wrong with you?"

Stefan parted his lips, his gaze still locked on his sibling's countenance. "I...no. It's nothing."

Damon rolled his eyes and his lips thinned. The roaring fury raging through him flared as he eyed Stefan warily, knowing why his brother had come up to his room in the first place.

Attempting to quell the fire inside his cold, blue eyes, Damon swiveled to face Stefan fully. "Look, I'm fine. Now go away."

Stefan swallowed and composed himself. "No, you're not fine, Damon. Look at you." He gestured at Damon's form. "It's cold out here."

"I am fine, and it's not cold," Damon snapped, a tinge of irritation quickly slipping into his tone.

Stefan tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "Your very appearance contradicts your words, Damon."

"Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Come inside. It's warmer."

Damon shot a penetrating death glare at his younger brother, the pounding anger longing to be let out radiating off him in thick waves. His body shook ever so slightly, but be it from the cold or rage, Stefan couldn't tell.

"Damon..." Stefan eyed his brother cautiously.

Exasperation and worry started to congeal in Stefan's heart. It had already been close to three entire days since Damon had taken the cure. The side effects of the bite had but disappeared entirely, but in its place came the fevers and colds. Just the previous night, Damon's temperature had risen to as high as 39 degrees Celsius, a temperature that was supposedly impossible for a vampire to reach.

Desperate, and not knowing what to do, Stefan had quickly called Bonnie to help.

Bonnie gave a sigh and looked up at the Salvatore hovering beside her. Stefan slowly lifted his gaze, dreading her answer.

"How is he?"

"He's definitely having a fever. A very bad one." A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "He's healed, Stefan. Completely."

Stefan relaxed slightly, turning his head to stare at his sibling's sleeping form. A thought occurred to him. "But then, why is he so sick now? Suddenly he's assaulted by this series of colds, coughs and fevers."

Bonnie shook her head. "I don't know, Stefan. No one's been healed of a werewolf bite before. Even if it has, we don't have the records of the aftereffects." A thoughtful look took over her features. "But I have a theory."

Stefan looked up at her, prompting her to continue.

"When he was bitten by the werewolf, and had to suffer the effects of the bite... Maybe... Perhaps his immune system was wrecked along the way. Maybe that's why he's suddenly so sick. His body couldn't fight them off any longer."

The Salvatore's eyebrows furrowed at Bonnie's guess. He slowly nodded. "You might be right." A fearful look entered his green eyes. "He won't- I mean, he'll get better right? His body won't stay that way forever... Can it?"

"It's just a theory. But if his immune system is indeed messed up and everything, he should heal. Even humans can heal, what's more a vampire. And we're talking about Damon." She smiled. "He won't fall because of some fever, Stefan. Have some faith in him."

Stefan grimaced. "Faith in Damon... Something is truly wrong with the world."

Bonnie laughed. Stefan went back to watching over his brother as Bonnie exited the room to join the others who had discreetly waited downstairs.

It certainly didn't help that Damon constantly kicked up a fuss every time anyone so much as uttered a word to him. Like slamming the door shut into Caroline's face when she tried to coax him to get down for breakfast. Elena had thought that, maybe walking around a bit would lighten the sick vampire's mood, and the blonde vampire had cheerfully volunteered to talk him into it, but apparently Damon had been in no mood to talk.

The vexation amplified as Stefan took in Damon's obviously weary body coupled with his dark eyes full of defiance.

Stefan sucked in a deep breath. "Come inside, Damon," he repeated gently. "Please?"

The words in Damon's mouth caught, his glare softening to a hard stare. He flicked his gaze away and walked briskly passed Stefan into his room. "Just so you'd shut up."

Stefan shrugged lightly and followed his brother into the room. He watched silently as Damon clumsily clambered onto his bed and settled himself into his usual spot with a slight huff.

Damon stared at the ceiling for a moment. "You know I don't need a guard dog, right?"

Stefan cocked an eyebrow pointedly. He pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and walked over to a shelf stacked neatly with books. He bit his lip as he fingered each book curiously, taking in the titles.

"You've always liked reading," he murmured.

Damon's gaze trailed Stefan's every move with an unusual neutral precision. He paused. "You, little brother, are so annoying."

Stefan smiled faintly. "Isn't that what little brothers are for?"

The older Salvatore fell silent, the hushed atmosphere falling over them like a shroud. Stefan returned to observing the row of books, listening intently to his brother's breathing.

Stefan was the first to break the silence. "We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning, if you're up to it."

"Where are we going?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Katherine?"

Stefan studied his brother's face carefully. "She was surprised, if anything," he said slowly.

"That doesn't answer my question, Stefan."

Stefan shrugged. "You didn't really ask anything, but...she said that she wasn't like us." At Damon's questioning glance, he continued, "That she wasn't dumb enough to be tied down to anything."

The black-haired vampire didn't respond, opting to return to staring at the ceiling instead. His blue eyes seemed to dull for a moment, arousing a dreadful suspicion in Stefan. But it couldn't be...

"We should go for a really long holiday," Damon muttered.

Stefan looked up. "Define long, Damon. For a vampire, that's a really long time."

"You know what I mean," Damon snapped, narrowing his eyes.

"Stop being so uptight, Damon. You don't have to go around snapping at us all the time. Do you know how hurt Caroline was?" Stefan shot back, bracing himself to fall into a battle of wills.

"Do I care?"

Stefan inwardly groaned. "You just have to make things harder for us, don't you?"

The older vampire proceeded to flip over his side, turning his back on his Stefan. That was the last straw.

"Fine. Be that way." Stefan shot his brother a heated look before stalking out the room.

"I don't get it," Stefan started. "I mean, what did I do? Why is he so...angry?"

Alaric stood beside him, eyeing Stefan carefully. The others - Elena, Bonnie, Jeremy and Caroline - had only left recently to prepare for the impending trip, insisting that the two stay in case Damon got a 'little bit out of hand'.

"It's not really that hard a guess, you know." Alaric shrugged. "I mean, that's Damon."

"Damon doesn't throw around tantrums. Damon is always sickeningly annoying, and throws his sick humor around whenever he can. And, Damon," Stefan emphasized, "always expresses his anger of any kind on people."

"Isn't he annoying and venting his anger on us now?" Alaric asked.

"Meaning he goes off to kill the object of his anger."

"He can't exactly kill us off now, can he?" Alaric returned. He reached out a hand and patted Stefan's shoulder lightly. "Think about it. Damon, the one person who has never asked for help, is sick. He knows he needs our help, but that doesn't mean he has to like it."

"I mean, you don't actually feel all that happy when you're sick," Alaric continued, his eyes glowing slightly. "I think it's perfectly normal for Damon to be that way. I'd worry if he's not."

Stefan rolled his eyes. "Seriously, look at him. He being sick doesn't give him an excuse to be angry with us. We-"

"Oh, doesn't it?" Damon's voice sneered derisively from the stairs. His figure walked into the room, albeit lacking his usual confident stride. His blue eyes were unreadable as they fixed themselves on a set of oak green eyes.

"I wonder," he began, his voice a tad bit softer, "who had very pointedly given me the cold shoulder when I forced him to take his medicine? Not once, but every time he fell sick until he finally became mature enough."

Stefan stared at Damon, recalling perfectly the times he fell sick as a child.

No! Don't give me that!

- A chiding voice - Stefan, don't you give me that. Come on, it'll be over in a second.

They taste awful!

A little bit of unpleasantness wouldn't be so bad now, would it, when you become all well and lively again? Stefan, don't pout at me. It's unbecoming of you.

His older brother's coaxes had always ended up with Damon threatening to ignore him the rest of the day. Not one to lose out, Stefan had been the one to ignore Damon the moment the medicine was halfway down his throat.

"I was only a child. You, on the other hand, are more than a century old!"

"Whatever, little brother. I am not in the mood to argue with you." Damon flicked the company another glance before heading for the door.

Alaric watched him carefully and asked, "Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I don't have to see any of you."

"Damon..." Stefan growled. He stalked forward and grabbed his brother's arm. "You aren't going anywhere."

Damon shot Stefan an angry glance. "You're not stopping me."

"Watch me." Stefan tightened his grip as Damon rounded on him, barely leashing violence.

"You will let go of me, Stefan," he spoke quietly. "Before I make you."

"You're sick, Damon. Please, will you just keep that in mind? You can't just go strutting out the front door whenever you feel like it!"

Frustration ripped through the younger Salvatore as the two brothers glared at each other, each refusing to back down.

"When you were out of it, I'd always take you out to town despite all the damned protests. I don't see why I can't do so now. And don't you forget, little brother, I am the older one here."

"Fine then. I'll come with you," Stefan retorted.

"I can take care of myself!"

Stefan paused. Forcing himself to take on a calm tone, he nodded slowly, as if afraid of setting Damon off. "Yes, you can. But you're not leaving this house unless I come with you."

Damon's lips parted, ready to throw his brother another statement of conflict when Stefan continued, "Damon, please. I'm worried about you."

"You've long established that fact," Damon muttered quietly after a moment. Raising his voice, he looked Stefan in the eye. "I'm not a child; I can look after myself just fine."

He eased himself out of Stefan's grip and continued for the door. He paused. "I'll be back tomorrow morning."

He turned the doorknob and walked out just as night began to dominate the darkening sky.

The door slammed shut.

There was a long, uneasy silence.

"I'm going after him," Stefan announced.

"Stefan, he is right. He's old enough, and you don't think a fever or such will bring him down, do you? You're being overly-worried." Alaric folded his arms, a frown furrowing his eyebrows. "He certainly won't appreciate it either."

"Alaric, this is Damon. He's not even supposed to be sick. He's supposed to be quipping those sarcastic remarks of his." Stefan started for the door and, like Damon, paused. "He can hate me all he wants. I don't care."

For the second time in less than an hour, the door was forced opened before being slammed shut again.

"Both of them can be so overly-dramatic sometimes," Alaric muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He turned and headed for Damon's collection of bourbon.

"Damon!" Stefan called, catching up to Damon easily. Initially wanting to touch his brother's shoulder, he tucked his arms beside him, not wanting to provoke the older vampire. "Damon, please don't ignore me."

Damon walked quickly, his hair already windblown as they flailed about madly. "What are you doing, Stefan? Can't a grown vampire go out into town without his brother hovering over him like he'd die any second?"

His tone was weary and tired, but the harsh words certainly stung.

"Alright. I'm paranoid. I get it. But, Damon... Please. Either you go back to the house, or we go together."

The words that escaped Stefan's mouth came out rather bitterly. When had he ever sounded so insanely pathetic to his brother? For his brother? A part of him rejected this role of 'looking after' Damon; another part embraced it as if it was the most natural thing to do.

It was simply downright strange.

"Aren't you already following me?" Damon muttered, cutting through Stefan's thoughts.

Stefan kept his mouth shut, not knowing what to respond to that. Both of them walked in silence, walking in any direction that Damon chose to walk. The air started to turn chilly as night fully took reign, casting eerie shadows to lurk silently behind the trees towering above the two brothers.

Stefan watched Damon out of the corner of his eye, his eyes never failing to notice every time his brother shivered, or when Damon frowned and ducked his head slightly at a sudden gust of wind.

Finally, unable to stand the subtle signs, Stefan shrugged the jacket he rarely wore off and draped it over Damon's shoulders.

"You're cold. Wear that, at least," Stefan murmured.

"I-" Damon began but abruptly stopped. His hand whipped up to cover his mouth as he stopped in his tracks and turned to the side, his back facing Stefan - all in less than a second.

"Damon?" Stefan asked uncertainly.

In what was a strange, quiet walk, it had quickly ended up with Damon falling on his knees and retching by the sharp blades of grass. In one fluid movement, Stefan was by his side, his hand already patting his sibling's back soothingly. Damon shook slightly under him, his coughs racking throughout his body as he struggled to compose himself.

"Are you okay?" Stefan hesitantly asked when Damon fell quiet and unmoving.

Just when Stefan had come to accept the fact that Damon wasn't going to answer him, Damon spoke up, his voice somewhat hoarse.

"Why did you find the cure, Stefan?" His voice was barely a whisper.

A jolt went through the younger Salvatore; his mind went black.

Damon continued quietly, "Why do you never listen to me? Do you enjoy my suffering so much?"

Stefan continued staring at him, stunned. What was Damon saying? Confusion bubbled inside him, clouding his judgment, his mind, his very thoughts. He wondered briefly if the words were even meant to be heard.

Damon's head tilted slightly upwards, casting his head to the sky as his perplexed blue eyes trailed along the glowing lights.

"You went to Klaus... You..." His mouth seemed to work to find the right words. "I don't think I can forgive you for that."

Stefan's eyes widened perceptibly.

Damon turned to look at him, seemingly unperturbed by the words escaping his parted lips. His countenance was strangely calm. Too calm.

Stefan swallowed, his stomach suddenly writhing with dread. Damon being so angry... Was that the reason? But why had he been so mad at the others as well?

"Why-" Damon met his eyes, two startling blue lakes against a pair of green pools of echoing confusion "-do you keep forcing me to live?"

The words had fallen to as soft as a passing breath, but they knocked into Stefan's mind sharply, cutting through him as he realized an alarming possibility. One he had completely overlooked with his desperation.

Damon stood up, tottering slightly on his feet. He placed the jacket back on its owner's shoulders.

"You're right," he murmured, his voice a tad bit louder. "It is cold."

He turned and walked into the night, his presence fading. Stefan remained rooted to the floor, the empty spot beside him as cold as the one who had only recently stood there.

A single thought ran through his mind.

What if he didn't want to be saved?

And he wondered...how they were going to end up this time.

Please review and tell me if I should just continue this story or just delete it and move on.