I hate you.
It's only three little words, eight letters and yet somehow it has the ability to stab away at the soul. To open wounds that can't be healed and bridges that can't be mended, reduced to ashes as they burn brightly in the distance. December can't let go, the words spinning within his mind as his memories replay that moment over and over until he's nauseous from the idea of it. The way that Ryder couldn't even face him, head downcast and back facing him, repulsed by his supposed actions. Even now, he still won't face his older cousin, head turned away in disgust and arms crossed in warning.
They're only inches apart yet it feels as if a chasim stands between the two that can't be crossed, Ryder so distant and so near all at once.
I hate you.
"This office seems a little cramped when there's five of us in here, huh?"
The voice comes from the far end of the medical room, the tattooed man from earlier leaned back in a plush chair. He seems too happy, blissfully unaware of the crushing weight of the room that falls upon them as he rocks back and forth in his seat.
His eyes fall upon December, brown eyes wide and full of life as he gifts a haphazard wave coupled with a smile. "I don't believe we've properly met, I'm Jax."
This man is too happy. "I'm December." The introduction slips out sterner than he meant but Jax seems to not notice, eyes transfixed elsewhere for the briefest of moments allowing the tone to slide over him.
While the office is unnaturally large he wasn't wrong in his statement, the room feeling as if it's shrinking by the second with the tension that thickens with each breath. They all feel too close though they stand feet away from one another. Jax sits cast off to the corner while Wren lies unconscious on a lifted bed pressed against the wall near the center of the room. Celeste hovers over him before crossing the room to rummage through a glass cabinet and back again, constantly repeating this cycle without a mutter of a word.
Ryder still stands with his arms crossed, leg kicked back against the dark wood cabinets as he stares at Wren on the bed before him. His gaze is too forceful as he wills himself to not glance at his cousin stood beside him. To play pretend and act as if this man had never existed, or better yet had been left in the woods to die that day with Abrahm by his side.
"Why is he even here?" Ryder mumbles under his breath as his head falls back to face the bright balls of light that float upon the ceiling off the medical office. His arms are covered with crescent indentations, nails digging into his flesh as he bites back his lips to control himself.
Even while trapped within the hells of Haven he had never felt this anger. A searing white hot pain that melts within his blood until it bleeds black, drenched in the poison of the hatred sure to kill him at any moment. His heart feels as if it could explode, the taste of metal heavy on his tongue as his lips bleed from the force of trying to contain his words.
Celeste doesn't turn to face the two standing behind her, the only indication she had even heard them being the way her shoulders slightly tense in aggravation. "December is here because he's been instructed to work under me. Whether you hate the ruling or not you're not allowed to argue with The Priestly Order. It's better to just drop it and learn to move on."
The weight of the room only falls heavier now, each body seething with its own anger that plays off the presence of one another. "Well I don't exactly want to be here either." December bites back, nails digging into the gemstone counter beside him.
The sound of flesh on stone pierces the room, the rattling of equipment following from the force of the action. Ryder can no longer be compliant, no longer stand silent on the sidelines as he grabs December's collar in his fist. He brings the boy so near that blue eyes blend with brown, the scent of blood drifting from Ryder's lips overwhelming from this close. "We wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you!" He yells, cheeks red from frustration as he wildly shakes the collar in his fist. "You did this! You let him get tortured, you let him be raped!" Ryder screams, tears beginning to well as he grits his teeth smeared with his own blood.
"Hey now," Jax intercepts from his chair in the corner, a sheepish grin plastered to his face as he holds out both hands to referee. "It was proven that December had no knowledge of what happened back then."
"Wren was in so much pain that he asked for Elchanan to remove his memories. Ryder is in the right here." Celeste adds to the growing tension, body finally turning from Wren and joining the group shattering behind her. "December may not have known about what happened, but if he hadn't made the decision to keep Wren then none of it would've taken place. Just because he didn't play a part in Wren's torture doesn't mean he wasn't the one who caused it."
Ryder's grip finally ceases, hands pushing against December's chest with roaring breaths. There's a pain that engulfs each eye, that flows through his flushed face and pools in each tear. A pain that pours out the blood gushing from his split open lip and drips from his deadly glare.
I hate you.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I-
A blur of bronze and black flies before the two boys stood against the gemstone counter. December's head whipping at the speed of the action as Jax stands before him, body towering over their own as he leans over with a muttered grunt of pain.
December's thoughts cease in the moment, blue eyes widening as they fall upon Ryder beside him. Fall upon his quick rising chest and panicked stare, face flustered and bloody mouth agape. His gaze traces the tense muscles of his cousin's shoulders, the protruding veins that wrap around his arm like vines until they fall to his whitened knuckles gripped tightly around the base of a scalpel. Slowly, Ryder's grip detaches from the makeshift weapon, chest heaving at the sight laid before him.
At Wren held tight against Jax's body, blood streaming against his tattooed flesh as he presses Wren's open mouth against himself. Though his back is turned to the cousins, December can sense the pain that radiates from Jax, the muscles of his back tensing slightly as Wren squirms against his grasp.
It isn't until December examines the boys closer that the truth of the situation reveals itself. The way Jax presses Wren tightly against his wound to prevent the fae from digging himself deeper into his flesh. The slight glow that emits from beneath Jax's palm and flows against Wren's blood stained cheeks until his body starts to fall slack, black eyes focusing and unfocusing against the force of the glow.
Black eyes. Basil's eyes.
They haven't quite shifted to full black, rather the pigment stretching from the center of his irises, creeping along the whites of his eyes as it attempts to overcome him. It bleeds with each blink of the eyes, ink dropped into milk that ebbs and flows as it stretches and constricts from the iris. It's clear that he's fighting against it, the black forcibly pulling back as he struggles beneath Jax's iron-grip. The struggle only lasts a few minutes though the tension stretches the moment into what feels like hours, Wren finally succumbing to the glow as his body falls limp in Jax's arms.
"This is what happens when you refuse to do memory erasure." Celeste's voice is out of place, the sound being forced to swim to the surface of the ever rigid air as she hooks a svelte finger between Wren's teeth and Jax's mangled flesh. "Now I have to deal with an ītäl, because Elchanan is too worried about some collective consciousness." She bites, speaking to no one but herself as she mechanically pulls Wren away from the gushing wound. "Well there won't be a collective consciousness if we let Wren's memories devour it! How is the collective consciousness more important than preventing a vėlä from occurring?"
She continues to mumble to herself, shėä blending into English as she examines Wren on the elevated bed. Jax belatedly turns to the two boys still behind him, hand coming up to secure his wound though blood pours between each tattooed finger. "I'm glad your first instinct was to defend yourself." He smiles towards Ryder, head nodding towards the scalpel still lingering in his grasp. "Considering Wren has never hunted a day in his life, I'm pretty impressed his instinct was to head for your neck." The man tilts his head with a grin, shoulders naturally shrugging though he winces from the action.
As the scent of blood begins to fill the office December finds himself on autopilot, mind switching off as his body springs into action on its own. The movements are muscle memory at this point in his career, his body finding gloves and gauze unknowingly as he presses a cloth against the now flooding wound. It's deep, December notices, yellow fat visible beneath the pool of wine-tinted blood as he leads Jax to his previous seat.
"You're pretty good at this." The man praises between winces, eyes squinted against the pain of December's heavy hand pressed tight against the wound.
Ryder scoffs in the distance. "He was Hell's head surgeon that's why."
Though those three words still ring clear within his mind, December can't ease his worry and can't hold his tongue as he turns to his cousin brooding against the gemstone counter. "Ryder, please come over here." Please get away from Wren.
Ryder still won't look at him, gaze never leaving Wren unconscious on the bed. Shockingly, he follows December's pleas, body dragging across the room as he grabs a seat next to the injured Jax. He won't address either of the boys, rather closing his eyes and leaning against his seat as if that would make the room melt away, make the two boys he so desperately hates dissolve with the rest of the room.
"You should talk to distract yourself." December states, bloodied gloves threading a surgical needle with perfect precision. "Even with painkillers this will most likely hurt some."
Even through the pain Jax smiles, attention turning to Ryder sat closed-eyed beside him. "Well, I guess now would be as good a time as any to tell you about my time as Wren's Priest. I know you mentioned that he'd never told you about it." He adds, noticing the way Ryder's eyes dash beneath closed lids with a slight flutter.
Without opening his eyes Ryder nods in agreement, arms crossed against his chest coolly though the bounce of his knee gives away his blatant anticipation.
"Well, Wren and I grew up together because if there's one thing Sasha excels at it's matchmaking." Jax chuckles, though the sound wavers with the pain of his wound. "My father became Alpha Amir during this time after uniting the seven wolf tribes, hence the tribe tattoos. Sasha saw this as a political opportunity since there was countless unrest between the tribes and the vampires. Thankfully, with his precious nephew being half vampire he was the perfect bargaining chip." It's the first time Jax's smile has faded, thick lips faltering into a snarl of disgust before continuing.
"I'm not even a clairvoyant but since I can siphon magic The Order allowed it. Wren and I are genuine friends don't get me wrong, and we did have feelings for one another, but it's hard to ignore that those feelings were cultivated. He was never given much of an option, which is why I'm glad he had the opportunity to choose you, Ryder."
At this Ryder finally opens his eyes, confusion flittering across his features though he hastily forces it away. He's never been one to handle jealousy well, the constant comparison and competition a habit that tends to break him before he ever joins the starting line. It's an emotion he juggled constantly within Haven, the comparisons between Abrahm and December both unwarranted and unwanted. Yet here's a man who he swore to hate, who within seconds of meeting had filled him to the brim of white-hot jealousy, telling him he's thankful for his presence.
Jax doesn't dwell on the confusion painted boldly on Ryder's features, rather biting his lip against the pain of stitches before continuing his story. "Anyways, the fact I'm not a clairvoyant was pretty much the beginning of the end. Sasha should've just kept me as the boyfriend and not forced the whole High Priest bit, but boyfriends don't stop civil unrest apparently. I'm not sure what Wren has told you about the cävīl ceremony, but it has the potential to be really, really brutal." He winces, whether from the pain of the stitches or the resurfacing of memories they may never know.
"It's the reason Sasha works so hard picking out a High Priest, if they're incompatible the consequences can be deadly. Unfortunately, Wren and I ended up being incompatible." Jax sighs. "During the joining ceremony, I was poisoned by Wren's blood. It was... the worst pain I've ever felt in my life. I thought I was going to die." His voice trails off on his last words, speech barely audible as his thoughts trail off alongside them.
"Luckily, I only went into a coma." He grins at this part, demeanor perking up as he rubs the back of his head. "By the time I got out of my coma Wren had already been taken. Apparently he saved a young girl from being caught by your hunters but in the end it's how he got caught himself. Ryder," he turns to the black headed boy now consumed by the story, chest leant over his knees as he draws nearer. "If Wren does become an ītäl, I want you to be careful. I can tell that you love him but his nature is closer to an animal's than that of a human's. He can kill you, Ryder, please don't forget that."
December ties off the last stitch, the crescent shape of the wound bringing to surface memories he refuses to relive, head shaking to physically throw the thought from mind.
"Boys," Celeste pipes up. "I need you two to leave, doctors only." Her tone is rigid enough that it leaves no room for protest, the two dragging themselves from the room until only December and Celeste remain between an ever unconscious Wren. "Jax siphoned his energy so he should be out for a while." Celeste reassures him, December's worry clear in the way he distances himself from the creature laid still on the bed.
"You did good with Jax. I've never been much of a surgeon so he would've just had to bleed out if you weren't here." There's no playfulness to her words, lips a straight line and demeanor frosted over with a deadly chill. "Wren's bloodwork is a mess. I want you to look over it later and tell me if any of the compounds look familiar to what was used in the blockers."
"You don't seem like much of a doctor." December states, eyes narrowing as he grabs at the manila folder Celeste haphazardly throws into his chest.
"It wasn't much of a choice." Every word that escapes those doll-like lips is stiff and unyielding. Nova wasn't wrong when she said her sister was as personable as a rock.
Deciding it's better to drop the subject, December takes a seat in a nearby stool, fingers brushing against the crisp folder held tight in his grasp. It's void of a label, just a few white pages peeking from the corner. "You said the word vėlä earlier," December quizzes as he fans through the contents of the folder. "and that Wren's memories should've been erased to prevent it?"
"God, you really are a doctor aren't you? Your curiosity in insufferable you know that right?" The girl bites back in agitation. "A vėlä, it means Demon King. We were already playing with fire by allowing Wren to live his life as a fae. I mean, if you swing a pendulum so far one way it's bound to swing just as far in the other direction." She huffs, body falling into a chair beside the human. "Now, Elchanan refuses to remove Wren's traumatic memories and he's beginning to show signs of becoming an ītäl because of it. This next incarnation will be the end of us, I swear it. No good can come from allowing those memories into the collective consciousness."
December doesn't answer, his attention falling upon the small boy sprawled across the bed. The material devours his body, his sunken cheeks and protruding bones more noticeable after viewing his past appearance through the memory retrieval. December can't help but notice the crescent scar on Wren's shoulder, the same scar that caught his attention in the depths of the cave. Only now he knows it's source, bile rising in the back of his throat as he forces the memory away, eyes adverting from the scar with blatant shame.
"Look," Celeste sighs, tracing December's stare locked tight on Wren's scars. "I don't think he blames you for any of this. Wren is known for being forgiving, even if it's against his best interests." She adds beneath her breath, head turned in hopes December doesn't catch the last of her words. "At the end of the day, an apology never hurts. Maybe then you can stop letting the guilt swallow you whole and focus on your job here."
With that the girl rises, a deep sigh following the movement as she pushes December from his seat and out the door, abandoning the human with nothing more than his guilt and a folder in the empty corridor.