Part III: Aftermath
~Bree
She saw only murders as the familiar faces of those who had trained with her were split into bursts of chalk dust. They all vanished before her eyes, and all she could do was hide away, frightful and helpless in this time of peril.
She feared the pain more than her life, in all honesty. It looked so unspeakably horrific, what they were going through on that battlefield. Those kids who had grown up in the backstreets of Seattle had seen fistfights, brawls, and even murders. Some of them had endured a home life of constant domestic violence. But Bree wagered that none of them had ever seen anything like this – not even in their worst nightmares.
So many hours they'd spent preparing for this moment. They knew what they were getting themselves into, they knew what was in store – or at least, they thought they did. Maybe this was how real soldiers felt before they went off to war. Maybe it was natural to be scared senseless once their eyes saw the horrors of combat.
She thought she would be ready, but now that she was here, she didn't want any part of it. Riley, in all his threatening rhetoric, had made it seem as if it would be so easy, as if they would have the upper hand.
These Cullens were worse than they thought.
Bree didn't know vampires could be like this – so heartless, so ruthless.
They were more like machines than men and women.
Without a heartbeat, the only thing that revealed the rhythm of her terror was her breathing. In and out, out and in, her lungs contracting and expanding beneath her chest. She heard the sound of air passing through her undead body – it felt cold and heavy when it filled her, and it exited her body the same way it entered.
She was just a vessel of venom now. She was nothing.
When they found her, she was shaking with fear. Their golden eyes were unsettling; like the ends of dead fireflies, they seemed to glow eerily in the overcast light of day. And despite what she had been told about this strange coven of vampires, Bree could see something fiercely human in the way they approached her, like a pair of curious aliens whose intentions were peaceful but misunderstood...
She looked up at them, wanting nothing but mercy.
And that was what she received.
-}o{-
The blond boy watched her with his hawk-like stare, his face critical and calculating. He didn't trust her like the man and woman did. He kept a hand on her shoulder most of the time, and the rest of the time he paced around her like a defensive vulture, as if he were threatened by her imminent attack.
Jasper was his name.
He frightened her more than the others.
The rest were distant yet kind, but her abductors were most of all intrigued by her. The woman named Esme seemed ferociously interested in everything about her helpless captive. On several occasions, Bree had flinched in defense as the woman's gentle fingers came forward to touch her forehead or cheek. At first Bree had been uncomfortable with Esme's fascination, but after a while it became almost endearing, then reassuring… even addicting.
Wherever Esme happened to be, Bree was always sure to find her eyes flicking back to her to be sure that she was safe. It was odd, the way she was already acting like her mother.
But Bree somehow found herself acting like Esme's daughter.
She followed her everywhere she went. She hid behind her back when she was afraid.
She loved the way Esme looked at her. Loved the way she smiled and touched her hand in reassurance.
But most of all, Bree loved the sound of Esme's voice.
-}o{-
She had no idea what would happen now. Nothing was left on the field but the waste of bodies burning in a bonfire the size of a baobab tree. The fire flared with sickly sweet aromas, oddly colored flames bursting out from the dyes on the fabric of the dead vampries' clothing.
Bree felt like she had survived the brutality of a concentration camp firsthand, and by some miracle she had ended up the only victim whose life was spared. She remembered reading about things like this in history books. But history, as much as people liked to glamorize and glorify it, was not something that stayed safely locked away in the past. It was here and now.
Maybe one day she would tell her story, and they would call it history.
-}o{-
The Cullens were so very different from the other vampires she had known. With each passing instant she spend in their presence, this became more and more plain.
The blond man who went by the name of Carlisle went about giving orders to the rest of his family, attempting to organize the situation and keep everyone in their place. One did not have to be smart to realize he was their leader. But he went about leading in such a strange way. Strange, she could only define as being "nothing like Riley."
Bree found herself comparing Carlisle's leadership to Riley's in her head as she watched the dynamics of the Cullen clan play out before her. It appeared that whenever the man was stressed, the rest became agitated. Yet whenever he exuded calmness, they were all infected with a quiet peace.
She wondered briefly if he had them under some kind of mind-control... Riley's poisonous words had yet to fade completely from her wary mind.
Then, everything changed.
Bree stood still as the clan's patriarch slowly approached her and took her hand in his. She perceived no threat from him as she had with the others, and the touch of his hand felt caring, even affectionate. With soft spoken words he told her that his family was going to do whatever it took to save her.
A new wave of terror seized her heart at his promise. His words implied that her safety was not yet ensured.
As if this should have put her at ease, he let her fingers go and placed his hand on her head like a father would to his small child. Bree felt dizzy and ill, brimming with questions yet too shocked and scared to speak a single word. But her fears were put to rest as Carlisle locked his eyes to hers and whispered these words:
"Such a promising soul I see in you."
Then he walked back to the fire and stood before it, utterly still. He looked to be in a meditative state, his head bowed so that his eyes were lost in the flames. He looked so haunted, so... ashamed.
He had regrets about what they had all done. That much was clear from the hollow sadness she saw in his eyes.
His mysterious words echoed in her ears, the pangs of his sincerity tempting her to weep though she could make no tears.
If it was a promising soul he had seen in her, she wanted nothing but the chance to live.
~Carlisle
He saw the pair of them as they came into sight, Bella limping slightly with her hand held by Edward's. A flash of sunlight threw itself over them, causing his son's skin to glisten and Bella's hair to shine like rust.
The rest of his family rushed to greet them, huddling around them in a flurry of hugs and kisses, and exultant "We made it!"'s.
He watched his wife suffocate Bella with an overwhelming embrace, and fling her arms desperately around their son's neck as she cried against him. Carlisle's heart turned over as he watched the scene from a distance, incredulous at the way his normally unemotional son returned the desperation in every embrace he was given.
When he finally found himself face to face with his boy, he could think of nothing to say. Words were often lost in the most treasured moments, but Edward somehow managed to unearth the right ones against all odds.
"To think we might never have seen each other again," he murmured against his father's shoulder.
Carlisle held his son tighter than he ever had before.
-}o{-
Jacob Black was a brave boy.
Perhaps a bit too brave, at least just enough to be irrational in times like this. He was headstrong and stubborn and he was about to be crushed to death.
None of them saw the attack coming, but Jacob had been the first to act.
A backward phase from wolf to man - especially while that wolf's bones had been skewed out of place - was a disturbing thing to witness, even for a vampire.
Jacob was sprawled on the ground, his limbs twisted at all the wrong angles, his face contorted in pain. Bella ran to him in an impressive panic, droplets of sweat appearing on her temples faster than dandelions in springtime. Carlisle hated to have to push her aside. He could feel her body shuddering when his hand was on her shoulder, and it felt like a sin to tell her to look away.
His ribs were broken. Every single one of them, it appeared.
His body was burning up as if he were laying on a mattress of hot coals. He was losing time while his body was already racing to heal the broken bones.
It was possible that he might not even make it to the end of the night, yet the rest of the pack were arguing passionately about how they could be the most help to him.
At least he was in the best of hands.
As much as Carlisle regretted the smallest delay, Jacob Black and his life threatening injuries would have to wait.
It was Alice's voice that rose above the commotion.
"They're coming."
-}o{-
The Volturi were always conveniently late.
They came into the field with their black robes flowing out behind them on the wind like poisonous ink. Their faces were statue-like and emotionless, just like he'd always remembered them being. At least Aro had always had the decency to show emotion. The rest of them were unfeeling minions made to carry out malicious deeds.
Carlisle knew precisely what their excuse would be. They had come to "clean up a mess" – and they wouldn't even do that.
They would leave the scene just as they found it, unless they had reason to cause more damage than was already done.
He feared this above all.
Glancing back at the little wide-eyed girl behind him, Carlisle found himself growing more nervous by the second as the small group of robed figures approached from the distance.
The same merciless banter. The same frustrating circular conversation. No matter what reasons he gave for his choice to provide asylum for the girl, they would hear none of it.
He was talking to a wall with four sneering faces on it.
Even then he knew how it was going to end.
He praised Edward for coming to his defense, multiple times to no avail. But it felt incredible to have his family at his side nonetheless. They came out of their victory knowing that the end would not be in their favor. Carlisle had known this was coming, but that didn't keep him from his foolish wish: That if he prayed for a miracle, his will would rise above the Volturi's ruthless crusade.
He was a fool to wish for it.
Jane's smile left him feeling empty and nauseated. With a sickeningly soft voice she ordered Felix to take care of the unwanted refugee.
Bree screamed.
Her shrieks were one of the most haunting sounds Carlisle had ever heard.
Esme's hand shot out to grab his arm, her grip like steel. Her eyes were blank, her face never looked more like death. She was too distraught to react, and it killed him that she had to witness this. Every part of him wanted to take away the pain in her heart, but he was just as crippled by the injustice of it all. He wished the sun would fall from the sky and set them all aflame.
For once, Carlisle was proud to be a fool for wishing this.
Bree's screaming stopped.
Esme's hand gripped his arm tighter.
He knew when he lifted his sleeve tomorrow, the marks would still be there.
-}o{-
Carlisle had never killed a single man or woman before this day. The rest of his family knew this, but they did not look at him any differently now than they did yesterday. This baffled him.
The impact of it should have been greater. He wondered why he could not feel the battering of guilt on his soul for what he had done. He felt pain, of course, but it was not a terrible, crushing kind of pain. He did not curse himself for the lives he had taken, and he did not feel that God was cursing him from the heavens either. He felt instead a quiet cry of regret in his heart, but no more than this.
No matter how small he felt the transgression was, his anger was subsiding slowly but surely. Sooner or later he feared he might fall under the weight of what he had done, and his family would be there to watch him break down.
Then he saw Esme, and he thought this would not have to happen.
She was still shaking all over from having watched the death of the innocent young girl. When she saw his eyes on her, she held her head up, trying to look brave for him. He could see in her eyes that she was drowning in sorrow, but she would show none of it on her face.
Something terrible happened then.
Carlisle saw his wife with her well worn mask of bravery, and he lost all grips on his control.
As much as he wanted to, he could not match her almost flawless facade. Now that the rest had left, there was nothing to keep him from letting himself go. Only his wife would see it...
It was little more than a tiny twitch in his expression. No other person would have caught it, but Esme had eyes for this kind of thing. She knew him far too well.
Immediately, she rushed to him and grasped his shoulders just as it began to rain softly over their heads.
"I'm afraid I won't be able to look at my hands again," he admitted brokenly, his eyes cast to the ground, his lips trembling.
His wife took his hands into her own and raised them to her lips, kissing both palms with heady affection. "Your hands are good, Carlisle," she whispered fervently, forcing his hand to cradle her cheek as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Droplets of rain streamed down her cheeks, pooling in his palm.
He turned his face away with vehemence, ashamed to be touching her after all he had done. But he could not bring himself to pull his hand away, despite how terribly it stung to hold her.
"Do you think I would let myself be touched by a man whose hands I did not trust with my life and heart?" she challenged him in a frighteningly passionate whisper.
Bravely, he looked back to her face.
"You will never be anything less than pure in my eyes, Carlisle," she continued, low and desperate, running her hands through his rain-soaked hair. "I have known your soul, and there is no way I can ever forget it."
Her words shattered inside of him.
"My love..." He wept for her, and her arms took him down, buried his face in her neck and swept the length of his back until he felt the tremors fading.
Like all wonderful, beautiful things, their slippery embrace came to an end.
Esme looked up at him with her head held high and her eyes rippling with passion as she took firm hold of both his wrists.
"Now take your hands – your good, righteous hands – and heal the brave young boy who needs you."
-}o{-
Carlisle watched his own hands while he worked, entranced by the contrast of his ghostly pale skin with the bronze brilliance of Jacob's young chest. His fingers moved faster than he would have ever allowed them to move in front of his human patients. He could take advantage of the full range of his abilities, something he relished more than he thought he would on this night.
Carlisle did not realize just how badly he had needed this opportunity, to help, to heal.
And it made it all the more glorious that Jacob Black needed him.
It hit Carlisle like a load of bricks then, just how young this Jacob was. With his face contorted in anguish and his body writhing in pain, Jacob reminded Carlisle of the little wailing infants he had occasionally delivered at the hospital. He looked too fragile lying there with his ribs in pieces and his forehead scrunched in agony. It broke Carlisle's heart knowing the only way to help him would require hurting him first.
He prayed the entire time he re-broke the boy's bones.
It pained him to watch Jacob's suffering, but something remarkable was happening in the midst of it. Carlisle suddenly found that he was comfortable with looking at his own hands again. The beautiful irony of what he was doing now struck him like a bolt of tender lightning. He had shattered the bones of his enemies to kill them, and now he shattered the bones of a friend to save his life.
Esme was right. His hands were good. They never stopped being good. Here, they were instruments of healing, not weapons. Here, he began to feel their purpose once again.
"Hang in there, Jacob. I know this is a lot to ask, but I need you to keep still for me."
Jacob yelped as another rib was snapped beneath the doctor's hands. For such a grown man's body Jacob had the face of a child. As tears streamed down his soft russet cheeks, the massive muscles in his chest bulged when he flinched. Everything about Jacob Black seemed a contradiction.
"Aaah!" the boy let out another heartrending shriek.
The morphine was doing nothing but melting inside his body. Carlisle worked as fast as he could, but the boy's feverish temperature was burning the powerful narcotic at a staggering rate, rendering it useless as water.
"I promise I'm almost finished, son. Once more, now. You must keep as still as you can!"
Jacob let forth an impressive scream. Another flurry of male murmurs arose outside the poorly insulated house. They were all terribly concerned about him. Most of all his father.
Just the thought of a concerned father spurred Carlisle to hurry his pace. He wouldn't have wanted to wait if it were one of his children in critical condition...
"Shh, shh. It's all right," he told Jacob as he felt the last bone slide into place. "We're done. You're done."
"God, it... it kills!" Jacob managed through gritted teeth, clutching his bed sheets as his back arched from the mattress.
"I know it does, but you have to trust me," Carlisle said as he injected the last of the narcotics he had on hand into Jacob's arm and hurriedly prepared a pack of ice. "This is the only way your body will heal properly."
Jacob's writhing settled surprisingly, as soon as his doctor laid the bag of ice cubes against his side. His eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, and his hands were still pasted to the sheets, but his forehead had gone smooth with the tiniest bit of relief, and his breathing slowed.
Carlisle dragged the ice gently along the boy's side, making note of all the cuts and bruises that would soon need to be bandaged as he went along. The poor boy had more injuries than all the rest of them put together.
With his free hand, Carlisle took a hand towel and swiped the perspiration from Jacob's forehead. The peaceful hum of crickets could easily be heard through the room's thin wooden walls; he listened with the hope that the sound would soothe Jacob if all remained quiet and still. A few minutes passed that way, and it seemed to be working. Then Jacob's lips parted to speak.
"Why... is this happening... to me?" he muttered deliriously.
Carlisle finally rested the ice pack on the boy's forehead and patiently explained, "Jacob your body has a tremendous healing rate. All it wants is to put itself back together as quickly as possible. However it's unfortunately working against you in this case." With a careful dose of light humor, he added, "And I admit I am poorly equipped when it comes to treating a werewolf through to recovery."
Carlisle felt a fierce wave of relief as Jacob's wince flickered for a moment into a reluctant smile. His black, almond eyes peeked open for an instant before he asked, "Can you tell my dad that I'm okay now?"
An apologetic smile crossed Carlisle's face. "I need to stay here and monitor you for a few more minutes." His ears could pick up the whispers of relief just outside the front door, and he added reassuringly, "But I'm sure they're taking your silence as a good sign."
"They're all out there?" Jacob sounded hopeful.
"Of course they are," Carlisle confirmed with a grin that went unseen. "They're worried sick about you."
Despite the pain he was in, Jacob managed to look just a bit smug as this piece of information was shared with him.
"Sure, sure," he mumbled, attempting to turn slightly on his side.
"Ah-ah. Stay on your back, boy."
"Arghh! Are you kidding?"
Carlisle shook his head as he adjusted the boy's pillow. "It's going to be an uncomfortable night for you, I regret to say."
"Yeah, well, that's nothing new." Jacob's forehead screwed up in a flinch of sudden pain.
"Lightheaded?" Carlisle guessed.
"Yeah..."
Jacob's eyes flickered open, only to snap shut in response to the pen light Carlisle held at the ready above his head.
"Don't even think about it."
Carlisle held his tongue and reluctantly pocketed the pen light.
"You must be dehydrated, Jacob," Carlisle mentioned disapprovingly, reaching down to pull a bottle out of his bag. "Can you drink this?"
Jacob took one glance at the label and made a face. "Gatorade? Nah. Hate the stuff."
Carlisle smiled. "Understandable. It's basically a sugar-sodium solution." Jacob snorted. "We'll just try water instead."
Jacob was able to gulp down half a glass of ice water, the rest spilling carelessly onto his chin. As he watched, Carlisle was strongly reminded of a toddler learning to drink for the first time. His relentless tendency to compare Jacob Black to a child was becoming shameless.
"Better?" he asked as he took the glass and set it on the bedside table.
Jacob nodded, closing his eyes as his head hit the pillow. "I could've probably used a straw, though."
Carlisle resisted the urge to chuckle. "Next time I'll come better prepared."
He watched as Jacob's face twitched from a grateful half smile to a grim wince. His jaw tightened in what appeared to be anger, fresh tears leaking from underneath his weary eyelids.
Carlisle had just opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when Jacob interrupted him before he could speak.
"She doesn't believe in me," he said, his voice spent. Only a vampire could hear the words. "Not like she believes in him."
Carlisle looked down at the bedridden boy with scorching pity, knowing exactly of whom he spoke. He had never truly known Jacob Black on such an intimate level before, yet desperate times often turned out this way – with two perfect strangers spilling their most deeply kept secrets to the other, seeking the understanding of another.
Seizing hold of his resolve, Carlisle edged his chair closer to the boy's bed and took his gaze straight and true.
"You are a hero, Jacob," he whispered with conviction. "You need only to remind Bella of what you did for her on this day, and she will be forever in debt to you for your loyalty."
At this, Jacob smiled faintly. His face was weak and exhausted, but a glow of boyish pride gave Carlisle a quiet thrill of success.
"She will be, won't she?" Even in the boy's groggy voice, Carlisle could make out a sweet note of victory.
He smiled to himself as he began to bandage Jacob's injured chest. "But you mustn't tell my son that I've said this."
Jacob glanced dubiously up at the doctor through one eye. "Won't he read your thoughts?"
Carlisle shook his head with a satisfied smile. "Luckily for you, my mind has become rather impenetrable over the years."
That was the first time Carlisle heard the sound of Jacob Black's laughter. Even if it was weak, and cut short by a pang of sharp pain in his side – in any other circumstance it would have been undeniably infectious. He hoped to hear it again one day.
"You're alright, Doc," Jacob murmured reluctantly. "I mean...well... You will be once you hook me up with some more morphine." His hand patted his newly wrapped bandages and he twitched in pain.
"Are you certain you need it? Your body is doing remarkably well without it, you know."
Jacob looked inches from a heart attack. "Oh, God. Don't even joke like that."
Carlisle gave Jacob a genuine smile as he finished taping up the bandages and tucked the ice pack beneath the pillow.
"I'll take care of you, Jacob," he assured, standing up to gather his things. "Give me ten minutes, and I'll be back with everything that you need."
"Wait."
Carlisle paused in the doorway to look back at his hopeful patient.
"Can you...s—send Bella in? Please."
"Of course." He nodded as his hand reached for the knob.
"And Doc?"
Carlisle turned around one last time.
"Thanks," Jacob whispered. "For everything."
There, upon that cramp little bed, wrapped up in bandages and running a fever over one hundred ten degrees, Carlisle no longer saw a child. He saw a young man who had been stripped of all his pride and given a set of broken ribs in honor of unrequited love.
Slipping his stethoscope from around his neck, Carlisle humbly bowed his head. "You're welcome, Jacob."
The boy's lips attempted to make more words, but they were lost on him. Carlisle spared him of his efforts with a smile as he opened the door.
"I'll let your father know that you're doing just fine," he promised. "Stay strong, Jacob."
And the door closed soundlessly behind him.