Falling Skies

Seventeen

Ryder sighs, foot squelching with each step he takes in the pooled blood until he reaches the young nurse. Her body shakes with tears, shoulders hiccuping to the point that he has to grab her, hold her living body still as he drives the scalpel into her neck.

Though his mind protests, he can't move his hands away from her. It isn't until the life leaves her body that it finally stills, her eyes wide open in fear and regret as he lays her body next to her coworkers. There's a piece of him that has been shut off for this moment and this moment only, his bloodied hands now soiled and his soul now muddled by the vacancy of someone else's.

His breath shakes only for a moment, mind narrowing to ignore the blood around him. His hands rub away skin and blood onto his soiled shirt as tears threaten to fall, to corrupt him more than they already have. Because the only thing worse than what he has committed is to feel the guilt of it.

"Okay, Wren," even his words shake as he approaches the body laid open on the table. "You're going to smell this and it's going to be okay. You'll wake up after this and it'll be okay." It's more a reassurance to himself than to the unconscious body before him as he reaches for the nearby smelling salts.

Within two swipes the boy is up, his body shooting up as his screams fill the room. There's a wildness in his eyes, the lavender darkening to a blackened violet as his body convulses. Wren's weakened hands grip at Ryder's bloodied shoulders, mouth wide as he screams in agony, pushing away at the boy ahead of him and ignoring his worried mumbling.

Wren is nearly frothing at the mouth, widened eyes surveying the slaughter in the room as he continues to scream. His hands fly to the open wound near his rib cage, fingers wondering too far until they fall into the wound of his flesh. His face contorts to one of agony before his body is doubling over on the table.

"Dëfī, dëfī īndė!" He screams, fingers trembling from the pain radiating throughout his flesh as he screams the foreign phrase over and over, until it's a hypnotic chant sealed in the blood of the doctors.

Ryder pulls the boy's fingers away from his flesh, a hand on each shoulder before forcing him back onto the table. "I don't know what you're saying." He cries, the tears finally falling as his eyes fall upon the fae's. The fear is so visible yet so hidden, as if the being is too afraid to feel it, to accept the reality of the situation before him.

"I don't know what you're saying." Ryder repeats slower this time, repeating the phrase over again until Wren stills beneath his grasp, only his tears shaking his body against the operating table.

"I'm so scared." Wren whispers against Ryder's burned palms, his tears stinging Ryder's flesh before he's grabbing on to the burnt skin, eyes shut tightly before kicking at the table beneath him. "It hurts. Ryder, it hurts!" He cries, mouth opening though no sound comes out, just an inaudible cry for help before he instinctively grabs at the missing piece of him, Ryder's hand blocking the gap in his flesh.

"Listen to me, Wren." He orders, a newfound strength overcoming him as he swats away at the creatures wondering hands. His cries somehow resonate through him, blocking any emotions that will get in the way of their escape.

"You need to lay on the table, put your hands behind your head, and grab the table."

Surprisingly, Wren obeys through his cries, his eyes shutting as Ryder turns on the spotlight above him.

"Now I need you to close your eyes and stay that way..." The pain is visible in his voice, the way each word shakes at the end though he tries so hard to keep them together. "And I want you to shut them really tight." He instructs, waiting for the methodologically of it all to ease his nerves, to steady his injured hands as he slips each one through a pastel green glove.

Ryder swipes the strange material against his face, watching as the tear washes over the material and splashes into the blood on the floor. "I need you to be still, Wren," he whispers but not by choice, his throats tightening to the point that no words can escape, instead lodged with the tears he cannot cry. "And I want you to count to three for me."

"One." Wren's voice trembles out from tight pressed lips.

"Two." He can barely get it out, the word carried out into the room before drowning in the blood.

"Three."

Ryder drives the first needle prick into his skin, the thread pulling slowly behind with a sickening tautness. Within the first prick Wren's body is arching in the slightest, tears streaming from his closed eyes and onto his washed out cheeks void of any blood. His lips quake in pain with each prick of the needle and pull of the thread as his body is stitched back together.

"This is the last one, Wren, I promise you - you can do this, alright. I trust you. I know it hurts, but I know how strong you are. I know that you can get through this." Ryder says, eyes darting to the small table beside him. The one that houses Wren's blood, his bone marrow, and the one writhing organ that they harvested from his live body. Just the thought sickens him as he ties off the thread in Wren's flesh, grabbing a roll of bandages as the lights in the hall begin to flash, a siren sounding off from somewhere in the distance.

"I'm not strong enough." Wren cries, body falling into Ryder's arms as he helps him off the operating table and onto his feet. "The shots are still in me I don't have all my power."

Ryder reaches over to the bloody table, grabbing a few fresh scalpels and shoving them into his pockets. "It's now or never."

"Wait, before we go," Wren starts, body turning towards the side tables though Ryder grabs at his cheek, desperate to turn his attention away from the writhing organ. "Stop, this is important!" He protests, limping towards the organ before throwing it onto the floor with the rest of items.

There is only one that he preserves, a vial full of blood that he limps back to Ryder before handing it over. "Keep my blood with you and any spell that I might cast won't effect you. That way if anything happens-"

"Wren-"

"No!" He protests, shoving the vial into Ryder's palm and curling his fingers around it. "I need to know that if something happens, if we get separated or I go on some ravaging death spree - I need to know that you're safe."

Ryder sighs. "Wren, we are making it out of here. Don't make it sound as if we aren't." He whispers the last part, head down cast before he forces his hand into Wren's.

With the alarm blare matching the beat of their worried hearts they push at the door, entering into the empty hall of flashing light.

Ryder forces out a confident smile, squeezing the hand held so tightly in his own. "We're making it out."

"We're making it out." Wren repeats, one hand tight in Ryder's as the other rests on his makeshift stitches. "But I'm not promising anyone else is."

He merely glances over his shoulder yet the blood on the floor ignites, the heat of the room on their backs as they gift each other one last longing glance before making their way into the burning labyrinth.