NOT WORTHY

"I no longer even dare to kiss you, and shall never kiss you. I am not worthy of it."

—Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice

—

DECEMBER 8TH 2039
AFTER MIDNIGHT
BRAINARD LAKE, COLORADO

Jasper thrust his hands into the ice cold river and splashed water on his face. It wasn't to bring himself any clarity, but instead to ensure that if he'd made any sort of mess all physical signs of it would be gone. Or, well, most physical signs.

He was almost sure he hadn't made a mess of himself, but he'd had to use his own hands to smear some of the human's blood on its hands and tent; just something to imply that it had at least tried to fight back against whatever killed it. Of course, despite the way Jasper scrubbed at his face and picked at his nails, he'd still be bringing evidence of his meal back with him. They'd be able to tell once they looked at him.

But still, he took the time to scrape any lingering traces of blood from his skin. He didn't need to look as fucking crazy as he knew he'd been acting.

He cupped his hands beneath the stream again and wished the freezing water could snap him out of the funk he was in. Getting away from the house had helped. Feeding had helped. Having some relative peace and quiet had helped.

The absence of battle focus, and the return of his general awareness of himself, had not.

Jasper ran his hands through his hair, and when his fingers caught in the knots he paused and took a quick minute to detangle them the best he could. It gave his hands something to do and his mind something pointless to focus on while he tried to ignore the bone deep dread within him.

The worst part of his days in Monterrey for him had never been actual combat. As a fighter—as a killing machine—he'd been more capable than anyone else. He had always been excited for the fight. There was no fear of death; fear was something he'd had to purge from his system early. An emotion that he couldn't afford to expend precious energy and concentration on. He'd been confident in his abilities. Not to an irrational extent, but because he knew what he was capable of.

No, the worst part after every skirmish was when the adrenaline leeched out of his system and he was left feeling cold, irritable, and tired. It was a sensation he'd long since forgotten. After all, during his last few years in Mexico he'd been too depressed, too quick-to-fury and irascible, to let simple post-fight exhaustion be his main issue. But for the first several decades, it had been worse than the misery of his victims, worse than the sting of the fresh bites inflicted upon him, and worse than the burn of his throat.

Now was no different.

Much like back in the day, the loss of adrenaline hadn't shaken him until he'd finished his meal. Now, the reality of the last few hours woke him from his funk more effectively than all the cold water ever could.

The boy hadn't struggled because he hadn't woken up before Jasper had snapped his neck and sank his teeth deep into him. It had been nearly fourteen years since he'd last tasted human blood and ninety years since he'd done it on purpose. If he'd kept it up for six more months it would've been his longest-ever stretch without tasting human blood. But what was done was done.

He didn't need to think about any milestones right now when he had to make sure the others were cleaning up.

The four newborns he was keeping an eye on had fed on the other members of this particular campsite. Six between them; two teenagers and four adults. Jasper was pleased to have finally fed them. He had not asked Maria nor had he asked these men how long it had been since they'd been fed last, but fresh human blood in their veins would only serve them well for what would be coming to them soon.

He stared back down at the water after getting his hair into a more orderly array and watched as the ripples distorted his reflection back at him. Then, he straightened up and turned away.

He didn't need to look at his reflection in the water to know what red eyes looked like on him. It was some stupid form of sentiment that had inspired the urge and it sparked acute frustration.

The irritation was more welcome than the despondent nothingness he'd been feeling ever since he'd ripped at the tent and rearranged a few belongings. Even if the authorities didn't blame it on a bear attack, it would be clear to the humans that some sort of animal had been through here.

They wouldn't be wrong.

He could hear Peter and the five additional newborns not too far away. If Jasper walked back up the hill a little bit, he might be able to see them. Most campsites were usually barren during this time of year but backpackers moving through these trails, not about to let a little bit of winter weather slow them down, didn't abide by normal camping calendars or routines.

Jasper popped his neck and turned away from the river to walk back toward where the four men were quietly cleaning up their own messes. Jasper would have to peer in and make sure they'd done a decent enough job. If they were smart they'd look at what Jasper had done and emulate that scene, but he didn't have high expectations for these men.

Anyone who looked at Maria like she hung the moon while she screamed obscenities at everyone around her, punctuated with threats of violence, was clearly a simpleton.

He pushed back the quiet voice in the back of his head that called him a hypocrite and turned toward the sound of Peter's approach.

Peter slowed his run and stared curiously toward Jasper, approaching as if he were coming upon a wild animal. Something in Jasper's expression must have answered some unspoken question, because quickly Peter let out a deep sigh and closed the rest of the space between them.

"They're finishing up." Peter looked Jasper up and down. His narrowed eyes landed on Jasper's fresh red ones and that's where they settled. "They'll be done in a couple of minutes. I told them to meet us over here."

Jasper nodded slightly, but did not say anything. Peter's curiosity had flipped to relief which was slowly slipping away, revealing the persistent raw agony and misery beneath its cover. Alongside it was a pervasive worry, and Jasper knew exactly what he was thinking in that moment. "I'm okay," he muttered, his voice low. He did not want any of Maria's men to overhear.

"Bullshit," Peter replied brusquely, not having the same restraint with his volume. "I know this shit's not good for you." He gestured toward his eyes and Jasper was shocked he was even breaching the subject. Peter wasn't finished though. He lifted an accusatory finger and pointed angrily. "You checked out five hours ago. You almost fought Edward three times. Do you remember anything that's happened since Carlisle ran back to the house?"

"Yes," he ground out the word through gritted teeth. Jasper turned his glare toward where the newborns were idling. He knew they could overhear this conversation from the other side of the hill and felt his frustration begin to climb toward red-hot anger. It was not time for this conversation. There was too much to worry about.

"What's going on with you?" Peter sounded genuinely upset, and with the depressed undercurrent of his emotions Jasper didn't know if Peter's distress had increased with these words, of if it had simply reached critical mass. "I haven't seen you act like this since I was a newborn and even then you had your fucking head on straight."

Jasper couldn't do this. He turned away again and tried taking a step away only for Peter to move in front of him.

"This needs to wait."

"It doesn't and it can't," Peter insisted. He stepped closer to Jasper and finally lowered his voice to a more reasonable volume. "The second you're within spitting distance of Maria I'm going to lose you again. Is that what's doing this? Your entire family is freaked out."

Jasper subconsciously pressed his tongue into the hole where his canine was missing. He needed to get that tooth back before Maria lost it or threw it into the woods to spite him. "I'm…" But Peter shuffled closer, and his grief was too strong for a moment. Jasper wavered. "I'm trying my best."

"I'm freaked out, too, for the record." Peter looked to the right when they heard the last few newborns approaching. He called toward them before he or Jasper could see them, "Head up the hill back from where we came. We'll catch up in just a second." Then, he turned back to Jasper. "Do you…you said you remember everything right?" He only hesitated for a second. "Did you get a good look at Alice?"

Jasper felt a knot in his throat. Peter's grief was too much. His head was starting to hurt. "You're too close," he muttered nonsensically, backing away a couple of steps. But it was too little, too late. The empty high-pressure cavity inside his ribcage was stretching, expanding more to make room for the sorrow that fell so easily inside of him.

Jasper swallowed again, "No, I didn't." Images of Emmett, splayed across the concrete as six different people worked to hold him down while Maria tore into him, flickered across his memory. He'd stood by unflinching at the terrible sounds coming from the people around him, and only now let the memories replay.

Guilt pressed against the grief and both sensations threatened to snap him in two. "Is she—" He paused and shook his head, struggling hard to think about Alice. "She's nothing like…" He stopped again as his dreadful imagination took control and worst-case scenarios flashed behind his eyes.

Alice, her arms and legs pinned to each other and held in place by her own healed flesh.

Alice, her neck torn and reattached, her gasping noises wet and sickening as her body convulsed.

Alice, a crucifix carved into her forehead, her limbs snapped and bent at odd angles.

Alice, shaking and crying, her eyes unseeing as she hissed at anyone who came too close.

"Jasper, c'mon." Peter shivered all over and took a few paces back, furthering the space between them. "You're suffocating me here, man."

"Sorry." Jasper wasn't sure what he was expelling, but he tried to reign it in. Then, he tried once more to find his words and settled on: "Is she okay?"

Peter chose his words very deliberately. "She's not as bad off as Emmett. Maria should have started working on her the second we left the house. They should be done by now."

Jasper had been aware of the fact that his removal from the scene was necessary, but the details of that fact were hazy. Not in a way where he couldn't remember what had happened. He could remember everything. The quality of the memories were what was fuzzy; he'd been so utterly detached from his emotions and sense of self that it felt like he were digging through the memories of someone else. Foreign images that had been translated into his brain from some other Jasper who had taken over and acted in his place while he'd crawled into a hole in his mind and laid there.

Jasper could hear Peter's voice as he continued to talk—still picking his words very, very carefully—but he turned the words out. Instead, other voices filled his head.

Maria's voice, angry: "Try not to kill your fucking wife when we get back."

Carmen had been hesitant: "Should we… can we clean her up?"

Maria: "Get whatever scents off of her that you can." And then, "Do not let him get anywhere near her."

Edward's voice, panicked, quick: "Peter go change. I've got him."

Peter had reeked of—

Suddenly, versions of the awful likely scenarios materialized in his head.

"…and we'll go see her right now, I'm sure—"

"Don't tell me," Jasper spoke suddenly, cutting off Peter's assurances.

Panic and worry and anger were writhing inside of him. There was a blind rage being held back by a taught rope, straining against the weight of his emotions and frayed at the edges where it had been tied to its anchor. Alice, for as long as he'd known her, had been that anchor. No wonder he felt like he was seconds from drowning. One more weight added to this rope would snap it clean and send him careening beneath the water, lost to the current. Jasper knew there would be no coming back from that abyss if he let himself fall now.

"Whatever you do," he threw the words into the open, speaking quickly, "don't tell me what happened. When we get back go ahead first and tell everyone the same thing. Don't—I can't—" If he walked back into the house and fell victim to the haze that had removed his sense from the forefront of his mind, he was terrified he might do something terrible. "Don't let me near her." He lifted his eyes and saw the pity and understanding on Peter's face just as strongly as he could feel it. Peter knew he'd connected the dots and now watched Jasper's frenzy with a terrible expression. "Whatever you do. Tell everyone the same thing. Tell them to fucking kill me if they have to."

"We won't let anything—"

"Promise me, Pete!" The words were shouted, echoing in the forest too loudly. There was a few seconds of nervous silence while Jasper tried to will himself calm. "Promise me you'll kill me before I touch her."

"I promise you," Peter spoke quickly and quietly. His eyes darted around, as if waiting for Jasper's outburst to trigger something sleeping in the forest.

"Good." Jasper ran both of his hands over his face and pressed his palms against his eyes. "Good." He sighed and then stood quiet for another moment. "You'd be a piss-poor friend if you told me no," he rasped the words out. It was a morose, depressing version of their old joke.

Jasper's guilt was beating within his chest much like the heart he'd put a stop to only minutes before. Here he was, hanging onto his sanity by a fucking thread, while his oldest friend had suffered the brutal murder of his mate only days before. Meanwhile, Jasper's mate was at home, being taken care of by an array of family and friends.

It was embarrassing to compare himself and see how weak he truly was. But Jasper had always known that Peter possessed the better self-preservations skills and the most resilience between them. After all, if it weren't for Peter, Jasper would be dead right now.

Or worse.

"Go ahead." Jasper nodded uphill. "I'll join you in a minute, I swear, I just…" He linked his fingers together behind his neck and closed his eyes. "Just give me one minute. Tell them the same thing."

"That might not be the best idea, man."

"Then tell Maria to tell them when we get back." God, even Maria had done a better job at keeping Alice safe today than he had. His shame gained weight with every passing moment.

"Fine," Peter relented quietly, finally retreating back into himself. Peter had always been good at retracting his claws in that way. He could get his point across and move past his issues in a way that Jasper had always admired. It had been what had drawn him toward Peter at the beginning. Now, the worry and frustration had faded from Peter's aura, revealing nothing more than the thick unrelenting veil of grief that was becoming ever-present. "I'll tell everyone at the house. Just…try to keep your head as best as you can when we get back. Try to stay away from Maria."

"Easier said than done." Another pause. Jasper pressed his tongue back to the hole in his teeth and held back a sigh. "I'll try."

They exchanged one long look before Peter nodded, turned, and retreated back up the hill.

Jasper turned back toward the water but did not approach it. Whatever he looked like now was the way he'd be returning back to his home, eleven miles away. His eyes would be red, his hair would be wet, and he'd be missing a tooth for as long as Maria held claim to it. He wouldn't apologize to anyone yet; after all, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold onto this clarity. Peter might be right and he might dissociate again the instant he heard Maria's whistle.

The memory of it made him visibly tense and scratch at an irritable prickling on the back of his neck.

Jasper pulled thoughts of Alice to the forefront and let his despair go acknowledged for a handful of terrible, dangerous moments. He had never needed her more than he did in this moment right now. For all he knew, she was experiencing the same thing.

Then, the memory of being in the garage struck him. The familiar despondency that had called to him in his mindless state. The decision to go seek Alice out. The explosion of fear from the other side of the house.

He felt sick suddenly. Had she seen what he would have done? Would he have done what he'd done so many times before in the past? No. No. He was getting ahead of himself again. He told Peter not to tell him what had happened. He had to act like there was still a chance he was jumping to incorrect conclusions. Alice was probably fine. Alice was going to be fine.

All thoughts of Alice had to be pushed aside as he braced himself to return to Peter and the newborns and then to return home. But first, he let his love for her—combined with the remorse over the way he'd failed her so, so horribly—hurt him. He let the guilt and horror settle back into his bones and he pushed a memory of Father Esteban's face to the forefront of his mind.

Suddenly, the idea that he might regress after crossing the threshold was less of a concern and more of an idle hope. If Esteban wanted to come for the monster inside of Jasper, then who was Jasper to deny him? Jasper would let whichever feral, terrible, evil instincts of his that lay dormant rise to the surface and act in his stead. He would place his hard-fought-for 'humanity' aside. He would turn his back on the civility a century of peace had granted him.

Jasper would let the monster inside of him tear Esteban limb from fucking limb for ever daring to lay a hand on Alice.

The sharp snap of a twig—the undeniable sound of a footstep in the quiet—ripped him from his vicious bliss. Jasper spotted them before they could move away. But when he locked his eyes on their forms they didn't appear eager to flee, at least not until he lowered his stance and prepared to defend himself.

Two girls of differing sizes stood across the small river, both of them with teeth bared and eyes wide as they slowly backed away from Jasper's warning stance. The larger one let out a furious hiss, her opened jacket catching on a few branches as they brushed past a tree. The slighter one stood more firm; her hand had caught the wrist of her companion and was keeping her close, but her light brows were furrowed in confusion. It wasn't until Jasper took note of their eyes, that his thoughts stuttered and stopped.

Two vampires stared back at him in curiosity, anger, unease, and determination.

One pair of their eyes were black. The other pair, brown.

Not vampires. Hybrids.

"You are not who we are looking for," the smaller one spoke in perfect English despite Jasper already knowing who she was; there was no trace of a Norwegian or Portuguese accent in her voice. Although he had never met either of them, nor had he met their third sister, Jasper had met their brother on several occasions. They all shared the same deep-set eyes and hooked nose that they must have inherited from their father.

It was this realization that connected another dot for him. It had only been this summer that Alice had reported the Volturi's plans to go after Joham. For a moment Jasper feared that the vile vampire might appear somewhere behind them. Not because he was afraid of the twisted eugenicist, but because he knew he would surely kill the man on sight.

He reigned in his violent urges and called back toward them. "I have a suspicion that I am." Then, he made an educated guess. "Serena, is it?"

The other girl was broad-shouldered and as tall as Rosalie, perhaps taller. She hissed at him angrily, not pleased that he knew her sister's name. Well, he was about to ruin her mood just a little more then. "And you must be Maysun."

Behind him he could feel Peter's swift approach and was grateful that he was coming alone. Hopefully he'd given the newborns instructions to wait for a signal before moving. No matter how much Jasper despised the hybrids' father whom he'd never met—a man who he truly hoped had been exterminated like Alice suspected—Jasper didn't want to scare these girls off.

"You are not a Cullen," Maysun growled, and that was when Jasper finally picked up on their ultra-rapid heartbeats. Their terror was plain to him in every conceivable way.

Jasper stepped forward and prepared to give them a better look at his eyes before he abruptly remembered that they were no longer gold. The color that usually disarmed Carlisle's acquaintances and the casual nomads was now gone, replaced with the typical red that one expected to see on someone as war-torn as him. Instead of feeling guilty about this decision, he just felt a little annoyed at the present inconvenience of it.

He gestured toward his eyes anyways, "Don't let this fool you. My name is Jasper. I know your brother, Nahuel." Peter took his place at his flank and Jasper used a subtle gesture to signal that everything was alright.

"If you are the Cullens," Serena spoke again, straightened up out of her crouch, but did not drop her deadly glare, "then where is our sister?"