"What the hell happened!?"

December merely ignores the question as he carries Ryder in his arms, the two collapsing in the center of the campsite as Wren and Abrahm watch with wide eyes.

There's a perturbed air drifting through the campsite, a silence falling over the three boys as their eyes lock onto one another with a hidden suspicion. Underneath it all, the one person that holds them together lies unconscious on the floor, the trapped tensions threatening to boil over each second Ryder stays asleep.

December can barely catch his breath, chest heaving as he tries to explain the story to the wide eyed fae ahead of him. "He collapsed halfway back and wouldn't wake up he was just shaking and sweating." December spits out, body grasping for another breath of air as his hands fall to his knees. "He wouldn't let me pull the tusk out, I tried to and he wouldn't let me I-"

"Good."

The response only thickens the tension of the campsite, the air growing thick enough to become suffocating. Wren's body finds its way to Ryder's convulsing against the grass, Wren merely wrapping a few of the fluorescent flowers around the burnt flesh of Ryder's hand as he awaits a response from December.

"Good? He's dying."

"And he would already be dead if you had removed the tusk. He's being poisoned slowly, removing the tusk would just speed up the process." Wren explains nonchalantly, his attention occupied as he whispers against the fluorescent flowers. "I can fix him but I'll need more flowers. An ivy actually, to be exact."

Wren's lavender eyes fall onto December as he lets out a sharp laugh, hand pulling back at his sweat drenched hair before gripping a fistful in each hand.

"What is wrong with you!? What do you not understand about the fact that he's on the floor dying in front of you and you don't even care?" December growls. "Or were you just using him for your freedom and could care less about what happens to him?" December spits out, malice drenching his tongue as his nails dig into his scalp. "He trusted you and this is what, the second time that you've left him to die?"

Wren let's out his own sharp chuckle, Ryder's head resting in his svelte lap as he pets back the dampened hair from his forehead. "I never left him to die. And if I had, it has always been at the risk of your hand. You would have cut him open if it wasn't for me. You would have dragged him back to that hell. And you would have killed him with poison because you're too stubborn to admit that you don't know everything."

"You're arguing with me when you should be healing him! And the only reason we got attacked in the first place is because we were on some idiotic mission for you."

Wren's eyes widen, mouth slightly agape as he lets out a sharp breath. "He was attacked by an Oīmė and you're blaming me? If you weren't stealing their pups from the woods it wouldn't have attacked! It must've recognized your voice." He scoffs.

Wren's words cause him to still, a realization washing over him before consuming him with sick guilt. The way the creature seemed to stare into him, how it only went to attack after it had heard him call out to Ryder, almost as if it had recognized him.

December's face flushes a deep red as he stares away from the two on the floor, arms crossed tight against his chest before a hand combs through his brunette hair. "Just fix him okay." He whispers sheepishly, taking a seat across from Wren on the other side of Ryder's body.

Abrahm had left sometime in between their arguments, a silence left in his place as the two are forced to stare at one another or the pale body sat between them.

After a while Wren clears his throat, eyes falling onto the pale body before landing on December sat across from him. "Can you take his pants off. It's against my culture to do it myself."

The words catch him off guard, eyes visibly widening before falling back. His hands slip between the waistband of Ryder's pants before cautiously pulling the stiff material away from his drenched skin, careful not to disturb the tusk still embedded within him.

"Culture?" December offhandedly questions as he folds the black pants in his hands, a spare thread catching at his fingernail as he does so.

"Yeah..." Wren swallows, eyes locked onto the fresh wound.

By now, his entire leg has been painted a deep purple, a few flecks of yellow and red brushed onto his now pale-white skin. A few black lines trail from the tusk to his hip, at closer inspection appearing to be poisoned veins, blackened by the death making its way to his heart. Blood slowly bubbles at the base of the tusk before dropping onto the grass, dying it a deep red as the liquid soaks into the dirt.

December lightly coughs, breaking Wren's deadened stare. "Culture you were saying?" December reminds him, brow slightly cocking as he examines the creature sat before him.

"Um...yeah- yeah. I'm not allowed to...um.." he can barely focus, his eyes falling onto Ryder's wound and staying locked there. He lets out a few deep breaths, rubbing his hands against his thighs before physically shaking his head. "I'm not allowed to touch anyone in a way that could be perceived as...intimate..." Wren draws out, voice low as his eyes once again fall onto Ryder's dribbling wound.

As much as December hates it, there's a part of him that can't help but feel curious. Maybe it's the doctor in him that forces out his inquisitiveness, but there's a piece of his mind that races as he takes in every inch of Wren's reaction. The way his body shakes, how he continuously tries to distract himself by rubbing at his thighs or pulling at the grass but always finds his way back to the one thing he wants to avoid.

His eyes... the once bright, glass-like lavender has deepened to a devilish burgundy, Wren's pupils dilated as he continually swallows to distract himself.

"Wren..." it's merely a whisper but it's enough to catch the fae's attention, his ears perking up at the sound of his name.

"Guess I'm not used to seeing him in pain." He swallows.

Yet his tone is empty, as if all emotion has left his body and nothing but a shell remains in its place.

"Wren," December starts again in the same hushed tone, his hand finding itself to the fae's. "I'm your doctor, even if you don't want to admit it," he adds, watching as Wren's features sour at the phrase. "And as your doctor I know that there's more to you than you're letting on." December hints, his hand slowly holding onto Wren's as he tenses under the touch.

"I'm just worried about him." Wren shrugs, darkened eyes falling onto December's rough hand cupped over his own.

"Worried about his wound or worried that you might hurt him."

Wren pulls his hand away as his brows furrow in confusion, eyes finally falling onto December's face. He can't read his emotions, too many seemingly swirled together to be able to pinpoint just one. Yet something in his eyes feels sickeningly welcoming, a chill falling down Wren's spine as he shuffles in his seat.

"Whatever you're implying-"

December lets out a deep breath, eyes falling into Wren's as he begins to explain. "Wren, when I took your vitals your iron levels were so low that it should have killed you."

Wren stiffens at December's words.

"When we gave you the blockers to disrupt your magic we were also giving you iron supplements." He explains slowly, each word tip toeing over the other in caution. "For your iron levels to be stable you would have to get substantial amounts of it from an external source." He continues, breaths slow and fluttering as he gauges Wren's reaction to his accusations. "Wren, I'm telling you this as your doctor, someone who monitored you inside and out everyday, religiously, for three months. I know you're not getting that much iron from the nuts and seeds you claim to be eating."

By now Wren is nearly trembling, his hand stiff as December once again places his own over top of it. December's hand is warm against his own, cool from shock as he processes December's small speech.

"I've been fighting it my whole life, I can fight it now." Wren whispers more to himself than to the boy sat across from him, his eyes reflecting the pool of blood he obsessively stares at.

"Are you even a fae, Wren?"

Wren's breaths shake. "Bėlä. A blood fae." He can't break away from the sight of the blood pooling out of Ryder's leg, falling, dripping, slowly against his warm flesh, caressing each inch of skin. The way Ryder's heart drums in his ear, drowning out December's words, each beat pumping a sickeningly sweet scent out of the wound. If he could only taste-

"Wren."

December's voice snaps him out of his vagary, his body involuntarily dry swallowing as he blinks away the oppressive thoughts.

"I've spent my entire life avoiding the blood part of being a blood fae." Wren nearly laughs though it comes out as more of a heavy breath. "And now, against my will, I'm going to be forced to face this all over again because you couldn't leave by body alone. What did you even want with me? With the Oīmės? That you were ready to kill, to ruin my life for it?"

December can't face him, his eyes now scanning Ryder's trembling body in front of him. "I didn't know you were vampiric. If I had I would never of brought your vitals up to normal it would've been too much of a risk for the team, for Ryder..." he adds on as an afterthought, a memory of the two coming to mind though he hastily shakes it away.

"And," December breathes out, eyes shut for just a moment before confessing the truth. "Haven was searching for the source of magic. If we could find it and harness it then we could possibly reverse the sky fall, and close whatever it is that's exposing your world to ours."

Wren shakes his head. "Do you really think that that's what they would do with it? The right thing?"

"I know that you think Haven is this evil entity, but what we do is for the good of humanity. My mother built the foundations with her bare hands. I trust her." December insists.

He's barely been gone for a day yet the thought of his mother leaves a pain in his chest. A part of him wants to hold it close, to just let the pain consume him, and yet a larger part says to let go. The part that almost believes Wren, the part of him that has questioned his mother from the beginning. The mother who swore to save humanity from the devils that inhabited it and yet, in the process, was willing to sacrifice her own flesh and blood under the knife.

"Seems like you kind of don't." Wren shrugs offhandedly, knees drawn to his chest as he watches December think. "Listen," he straightens up as December mirrors him, brow slightly cocked as he awaits what Wren has to say. "I don't trust you, but for the sake of the millions of people I'm about to bring you in contact with- You can't harness someone's magic. It isn't in our blood or in some organ," he explains, a hand absentmindedly falling to his makeshift stitches. "Our magic is in our DNA and is passed down from parent to child. It's genetic, random, which is why Ryder has it but not you. So you can stop cutting people open now because the answer isn't there."

Before December can respond, Abrahm emerges from the depths of the woods, a fistful of ivy in his hands as he rushes towards the three figures sat on the ground.

Abrahm drops the ivy onto Ryder's body, a smug smile on his lips as he glances between the two boys sharing a worried glance of their own.

"Well what are you waiting for? Let's pull this bitch out."