A/N: Content warning for dissociation.

↓(For a more in-depth chapter summary, check the author's note at the end.)↓

INFLICT

"I experience not only my own suffering, but even more that which I inflict upon you."

—Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice

—

DECEMBER 7TH 2?

? MST

UNKNOWN

It wouldn't do Jasper any good to reshuffle their line at this point. The decision was safe and their enemy's modes of attack had always been too consistent to have changed much over the past one hundred years. A man of such strict, unmoving belief would stick with what he knew.

It had been solid intel then, and was confirmed to be still relevant now.

Jasper would instill a pre-strike pulse of focus in their numbers, a ruthless edge that would inspire dedication to the plan above all and erase any lingering thoughts of distress at their own mode of attack. A more defensive maneuver now would only cause them to give up precious land.

Land that Jasper was not willing to sacrifice.

He stared down at a patch of earth, and his eyes traced over a map that he could see perfectly in his mind, even if he hadn't spared the time to trace it out before him. His imagination could do all of the work without a physical image to reference. His ability to perfectly picture each valuable section of this formation, calculating each risk and measure while weighing the pros and cons of each potential loss, was invaluable to Maria.

And she knew it.

Cutting their losses, distracting their enemy with the chaff while the wheat barreled through, and then enacting their initial plan of attack was the best way to ensure they gained ground, inflicted higher casualties, and reduced enemy numbers overall.

They were looking for a win, not a sunrise stalemate or a goddamned draw. There was no chance in hell that they'd lose this.

Jasper's mouth filled with venom when he thought forward to the hunt he'd go on later. If they could wrap this mission up before sunrise it would be a fantastic bit of luck. He could probably use that to encourage the men a bit more. His gift had always been enough but the promise of blood did better for morale than any extra-sensorial ability could.

"You're dulling," an irritable voice snapped quietly, and Jasper hated when they argued in front of their army. He couldn't fucking stand the idea of any of the newborns witnessing him and Maria at odds with one another. They had to provide a confident, united front, or it could plant a seed of doubt in their minds.

Jasper pushed the confusion, fear, and anxiety that he could feel from his men—such weak nonsense, such useless reactions—out of his mind as he looked up at Maria's approach.

She reached out to snatch his arm up and he hissed at her outright. He stifled the familiar urge to strike her, and quickly shoved his resentment into the back of his mind where it belonged. It wouldn't do to let her know how much he loathed her. Not presently, at least. If she deigned to corner him after battle, he'd have to make himself scarce somehow.

He watched Maria roll her irritable, red eyes at him. "Touch me and I'll kill you," she threatened.

"Don't accuse me of not knowing what I'm doing." His voice was low, dangerous, and just as threatening. Her mistrust in him was infuriating. "I'm the one who's going to help us win this."

"You damn well better," she sniffed, somehow looking down her nose at him despite being over a foot shorter. She looked him up and down and then continued scowling at him. "Retrieval?"

Jasper blinked. That was right. They had to retrieve the—

His brain skidded to a stop when his thoughts attempted to continue with the sentiment. They had to retrieve… something. Someone. Yes, it was someone; a person was at the end. Not just a person but something that Maria wanted, or maybe even needed. Another one of her prizes was hidden somewhere deep within the forest. No, it wasn't a want or need, it was theirs. Just like Maria said, this was a retrieval. This had been taken from them.

Retrieval. Maria wanted to know his retrieval strategy. Shit, he'd forgotten about the retrieval aspect.

Jasper redirected his attention back down to the snowy mud, perfectly picturing the chess board he'd already set. Nine fresh bodies, five older and weaker, himself, Peter, Maria. They did not need brute strength for retrieval; they needed speed and experience. His annoyance pulsed when he remembered that retrieval was always followed with a retreat. It was the second step to a two-step strategy and it was one of his least favorite motions to plan through.

All armor had a weak spot. The instant they finished step one that would be their weak spot. Retrieval meant retreat. Retrieval was always met with more resistance. Retrieval had a high mortality rate.

"You," Jasper spoke decidedly, sorting out a few of the biggest issues that plagued this new plan he was sorting out. "You're our strike."

Maria raised one solitary eyebrow. She did always hate being assigned a role by him; she'd only ever entertained it during his early years before she'd begun to refuse, letting him handle affairs and demanding that he sort it out himself. Only now, there was no anger in her aura or stubborn resistance on her face. Instead, her emotions were curious as she studied him. "And who else?"

Jasper stared back at her calculating, even gaze, and felt as if this was a test somehow. He felt like a youth again, standing by and floundering with his own plans while she stood by and asked "Are you sure?" while never providing accurate guidance.

Many a time he had taken the army into battle, returned utterly decimated, for her to click her tongue or smile or sneer and say "Did you learn your lesson this time?" allowing suffering to be his teacher and for death to guide his hand.

Jasper never took his own life in his hands when he went into battle. Oh, no. He hadn't been at risk for death on the battlefield for a long, long time. He was not untouchable, but he was unkillable, just as he'd ensured he'd always remain.

He didn't glance back down at his invisible map. "No one," he decided resolutely, refusing to spare any more bodies for the daring retrieval they were already undertaking. Maria would be enough.

"And the other?" Maria's words were spoken slowly, carefully. This was another test, and Jasper could just tell by her emotions alone, that he was failing it somehow. "Other" was the other body, he remembered with a hazy sort of remembrance. Two retrievals? No, they couldn't spare the people. He'd already decided that.

"Collateral."

For a moment, confusion trumped frustration. Maria stared up at him with such astonished, open bewilderment that he had to consciously force down the self-consciousness that tried to work its way into his mind.

"Major…"

There was a foreign uncertainty in her tone that Jasper decided he hated instantly. He didn't understand. He was doing everything right, arranging their bodies to be utilized to their highest capabilities, and he was doing it with the same type of brutal efficiency he'd cultivated since he could remember.

"Major."

Maria was snappish, and her sudden anger forced him to refocus. Jasper flinched at the combination of his name, her tone, and the disgust and pity coming from her.

"What?" His tone was angry while he readjusted his feet. He'd taken a step back and his grip on the climate around them felt looser somehow. Before he could reach out and adjust it—it was time for them to stop fucking worrying and to start focusing, the lack of excitement in the air was embarrassing—

"If we do that then your friend is going to die."

Jasper paused, floundering mentally, trying to pull up an image to associate to this word. For a full second he struggled, brows furrowed as he stared back at Maria, trying to figure out who on Earth she could be talking about. Jasper didn't have friends. The concept was rattling around in his brain as he tried to come up with the closest images.

Peter? Was Peter who she meant? No, no, Peter was with them, waiting back with the group like he always did, ready for his signal. The signal that Jasper couldn't give until Maria gave Jasper hers.

"Your friend," Maria's voice had slowed, and Jasper watched as she pulled back from the conversation. Her expression shuttered over and she nodded once to herself. "Emmett."

It took Jasper half of a human's heartbeat for a barrage of images to come rushing back in a disjointed, painful, horrific mess. Two hands, Charlotte's death, Peter's grief, Maria's rage, Emmett and—

Emmett. Emmett was going to die.

"Fuck," he swore and turned around to stalk away, not once glancing back at anyone. He couldn't afford to. He couldn't fucking afford to. If he thought too hard about these people and who they were and what they meant then he'd lose all sense of focus. Even beyond the way he already had. "Fuck!"

Maria hummed curiously, but let him walk away. "My sentiments exactly."

A/N:

Summary: Jasper spends a small amount of time thinking about the upcoming battle. He is willing to sacrifice bodies indiscriminately and has seemingly forgotten all about the Cullens and Alice. His mind has reverted back to the caustic headspace he was in before he parted with Maria in the early/mid 20th century. When Maria tries to snap him out of it, he flees, almost as a self-defense tactic, as he willfully attempts to keep his memories and attachments at bay.

—

Something something sorry for the delay something something busy with school and podcast. Don't worry. I'm still here. The semester ends next week and season 2 of Three Books One Plot wraps up this month. I'm sprinting towards those finish lines. Thanks for all the favorites/follows and Tumblr messages.