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Bittersweet Hurt	By : Minervaone Category: Twilight Series > Slash > Carlisle/Edward Views: 7955 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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- 3
Author’s Note: This story examines the story of why Carlisle decided to make Edward a vampire - and its subsequent effects on their lives - the desire, the chaos, the hurt, the regret. It will be in 12 chapters.
There WILL BE sexual situations between two men. If this may offend you, hit the Back button now.
As always, I own none of these characters and make no profit from this story.
Reviews are fuel.

Part Two - The Fever
The summer was sweltering, and people were dropping like flies left and right. An influenza epidemic was sweeping the nation; highly contagious, it was killing the young and healthy in a matter of hours.
Once the disease set in, there was very little one could do to prevent death, and most patients died within 48 hours of the first symptoms - aches, pains, and fatigue. Soon, most were unable to stand on their own eight to 10 hours after being infected. The influenza generally caused pneumonia to settle in, and the vast majority of patients died by drowning in the fluids filling their lungs. The most ominous sign, however, was when they turned blue. When that happened, you could guarantee the end of them, generally about 4-6 hours later.
There was a steady line of corpses streaming out of the influenza ward where Carlisle worked the night shift, and it showed no sign of slowing down. The local grave diggers were working around the clock to get the bodies buried before more disease could spread. It made the loneliness Carlisle felt more acute than it already was - to see all of this life needlessly thrown down the drain. Fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons - all cut down equally.
It was going to be a long and miserable summer.
He walked quietly to work, concentrating on staying in the shadows as it was not quite twilight yet. The skies had been threatening rain earlier today and it was still relatively cloudy out, but you could never tell when there might be a break in the clouds. The heat was stifling, and the air was thick with humidity. Carlisle would almost swear he was on the verge of breaking a sweat - not that he could break a sweat. Carlisle sighed. He needed a change. Perhaps he could return to Italy to spend some time with the Volturi; it may help him to clear his mind of the troubling thoughts that had been plaguing him, like those that rushed unbidden into his mind every time he encountered an adolescent boy with dark hair. ‘Take him out of the side door; down to the empty house you passed this morning; it will only take three days; no one will notice he is gone; they will assume he is dead; it’s a simple bite; the pain will fade; you can take him hunting in the forests to the south . . .’
No. He shook his head to clear his thoughts; he can’t think like that. He couldn’t allow himself to be so weak. He was a monster, and he could not let anyone else become like him. He had every intention of upholding the promises he made to his Father and his God so very long ago, there in the putrid grave of rotten potatoes. ‘I swear I will not become a monster! I WILL NOT become so evil! I swear I’ll do away with myself immediately, if you can only forgive my suicide!’
Yet, the biggest promise was one Carlisle could not never forget, he still fought it every day. When the pain was too much to bear, and the tears were streaming down his face, he pleaded for mercy. ‘Please, stop this pain! I can’t . . . no more! Please! God, where are you? I swear, I swear on everything I hold holy that I will never take a human life! Please, I swear if only you will just stop the burning!’ And miraculously, at that moment the burning did stop as if in answer to his prayer, and Carlisle passed out. He had made the transition to a vampire, and the life he knew before was gone. He was now left with a very big promise to keep.
Carlisle rounded the corner, headed to the hospital where he was greeted with the scent of death. He wrinkled his nose slightly. The smell was getting worse, and the bodies were continuing to pile up. He entered into the east ward, and let out a sigh at the sight. Rows and rows of beds were lined up in the large hall, all full of the dead and dying. There were so many patients that the hospital did not have enough beds. No hospital in Chicago did at that point. The medical staff had begun to lay patients on the floor around the beds, and in every available space - the hallways, the exam rooms, the lobby.
Yet, worse than the smell, were the sounds. The moaning, and the wheezing. The cries of help, the cries of pain, the coughing, and the death rattles. Yes, Carlisle knew that was the worst part of the epidemic, the sound of putrid death.
He sighed, and began to work.
There wasn’t much in a medical sense that he could so for these patients. The best he could offer now was some sense of comfort while they suffered through their disease. He started at the first bed on the row and sat down next to the woman there. She was sweating profusely, and looked to be unconscious. Her breath was low and shallow, and she was beginning to turn blue, around the edges of her face, the tip of her nose, her fingertips. She wouldn’t last until tomorrow.
He made his way down the line, offering water or pain medicine where it was needed. He held their hands, sponged their brows, and put cold compresses on their forehead. He wiped the blood from their noses and mouths when the hemorrhages started. He moved their bodies when they passed away.
At the end of the row of beds, he stopped and sat down beside his next patient. Without looking up, he grabbed a bowl and filled it with water from the pitcher near the bed. He rang out a rag in the cool water and went to place the compress on the boy’s head. He looked up, and froze.
It was Edward.
The Edward, the one who almost drove him insane last Christmas, almost causing him to break every vow he had made regarding not harming humans, about respecting human life. The one that had taken Carlisle too long to stop thinking about.
And yet here, this perfect boy lay dying. His once brilliant hair was matted down with sweat and grime and plastered against his face. He was sleeping fitfully, gently tossing his head to the side, mumbling incoherent words in his sleep. Deep circles were under his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, and the tip of his nose was beginning to turn blue.
Carlisle’s mouth hung open, shocked that his perfect boy was now withering away - miserable, and sweating his life out on a dirty bed which countless numbers died in before him.
He felt a wetness on his arm and looked down to see the forgotten rag hanging limply in his hand, dripping water on the bed sheets. He brought the cloth up to Edward’s face and began to clean off the sweat. He smoothed back the matted hair out of his face, his fingers lingering against Edward’s forehead. The boy responded to the cool touch of his fingers, giving off low whimpers at the relief.
Edward raised his hand, feebly trying to reach Carlisle’s fingers on his face. Without thinking, Carlisle grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers, while reaching down to re-wet the cloth with his other hand. Edward tired to raise his head, seeking Carlisle’s cold fingers.
“Shh . . . it’s ok, there’s more where that came from,” Carlisle choked out, wiping at Edward’s face with the rag, feeling tears he thought were gone forever forming in his eyes. He leaned closer, clearly hearing just how much fluid was building up in Edward’s lungs. Carlisle knew it wouldn’t be long. Edward was drowning.
Carlisle hovered close to Edward’s face, close enough to see the stubble on his cheeks, the pink of his lips, and the pulse beating beneath the surface of his neck. ‘It would be so easy . . . he is going to die anyway . . . just one bite . . .’ No - he couldn’t do this. Carlisle shook his head and went to move back from the boy. Yet before he could get away, Edward opened his eyes and looked up at Carlisle.
Carlisle felt his breath hitch in his chest. Those eyes . . . those beautiful hazel eyes . . . they were looking straight at him, recognition flashing somewhere in their depths. “You came . . . ,” Edward croaked out, barely able to speak above a whisper. “You’re here again,” he said, flashing Carlisle a weak smile.
‘He has to be hallucinating, from the fever,’ Carlisle thought. Edward made to raise his hand and Carlisle helped him along, holding the weight of his arm up for him. Edward reached out and ran the tips of his fingers across Carlisle’s forehead, and gave him another weak, lopsided grin. “I knew you would come for me,” Edward said.
“Edward, my name is Dr. Cullen. You haven’t met me before,” he said, continuing to hold the boy’s arm up, ‘His touch . . . It’s been so long . . . ,’ “Where are your parents, Edward? Is anyone coming for you?” he asked quietly, reveling in the soft stroking of Edward’s fingertips.
“Dead . . . gone . . . I looked after them. I’m the last one . . .” Edward whispered, closing his eyes briefly as he stopped to catch his breath - the exertion of speaking a few words was almost too much for him. He opened his eyes and looked at Carlisle again. “I do know you. You are in my dreams every night . . . ,” he managed to get out before the coughing began.
Edward’s frail frame shook with each hack, and he was becoming desperate to try and suck in air between the spasms. He had instinctively raised his hand to cover his mouth when he coughed, and Carlisle froze when he dropped his hand back down to his chest. Edward’s hand was covered in blood.
Something snapped inside of Carlisle at that moment.
He would not sit here and watch as Edward died.
There was only one solution left.
May Edward forgive him for what he was about to do.
Carlisle looked down at Edward and was surprised to see him staring back at him. “Yes,” Edward whispered, his eyes never wavering, “Carlisle . . .” he whispered as his eyes rolled back in his head and body went limp in unconsciousness.
“No! Edward, hang on, please. I’ll help you, I promise,” Carlisle pleaded, sliding his hands under the boy and picking him up. He raced for the back door of the hospital, not caring if anyone noticed.
There was no one left who could stand in the way of his ultimate sin.
He was going to turn Edward into a monster.
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Bittersweet Hurt