A/N The section of this chapter that contains the TW of sexual assault has been moved to its own chapter "TW: Thirty Two" it is NOT written in this chapter but is instead replaced with brackets
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"Hello?"
There's no answer, only silence ringing out into the abyss as December calls out to it once more. He's surrounded by a thick darkness, the jasper table having vanished from before him along with the rest of the red velvet room. He can no longer sense Ryder or Abrahm by his side, just the never ending chill brought on by the shadows that swirl around him.
Cautiously, he pulls himself from the floor, both hands pressed tightly against the inky black so thick he can't see the limbs outstretched before him. If it weren't for the chill running through his palms it would feel as if he were floating, the darkness leaving no difference between the floor, walls, or ceiling.
How did I get here... There's no evidence of a doorway, the walls of the small room entirely smooth beneath the smoke and carrying with it the same chill as the floor. It has the texture of cool metal, it's surface void of flaws or entrances of any sort. He's just...here somehow.
With a start the room begins to spin, the force of it knocking December back onto the inky floor as the darkness begins to dissipate around him. It drifts out the room like smoke, slowly rolling away from the floor and dripping off the walls as it makes its way towards a mystery exit, finally revealing the contents of the small room.
White on white. The brightness stretches out for miles, the faint buzz of fluorescent lights beginning to fill the room accompanied by the far off clicking of heels on linoleum. A tightness has already snaked its way into December's chest, constricting around his lungs until he's gasping for breath, chest heaving as he wildly searches for something, anything to explain.
To explain why the sight of this place has brought him to his knees, why that far off click and the thought of who it belongs to now fills him with panic. This is his home, the halls he used to so confidently walk, the familiar white on white that once felt so comforting. Yet it all seems so empty now, like the entirety of his life had been some sort of charade, just a puppet that could only think when someone else pulled the strings. These walls are cold, the buzz of the lights eerie and the click of heels now panic inducing at the thought of who lies behind them.
Is this how Ryder felt for all these years? In constant pain from the fear that everyday could be the last he ever lived, every click of those heels an unspoken warning of the hunt he never asked to be a part of. Ryder was always able to see through Haven's veil, he never fell for the God's Work Through God's Creation mantra that had been spewed to them since birth. Somehow he managed to make his own plans and follow his own destiny and in the end it's what broke him free from these too bright restraints that cradled them for so long.
So why can't I break away...
"Jenn said the new one is still being held in December's unit but she's thinking about moving him because of the Ryder situation."
The voice has December spinning, neck nearly snapping as he glances down the hall in the direction of the familiar voice.
Abrahm. He's dressed in Haven attire, white coat folded over his arm as he addresses a man next to him. He doesn't seem to notice December kneeled in the middle of the corridor, attention seemingly elsewhere as he continues with his speech. "Thankfully, Jenn isn't entirely stupid so I got granted special privileges." He points towards himself, teeth barred as he smiles at the man beside him. "I'm headed over there now, will you be able to bring me everything I asked for?"
By now he's standing over December's body, still blissfully unaware of the boy kneeled at his feet as he reaches towards the door now placed directly ahead of them. It had appeared from nowhere, the familiar beeps of the nine digit keypad audible overhead as Abrahm inserts his code and the door swings open before them.
"Well hello, Subject A1."
The room is empty besides a chair, two small tables, and an armoire that sits shoved in the corner of the room. There's no viewing windows here, the walls void of any texture or differences, just a continuous white that seems to run for miles. December follows Abrahm into the small room as the door closes behind them, the faint sound of gears audible as the door locks itself, concealing the trio from the outside world.
Wren looks different here, to the point that it's one of the first details that December notices. His hair still has its red tones to it, a bright strawberry blonde that shimmers under the lighting. He has more weight to him here, cheeks still full with a constant flush that matches his hair and eyes a glassy lavender.
He's strapped to the wooden chair with his arms tied behind him and ankles bound to the feet of the chair. His head is downcast, breaths low and slow as his chest barely rises with each inhale. He doesn't pay Abrahm any mind, eyes shutting tightly in an attempt to block out the burning lights of Haven.
"Hey!" A sharp sound slices through the air as his palm strikes Wren, his hand imprinted across the fae's cheek as the impact point glows red against cream skin. He doesn't seem phased by the action as Abrahm strikes him again with a closed fist, December instinctively turning away with the thud of the impact. "You'll look at me when I speak to you, beast."
The door unlocks with the heavy grunt of machinery as the same man from earlier slips into the room. He carries a black bag on his shoulder that matches his guard's uniform, the contents of the bag clinking against each other as he makes his way towards Wren and Abrahm on the far side of the room.
Silently, the guard spreads the contents of the bag onto the small table placed beside them. "I have everything you requested." He seems unfazed, voice void of any defining tone that would be able to reveal his true intentions.
"Listen, Subject A1." Abraham starts, hand lightly dragging over the contents of the table still hidden from December's view. "I know you think you're smarter than us." His voice has lowered in tone, words drawing out slowly as he leans closer to the fae until they're face to face with one another. "If you think that Ryder is going to come save you, you're wrong. You're mine now." He whispers against him, hands drawing themselves upwards until they're entangled in strawberry locks, grip tightening as he forces the fae's head upward with a yank of the hand. "And I'm not good at playing gently with my toys."
As Abrahm drops down to untie Wren's hand the table comes into view, December instinctively stilling at the sight of it. He can't name the plethora of instruments laid out against the dark blue cloth that once concealed them. Only the scalpel and hammer can be identified among the collection, the metal items varying in shape and length shining beneath the lights of Haven.
Yet the sensation that has dropped to the bottom of his stomach, that has his body crashing to the floor as a weakness overcomes him let's him know that nothing good can come from this. A fear flowing through each constricting vein and tensing muscle at the thought of what he may bear witness to as Abrahm stretches Wren's hand across the second table.
"I have a theory about something and I want you to tell me whether it's true or not." Abrahm starts, hands tightening around Wren's wrist as he speaks. "You were pretty beaten up when we got you here and yet the very next day you were fine. Why is that?"
There's no answer to the question, Wren still silent though he occasionally attempts to tug his wrist away from Abrahm's grip.
"Well, we're gonna test a couple of things now that you're mine."
There's no hesitation, just the sound of Abrahm's words followed by the sickening crash of metal on bone and Wren's scream that pierces the room. December had shut his eyes at the exact moment but couldn't escape the sound that now echoes within his being, the sound of bone breaking beneath the force of a hammer, the dull thump as it hit flesh before the sickening crunch that followed so shortly after. A wave of nausea crashes over him, body falling forward as he braces his body on both hands, chest lurching as he dry heaves on the floor beside them.
Abrahm let's out a chuckle, hammer absentmindedly tapping against his palm as he smiles. "Just like what I thought, you're healing yourself." He lets out another sharp laugh, tongue sliding across his upper teeth before flashing a devil's grin. "I'll be looking forward to our playtime together, beast."
The two leave the room as it's contents begin to shift slightly with the incoming black smoke, the tables now placed on opposite ends of the room and Wren bound to the wooden chair once more. Abrahm and the guard reenter the room, their clothes now changed from just moments before as the darkness clears out once again.
[CHAPTER "TW: THIRTY TWO" STARTS HERE]
It's the first time December can move, limbs weak and shaking as he crawls his way across the floor until he's sat next to Wren. His hair has lost its strawberry hue from just moments earlier, the locks now white-blonde from fear as they stick to his tear stained face. Wren can't stop trembling, body violently shaking until he eventually rolls over with a jolt and vomit splashes against the floor.
By now December has realized he's trapped within Wren's memories, meaning there is nothing he can do for him except watch the boy scream against the floor, naked body smeared with blood and vomit as he pulls wildly at his hair. He's already began to hyperventilate, grasping desperately at his torn shreds of clothing though barely anything remains.
The black smoke begins to fill the room once more, engulfing the body laid on the floor and resetting the room to the now familiar scene of Wren tied to the wooden chair. His hair is white here, eyes glazed over and broken hinting that the events are unfolding in chronological order. As always, the two men enter the room together but this time Abrahm doesn't untie Wren, rather grabbing him by the chin and forcing his gaze upward.
"When they kill you, I'm going to sew your skin into armor." Abrahm's voice is steady, each word calculated and calm as he continues. "That way when I come for the rest of your beasts, they'll be able to see just what exactly came of you. But first," he smiles, withdrawing a blade from the depths of his pocket. "I need to test just how resilient my armor is made."
There's only screams. Screams and the overwhelming scent of blood, the stomach lurching sound of it pouring onto the linoleum floor as Abraham drags his blade across Wren's cheek. He doesn't stop until he's holding the patch of skin in his hands, December turning away from the sight of Wren's now skinned flesh.
"So we know his skin will grow back at least, so what else should we test out?" Abrahm quizzes, attention turned to the guard stood cross armed beside him.
"He can heal his skin and even though you broke his hand it seems to be fine now." The man pauses to think, eyes scanning the instruments on the table before eventually grabbing one and handing it to Abrahm. "We never tested if he could regrow anything, just that he can heal himself."
Abrahm nods in agreement. "We might want to gag him for this one, his screams are so high pitched they give me a headache." He rubs at his temples as if to demonstrate his annoyance before whisking the wooden chair around.
Wren has already began to scream against his makeshift gag, body rocking against the wooden chair as he desperately attempts to escape. There's nothing he can do, nowhere he can run as Abrahm places the contraption over his finger before pushing down with a forceful crunch. It's a clean cut, the wound pouring blood freely as his finger rolls on to the floor. Even with the gag his screams still overwhelm the room, body lurching forward as he dry heaves against the restraint until he's nearly choking.
"It's healing but it's a lot slower than everything else."
"He's also been administered over six blockers today which could have a negative effect."
It's nauseating the way they continue their conversation as if they've done nothing wrong, deaf to the mumbled cries of the boy strapped to the chair beside them. By now the blood has began to pool around December kneeled on the opposite side of the room, a river of blood stark against the white backdrop of the floor.
"Listen, I've got some tests to run with December over at Lab A. I need you to bleed him out so the blockers can leave his system then cut off another finger and record the time difference it takes to heal. After that you can do what you want with him, just have him back in his room by ten tonight." Abrahm instructs, setting the now bloody instrument on the table beside him. "Oh, and make sure you give him enough blockers to knock him out, I've noticed Ryder sneaking into his room at night and I can't afford for him to be tattling to Ryder about all of this."
The man nods in agreement before the room fills with mist, the stage resetting each time in an endless loop of suffering. Merely a cycle of the machinery whirring within the door, of muffled screams and blood steadily dripping onto the linoleum floors. It never ceases though December begs it to come to an end, forehead pressed against the red linoleum as he screams for it to stop, screams against the sound of limbs being cut off and eyes gouged out, of skin being ripped away from its host and the wooden chair scraping against the floor in protest.
Wren's panting breaths fill the room, December's body following suit as he presses each palm against his ears in desperation. Yet the sounds still remain regardless of his attempts to block it all out, to end both of their suffering and the constant reminder of it. When he closes his eyes all he can see is Wren shaking naked on the floor, the sight of his bloodied cheek void of skin, the image of his finger rolling across the floor beneath him.
December can't feel the smoke that drifts through the room, eyes shut tight against the cool darkness that now encases him once more. Though the noise around him has died out it still echoes within him, body crashing against the void as he falls limp, an emptiness rising within him until he can do nothing but lie there alone. Lie there succumbing to the sensation of the smoke pooling the floor, the sensation of guilt and regret and the overwhelming heaviness of his actions now laid out before him.
How did it come to this? The Lord's words twisted in the false promise of God's Work Through God's Creation. How did He allow them to stray so far from His light, allow Jenn to weaponize His teachings to the point that the torture of an innocent being was demeaned justifiable.
December can't bring himself to think anymore, tears steadily streaming as he throws back his head and screams, a chord riddled with a pain that can't be contained within this mortal vessel.
"When the time comes for me to punish, I will punish them for their sin."