Donald
A white sheet covered the now human form of April. He had done what he could to remove the bullets and suture her wounds, she deserved that dignity. Four bullets. Four bullets had been lodged into her. Shot, like an animal. With each metallic clang of those pieces of death hitting the surgical container, Nathaniel felt his heart sink. The two silver bullets had left almost necrotic-looking damage, it was as if the people afflicted with lycanthropy developed an acute and lethal allergy to the material. He'd have to figure out a way to cut out the use of silver in his practice, so he wouldn't accidentally harm the very people he swore to heal.

He noticed someone walking up beside him. Gracelyn: the town's funeral director, stepped to stand next to Nathaniel. He'd since wiped his tears away, slipping on the unfamiliar mask of a doctor who had everything under control when he decidedly did not. Medical school could never have prepared him for what happened in Briar Ridge. Medical school had never taught him how people behaved when they feared for their lives when the source of that fear infected their neighbors (was it the wolves who were infected, or those who wanted them dead, or both?) It had never taught him how to behave in the face of a town turning on itself. 

Nathaniel may have been born in Briar Ridge, but he knew he was an outsider. He had learned of April's name when it had fallen from the horrified lips of those who dragged her in. He knew nothing about her outside of that name.

"Who was she?"

What was her story, _tell me so I may keep it alive_, tell me so I may carry her legacy with me, so I may put more than a mere name to her ghost when it starts to haunt me.
Raymond
**CW/TW:** Death, mentions of childbirth in the first part
Antonette
April's death was... Strange. Gracelyn had honestly expected her unborn children to die with her but it seemed that life had other plans. She wasn't there to witness it but by the way people described it it almost felt as if her children were trying to escape a poisoned, dying host. Yes, that made them sound like parasites, but it was the best way Grace could describe it. However, she was just glad that a couple people in town were already showing interest in seeing them grow up loved and nurtured. She felt bad for them and April's other children. None of them asked for this, nobody did - especially not Ike or those babies.

Driving up to the doctor's office to retrieve the body in a truck repurposed to act as a hearse (they couldn't bring up an actual hearse when she and Ike first got here) her mind easily wandered back to her old friend and business partner. Where was he? Was he dead just like April or wandering around, lost and alone? Parking the car near the back and as close to the clinic as possible Gracelyn did her best to put a mask of her own on too. Taking a deep breath in she took the keys out of the ignition and opened the driver side door, hopping out with a long exhale. Dressed in a white tucked in button down, black slacks held up with a dark belt, and worn black oxfords, Gracelyn made her way to the passenger seat of the truck, taking out a worn leather briefcase that had a foldable stretcher on it - just in case the doctor didn't have anything like it to use at the moment. Honestly, she hadn't been in there since they got a new doctor so she wasn't quite sure if anything had changed.

Finally locking the car Gracelyn made her way inside, moving around to the front with briefcase in hand and her keys in her pocket.

Going right in she merely gave a nod to one of the nurses at the front desk, most of them knowing why she came here and usually not needing to say much to get the point across. Sure enough, she wasn't stopped as she walked into a back room where she assumed Dr. Ashworth would be. She was used to doing stuff like extracting bullets and sewing up open wounds for her clients but she didn't push too much when Nathaniel insisted on doing it himself. She had her suspicions as to why - a few suspicions actually - but for now she would just watch and gather more information before prying.

Setting her briefcase down near the door Grace approached, stopping when she was directly next to her colleague. He was only one year younger than her but part of her felt ages older, probably because death was typically her domain and was what she dealt with on a daily basis compared to Nathaniel. Her ruminations on what might be going on in that little head of his were abruptly halted when he spoke up. She had been looking straight at the white cloth, imagining his handiwork and what April looked like underneath when her eyes were torn from it, her head turning to face Dr. Ashworth as he spoke.

*"Who was she?"*

She wanted to analyze his face and tone more but the question caught her off guard. Who was she? Who was April? What was she like when she was alive? Truth be told, the raven haired mortician didn't know much, but she wanted to scrounge up something. Her brow furrowed and eyes squinted while she dug around in her head for something to give the man, anything to put him at ease, while also doing her best not to get dragged away by questions of her own.

Eventually she took another deep breath in before turning back to respond, allowing her face to look somewhat solemn and resigned. 

"Well... She was a mother as I'm sure you know, not just to two newborns but also two others. I don't remember their names but I know they're older, around 14 or something but don't quote me on that. I'm glad they've got a whole town willing to raise and support them - I'm sure you know the saying, it taking a village to raise a child and all that. She went to church quite a bit but I only saw her enter and leave every Sunday 'cuz I've never gone to service if it isn't for work. Honestly I didn't know her that well but I don't know many here that well either. I heard she was quite generous, motherly too. Never experienced it first hand though, just heard it through the grapevine." Gracelyn said quietly, not wanting to lie or give incorrect information. She kept her body turned towards Nathaniel but her eyes occasionally drifted away, not always sticking on him as a person but something beyond. Shit like this was always hard to talk about, no matter how desensitized to it you were.

After a few moments of silence she piped up again, hoping to maybe lighten the mood with some teasing. "You know I could've prepped the body, right? It's kinda in the job description. Still gotta transfer her to the morgue and get her all gussied up for the funeral if it's open casket, after all." God, she sure hoped he took it the right way.
Donald
April had left behind two other children, Nathaniel's heart sank. Two more youngsters would now grow up without their mother there. Two more innocent souls fallen victim to a violence that they didn't deserve, that they didn't choose. April had been a pious woman, a midwife, her very job had been to bring new life into the world before hers was so violently ripped from her. April didn't look old enough to have fourteen-year-olds as children, but Nathaniel wasn't going to question that.

Nathaniel had experienced death, but never murder. He'd placed the blame for death on himself before, his failure and inability to remove sickness from a person's body, but this was a sickness that infected and festered outside people, it plagued the town itself, it rotted morals and contaminated love for neighbors. He couldn't hope to treat this, even if he tried. It was an ailment that was too large for any one individual to take on, it would require Briar Ridge to see, _really_ see what she was doing to herself and to change her ways. It wasn't too late, it couldn't be. He'd seen the tears of those dragging April into the hospital while she still looked like a giant wolf, there was remorse there, regret and pain. Maybe her sacrifice could turn the tide.

"Thank you," He said, taking what information Gracelyn had and storing it in his mind in an attempt to keep her memory alive, to form an image of who April had been, the life she had lived before it was so violently ripped from her.
_ _

Nathaniel let out a weak chuckle, but there was very little joy in it. "I know. I'm sorry," He said softly, trying to remain composed. "I just- I couldn't leave her like that. Those silver bullets, they were affectin' her skin, eatin' away at her. I-" He took a deep breath, exhaling hard. His father's voice sounded in his head, calling him weak for feeling sad about a woman he didn't even know, calling him pathetic for having to hold back tears over motherless children he had never even met. Maybe he was weak, but he was also human, merely a man. A man who had never witnessed so much suffering in such a short period of time. A man who had never seen how war looked, and whose tolerance for failures of his own doing was exceptionally low. "I'm sorry," He said, roughly wiping away the tears that had formed in his eyes. He was a doctor, he shouldn't be crying, and his behavior was incredibly unprofessional.

How did Gracelyn do it, how did she look upon the face of death knowing its cause, and continue on? He'd heard dozens of names of those injured and lost to the war Briar Ridge waged upon herself. 

"How do you do it?" He asked, looking away from April and towards Gracelyn. "How do you see so much death and continue goin' on like normal?" It was Nathaniel's job, his calling even, to preserve and extend life, he knew Gracelyn's job did so too, in a sense. It preserved the memory of the deceased, it conserved so that those who remained might celebrate and mourn, but it still stood in direct opposition of what Nathaniel had been trained in. His victories meant his patients would get to create new memories, and Gracelyn's meant that those remaining could hold on to those memories. In a way, they were two sides of the same coin, but Nathaniel felt the side opposite of his own was dark and heavy.
Antonette
**Cw/tw: brief mention of potentially vomiting (just once tho), mentions of war and severe injuries, mention and implied mention of murder**

Gracelyn easily smiled at Dr. Ashworth's quiet *'thank you'*, giving a silent nod of her own to show she got the message. He was clearly hurting, and that became all the more apparent the more and more he spoke. At his description of April's injuries she could hear his voice growing rougher as tears threatened to spill, her own smile fading slightly and her gaze softening. Part of her wanted to reach out, to hold his hand and reassure him that it would be okay like she would offer any grieving family member, but she refrained and just decided to let him speak - for now, that is. It wasn't until she saw him wipe tears away and apologize did she jump in, cautiously reaching out and touching Nathaniel on the arm, rubbing it in a hopefully comforting gesture if he accepted physical contact. Despite the gentleness of her movements her eyes hardened again and voice grew serious.

"Hey, don't apologize for feeling shitty or crying, okay?" Grace said, her tone making it sound more like a demand rather than a request, albeit with clear concern lacing every word. "None of this is easy. We're in uncharted waters here and no amount of medical training or experience could prepare *Anyone* For this." She continued, her eyes looking away from Nathaniel's face ever so slightly as she recalled the sorrow and anger she felt witnessing her friend Ike transform or try and get that silver bullet out all alone in the funeral home's basement or seeing the old sheriff's body where there once was a beast, shot and killed before her very eyes. The smell of his blood was awful and if it weren't for her past exposure to chemicals and rot she probably would've hurled right then and there.

"So don't be so hard on yourself. Cry all you need to, it's better than bottling it all up - trust me." Grace said, finishing her thought and releasing Nathaniel's arm if he allowed her to touch him in the first place, turning to look at April's covered body again for a moment.

*'How do you do it? How do you see so much death and continue goin' on like normal?'*
The question certainly caught the woman slightly off guard, her steely gaze softening once more as she thought of what to say, her eyebrows furrowing while she searched for the right words. It took her a while, occasionally opening her mouth and saying a few syllables before closing it again to backtrack. After what felt like forever of looking for the perfect words Gracelyn sighed defeatedly, deciding to just say whatever came to mind and knowing it might be easier to explain with some backstory even if she hated talking about herself when someone else needed help. "I... I know this sounds bad but I have to distance myself from the person. Like, not see them as a *Person* Entirely? Sorry but don't know how to explain it, it's sort of easier when you're dealing with someone who's already dead. I have to see them as both a person with a life and family but also as a piece of work, a statistic, as numbers and just a chunk of meat. It still hurts though, believe me it does, and, uh... Okay, please don't tell anyone I do this but after a really bad day I just go home and cry. Like, I break open a sad book I *Know* Will make me emotional and just let it all out. Usually it's some tragic romance story, typically not my favorite genre any other time but it gets the job done. I also sometimes go out shooting targets or work out if I'm feeling angry from a cadaver who suffered a lot before death." Grace explained, her mouth going and going and not wanting to stop.

"I actually have a punching bag I use a lot and I typically imagine it as the person who wronged the cadaver I recently worked with.

Uh... I guess you also just sorta get used to it. You don't get used to it entirely and it'll still hurt but, um... I-I've worked in a couple sanatoriums over the years and was a volunteer for the Red Cross during the war. Lots of injuries caused by bombs and burns, pretty sure that's what's desensitized me to violence so much. Most of 'em died of infection but we did our best to comfort them. After a while I just sort of distanced myself mentally from them, saw all my patients as the same entity just transformed into a new form or spread across a whole room full to the brim with burn victims, one that'll just die again but needs comforting all the same and that we still need to *Try* And save. It sounds pretty bad when I say it out loud but it got me through the war at least." Gracelyn continued, eventually stopping her little rambling session looking more nervous than before and certainly feeling a little awkward once silence fell back over the room. It was subtle but she couldn't keep her feet or hands still, occasionally shifting her weight and reaching up to fidget with her earrings or adjusting her sleeves. She hated being vulnerable like that but it could hopefully help Dr. Ashworth feel less alone. She just hoped he got the answer he was looking for and she didn't just dump a bunch of shit onto him for no good reason.
Donald
He smiled weakly when Gracelyn all but demanded he not apologize for feeling torn up about April's death. How he had failed to save her. Her touch had brought him some comfort, and she was right; there was no medical training broad or specialized enough to teach one about lycanthropy. There were no classes on how to react to the rotting skin caused by silver bullets. No lectures covered the management of a town turning on its own in fear. And yet Nathaniel still expected himself to remain professional throughout it all. He still demanded that he not lose a single life, and within his first month of staying here, he had already failed. He knew April was beyond saving the moment she arrived, and that by saving her son and daughter, Lorelai and he had done all they could have done. But guilt had latched onto him and was there to stay.

"Your secret is safe with me, Gracelyn," He promised. He smiled as she described her ritual: purposely triggering an emotional reaction to work through her feelings. He could hardly imagine Gracelyn, composed as she now seemed, beating up a punching bag. Nathaniel was aware that bottling things up was not necessarily the best way to handle emotions, but he couldn't allow himself to cry in front of Gracelyn. He had to remain composed. He could feel when he was alone at home, he could use those feelings to do something productive instead. Let his sadness and disbelief drive him to do something instead of wallowing in it and letting it pull him down. Even if in doing so, he pushed himself beyond his limits, forgot to eat and sleep, at least he was being useful. He liked being useful. It mattered very little to him if he went slightly hungry, if it meant helping another person that was a price he was more than willing to pay. He had a debt to pay now.
_ _

He listened attentively as Gracelyn told him about her work during the Great War. He had never seen it up close, a blessed side-effect to his body not aligning with his true identity. He couldn't imagine what she had seen and been through. He hated war, hated how it took so many lives and ruined even more. "I am so sorry you had to see so much sufferin'," He said. "I am sure you were of immeasurable value to those who you comforted, even if they did not make it," He assured, letting the room go quiet for a bit. He didn't want to see his patients as numbers. He had always believed that the moment he no longer saw the human behind the medical procedure, it would be time for him to retire. It was the humanity, the individuals he got to know through his job: each and every one of them with their own lives, hopes, and dreams, that made his such a thankful and rewarding profession. Being able to care for and help people was what drew him to the medical field. Nathaniel had always cared a lot, perhaps too much. He knew that, but in admitting that he would inevitably prove his parents right. He struggled with that. They, of course, saw him as entirely too gentle, and Gracelyn was not implying anything near the Ashworth's beliefs, merely that Nathaniel had to take care of his own feelings with more purpose. But it still bothered him. He'd take her words home with him to fully process later.
_ _

"But I suppose you're right," He admitted. "I have always had trouble with distancin' myself from patients. Not in the sense that I behave unprofessionally, but in the sense that I, well, I see it as a personal failure if I am unable to help someone. I tend to take it all home with me," He confessed. He carried a strong sense of responsibility with him. "I find it hard to accept that there are things that are simply beyond our current understandin' of medicine. That there are some things we just cannot fix. We have so much knowledge, but what is all of that worth if we can't even use it to help those affected by the _curse_ as people call it," He questioned. "There is _nothin'_ out there that can help fix this, and I fear you and I will be seein' a lot more of each other in our professional capacities the longer this goes on." He had seen the files of those who had died. It was a long list of names that _Abrams, April_ had just joined. 

"I grew so used to bein' able to cure people," He sighed, faced with his own shortcomings. "But this? I don't even know where to begin tryin' to comprehend what is goin' on here." He had known about the werewolves, and that the mechanism of infection had to be either by bite or by claw, but there was nothing else he knew. They were weak to silver somehow, but he had no idea why or how. He had looked at the twins as they shifted with nothing short of confusion and amazement at what he saw. "Werewolves shouldn't be real," He reiterated. "And yet they somehow are." He was lost, so hopelessly lost. "It's easy to get lost in research but there are no scholarly texts on this. We're powerless to do anything about it all." He couldn't stand not understanding, just as he could not stand being unable to help.