Days. It's felt like months, like years. It's felt endless.
But Ethan wouldn't be surprised to learn that it has only been days since it's all happened. The screaming, the pain, the all of it made every hour seem like it was weeks and eventually time lost its meaning completely. There was no such thing as time.
There was no such thing as Ethan. The only times he remembered himself eventually as it got deeper and deeper was when he heard the screaming, when he heard the screaming of all the people he loved, and he remembered. He remembered his brothers, Elena, all of them, and it reminded him of the part inside of himself, the all of Ethan that loves and wants to protect and to be loyal.
Not the rage. There has been so much anger and violence, and it hasn't only been Lucien's despite Ethan's attempts to fight against it, fight against being the violent, hungry werewolf that was born and bread inside of him. It's what he was made to be by this father, by Lucien before he was even born.
That is his purpose.
Lucien has been brilliant at bringing that purpose out again and again, and Ethan has fought against him, has said no, has screamed and shouted and refused. Despite the fact Lucien holds all the cards, and he keeps pushing and showing how he has every single card in his hand.
There is nothing Ethan can do but remain, remain in the cell with the-- with the chains to weigh him down and to keep him in place and to keep him from reaching the door. Where he'd bang his fists against to the point the door would shake and his fists would be bruised.
It's Elena, and he knows it as soon as she says his name back to him even if he's never heard her say his name like that before. His expression crumples at the sound of her voice. It's the most beautiful (really terrible though he doesn't know it yet, so stupid) thing that he has heard in his whole life maybe. It feels like his whole life.
"Elena," he says her name again, and his hands reach up despite the sound of the chains, the shackles that hold him there.
His hands reach up for her hands, shaking like he can't believe it, and he can't. He almost can't believe that he's holding on to her, that his hands are over hers, and he almost-- All that violence that's been built up in his chest over time, he shakes his head at the question. There's no way to answer that question, and he knows... knows Lucien touched everyone. Didn't leave anyone without scars.
"I-- I thought you were dead," Ethan says, voice tightening painfully as he feels her, and he can feel that she is not dead. His voice is shaking as he tries to look at her in what dim light is available to them. "You're not dead."
And he doesn't-- it's sinking in slowly.
Why is she here? The trepidation, but he's-- he's so relieved to see her that he hasn't-- it hasn't occurred to him yet. The steps heading toward them that he can hear distantly.
no subject
But Ethan wouldn't be surprised to learn that it has only been days since it's all happened. The screaming, the pain, the all of it made every hour seem like it was weeks and eventually time lost its meaning completely. There was no such thing as time.
There was no such thing as Ethan. The only times he remembered himself eventually as it got deeper and deeper was when he heard the screaming, when he heard the screaming of all the people he loved, and he remembered. He remembered his brothers, Elena, all of them, and it reminded him of the part inside of himself, the all of Ethan that loves and wants to protect and to be loyal.
Not the rage. There has been so much anger and violence, and it hasn't only been Lucien's despite Ethan's attempts to fight against it, fight against being the violent, hungry werewolf that was born and bread inside of him. It's what he was made to be by this father, by Lucien before he was even born.
That is his purpose.
Lucien has been brilliant at bringing that purpose out again and again, and Ethan has fought against him, has said no, has screamed and shouted and refused. Despite the fact Lucien holds all the cards, and he keeps pushing and showing how he has every single card in his hand.
There is nothing Ethan can do but remain, remain in the cell with the-- with the chains to weigh him down and to keep him in place and to keep him from reaching the door. Where he'd bang his fists against to the point the door would shake and his fists would be bruised.
It's Elena, and he knows it as soon as she says his name back to him even if he's never heard her say his name like that before. His expression crumples at the sound of her voice. It's the most beautiful (
really terrible though he doesn't know it yet, so stupid) thing that he has heard in his whole life maybe. It feels like his whole life."Elena," he says her name again, and his hands reach up despite the sound of the chains, the shackles that hold him there.
His hands reach up for her hands, shaking like he can't believe it, and he can't. He almost can't believe that he's holding on to her, that his hands are over hers, and he almost-- All that violence that's been built up in his chest over time, he shakes his head at the question. There's no way to answer that question, and he knows... knows Lucien touched everyone. Didn't leave anyone without scars.
"I-- I thought you were dead," Ethan says, voice tightening painfully as he feels her, and he can feel that she is not dead. His voice is shaking as he tries to look at her in what dim light is available to them. "You're not dead."
And he doesn't-- it's sinking in slowly.
Why is she here? The trepidation, but he's-- he's so relieved to see her that he hasn't-- it hasn't occurred to him yet. The steps heading toward them that he can hear distantly.