Falling Skies

Eleven

There's no response from the corpse, just a hardened silence that thickens the air as Ryder chokes against the overwhelming force of it. His hands find their way to Wren's as he pulls the body up, grasping at Wren's palms before grabbing at his forearms to attempt to hoist the body up, fingers pausing midgrasp before gently circling around a ring of flesh.

It's almost alarming, how slow his fingers circle the small dots that curse the skin of the boy. How his eyes draw themselves to the wall and the abandoned clipboard and how he slowly counts each dot in his head, eyes closed tight in pain for each one.

One, two, three. That first day he had laid eyes on him cowering in a cage.
Four, five, six. His first few days within the walls of Haven.
Seven. The blockers administered before his interview with December.
Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen...

Ryder's fingers slip from the chill skin, a deep ache forming within him at the sight of the dots, each marking an injection of a blocker. There's a small part of him that is relieved, as an increase in blockers would've forced Wren's body into shock, resulting in him passing out and becoming unresponsive- not dead as he had believed moments before. Yet another part, a part hidden deep beneath the relief and even deeper beneath the pain and betrayal, holds a sadness that can't be explained. A sadness that Wren still holds onto his life, a sadness that he still has to experience the torture Haven will surely put him through.

It's as if his realization had broken the spell, the corpse slowly fading into life as the color returns to his pale lids before they twitch awake. His body turns with an ache in Ryder's grasp before his lilac eyes meet his holder, the edges of his lips beginning to curl into a smile as he lifts himself with a tinge of pain.

"I think I fell asleep?" He snickers hoarsely, letting out a brisk cough before wincing in pain. One hand rests on his stomach as the other grasps the needle marks of his left arm, the skin swelling into a tinted deep green.

Ryder pauses, one hand outstretched just in case he has to catch the wondering creature. "More like passed out?" He trails absentmindedly, eyes hunting the boy ahead of him as he trails his every move, every swing of an arm or swirl of his head. "Um you- you should be okay now?" But Wren isn't listening, rather pushing himself off of Ryder and into a wobbly stance, falling into the bed post that he grabs with two hands as Ryder catches him at his bony waist, eyes wide with worry before harshly releasing his grip from the being's skin.

There's a silence in the room that's left between Wren's hips and Ryder's now empty grasp. As awkward fingers curl into awkward fists and his eyes stay focused on the floor.

Wren merely sighs before turning. "Ryder.." But the movement is cut short, his body doubling over the bed post in one sharp lurch as he vomits onto the newly stained mattress. Tremors visibly run the length of his spine as each shiver ends in a stomach dropping splash, the air becoming stale with the scent of stomach acid and metallic blood.

It's nothing that Ryder hasn't seen, hell he's been sneaking into Wren's room for days now, he knows the blockers bring on excruciating convulsions and night terrors. He's been there to gently wipe the sweat off Wren's brows while he slept, to distract him from the pain while he was awake as he retold stories of his childhood outside of Haven and the lack of one within it. Yet each night is more heartbreaking than the next as the drugs only build up in his system, a constant flow of pain within him.

Shaking, Wren straightens up, tears already in his eyes as he grips his stomach harder in his weakened grasp, thinning fingers trembling as they hook onto what small amount of flesh they can find left on his bones. "Ryder, it hurts." Is all he can manage to spit out, even this one sentence seemingly taking years to end.

There's something that aches within Ryder each night, something that rears its head once more as he holds onto Wren's trembling hand, pulling the shaky body into his stone one as he pulls them to the floor and wraps one of the blankets around both their bodies.

That first night Is still engraved into his mind, when Wren's cries woke him and he spent the entire night within these walls, wanting to hold him in his grasp. It was a blazing need as if everything in him was hurting from not being able to hold this creature, this boy he didn't know. Wren was too weak to say no, and yet Ryder obeyed anyways, merely feeding him bits of food from across the room and hesitating until given permission to approach.

Yet now...now he holds the boy as tight in his arms as he can. The blanket wraps around the two of them and encases them in a comforting warmth as the small body curls around his own, an unearthly cry falling from his lips as he shakes fiercely. It's more of a scream than a cry, mouth wide and eyes shut in terror as a high pitched screech escapes him every once in a while, Ryder merely watching the clock as they rock in deathly silence.

Ryder's fingers can only trace the back of Wren's head, trail down his neck or pull the blanket closer between them as sweat beads the little thing's brow. Dampening his hair and plastering it to his face as another cry screams out, muffled against Ryder's skin as he forces Wren's wet face into the crook of his shoulder and neck.

Time seems to only still in these halls, as if Haven is a hell that is unknown to them, a punishment only proven with time. Ryder's lips nearly bleed as he bites them harder, hands balling into a fist against the protruding spine of the boy he holds, another scream escaping Wren's lips as he pulls at the fabric of Ryder's shirt in pain.

"We have to leave this place, I swear to you I will get us out of this." It's more to himself than to the screaming boy, just a whisper against his sweating temple before he grips him tighter. "Even if it kills me, I will get you out."

Gingerly, his fingers pass the bruised needle marks of Wren's arms, his lips pressing into a firm line as his plan formulates, a sense of dread settling into him that leaves his body void.

"And I know exactly how I'm going to do it."