In the cells.

[ofthefamily]

Carlisle is still sitting here.

It is the strangest cell he's inhabited yet, but it's still a cell and he has no visitors.



But no tests.

Carlisle enjoys the reprieve.

Comments

[themidnightson]

The vitriol-despair top continues to spins and Edward looks down the stairs. His life. His existence is a wash of one singular, solitary, specific foundation. He would not be here if not for that first choice. Or that forgiveness. A million other moments, sharp and fast, blending, blurring into that voice.

That man's voice.

Carlisle's voice.

"He has to go back. " It's not even near steady. He's not avoiding that voice. He's literally trying his best to block out everything but his siblings to hear it now. "He has to. We have to--"

He was going to say we have to send him back but it died in his mouth. It died on something worse, something brighter and darker and simultaneously, wanted in the worst, visceral fashion for the last many hours.

Because it's Carlisle.

Then and now and whenever inbetween.

"We have to make whatever happens--not."