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Chapter Text

"Doc?"

Carlisle turned his head and found a teenage Stanley Pines standing before him with a fraying jacket and sunken features. No not a teenager, he would probably be in his early twenties at this point. He recalled just a few years ago when the boy was eleven along with his twin brother. Stanley had broken his leg playing on the beach and was brought in by his parents. He had a twin with six fingers--Stanford was his name. Stanley tried to act tough and cried only a little when he reset the bone. He had grown into a handsome young man, however he looked as if he had had a rough couple of years.

"You ain't changed a bit," the boy laughed, voice catching near the end and sending him into a coughing fit.

He hadn't expected to run into someone that would recognize him walking out of work to go home. He didn't know what the Jersey boy was doing all the way in North Dakoda, but he figured he had struck out on his own…

"Are you alright?" Carlisle asked instead of acknowledging the jibe at his age.

Stanley waved him off with a broad, but weak grin. "Healthy as a horse. Spit went down the wrong pipe."

Carlisle gave him a disbelieving look. "Are you here to check yourself in?"

"You know expensive the hospital is? I- uh- I was coming to check on someone…" His demeanor dimmed with a burden of emotions that Carlisle could not fathom their origin. Before Carlisle could ask anymore, Stanley was smiling at him. "Working here now?"

"Yes, I work here," Carlisle said, holding out his hand. "Dr. Davis."

"That's right," Stanley said, though he looked like he didn't believe it.

"I can take you up to the patient's room," Carlisle offered.

A bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "No, there's not a point. They- ah- they didn't make it."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

The young man turned his head away, but Carlisle could smell the saltiness of tears. "Doesn't matter."

Carlisle was at a loss for words.

"See ya 'round, doc," Stanley finally said, rushing to a car Carlisle assumed to be his. An El Diablo.

He peeled off at speeds Carlisle found comfortable for himself and his family, but knew had his heart been beating it would have sent it into cardiac arrest seeing the human Stanley do it. He was sure the tightening of his chest just now was the closest he would ever come to a cardiac arrest in his unnaturally long life.

He forced himself to calm down and assured himself that Stanley was grieving and needed time to himself. He would probably never see the boy again so he sent a prayer to the Father to look after the boy and guide him to safe shores before he continued home, not thinking anymore of it.

That moment came rushing back a month later when he came across the young man stumbling out of his car and throwing up a mixture of vomit and blood. Without thought, Carlisle was rushing as fast as he could without attracting undue attention and kneeling beside the young man whose brow was covered in sweat and face starting to blossom with bruises. His whiskey colored eyes were clouded and unfocused. He looked like he was just gotten out of a rough fight.

He flinched away from Carlisle's touch and snarled at him much like a wounded dog. "Whaddoyawant?!"

This was the opposite of the child and young man he had seen before so he could not act with familiarity. It would undoubtedly be ill received.

"I'm a doctor. I would like to check your wounds."

"Can't 'ford it," he grunted.

"I won't charge you."

He scoffed. "Usually that means a lost kidney or somethin'. No thanks."

Carlisle sighed quietly and leveled himself so he was eye to eye with the weakened Stanley. "I swear on my mother's grave… on my profession as a doctor that I will not charge you. Please, let me take care of you."

The young man's eyes began to water and he let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, r-"

He bit off whatever sarcastic comment he was going to say and threw up off to the side. The smell was just as wretched as the first. His arms were shaking under his weight and he collapsed with exhaustion. Absolute panic coursed through Carlisle and he immediately checked his vitals. His heartbeat had picked up and become weaker than he would have liked. Just a light check he could tell there's internal bleeding.

Stanley's eyes were more unfocused than before.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," Carlisle insisted.

Stanley gripped his sleeve with surprising strength. "No, the cops... George... they'll kill me."

The helplessness the immortal felt was immeasurable, however, something in him urged him to say, "Alright... I'll take care of you myself."

That seemed to help sooth Stanley's nerves enough that he fell unconscious. Carlisle figured Alice had already warned the others and focused on gently picking up his impromptu patient and rushing him home.

Little did he know, this action would change several lives. For the better or worse... that had yet to be decided...

Chapter Text

Stan was in pain when he woke up. His face, body and pride hurt more than he'd ever thought they were capable of. He should've known better than to make a deal with George. His reputation for being the worst of the worst preceded him, but the amount of money that was at stake was more than enough for him to turn a blind eye. After years of this, one would have thought he'd have learned by this point.

He cracked open his eyes and took note of his surroundings. He was not in his car or in a hospital or... anywhere that was familiar.

The room's walls were painted a blue-ish gray with darker blue accents to match all around from the curtains and rug to the comforter on top of him. It looked to be someone's guest room if he were to take a guess. He couldn't remember how he ended up here. What led to his?

There was a brief knock on the door before it opened- the one that doctors always used just before they barged in without further announcement- and there was the doctor he ran into a few weeks ago that he knew from when he was eleven. It explained the doctor's knock. From what he could tell, the man hadn't aged a bit in all those years.

"Good morning," the man said with a tight smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," he replied before it hit him this man knew him as a kid. Hearing him cuss would likely have thrown him off.

Luckily that didn't seem to be the case.

The man nodded and wrote something down on a notepad. “You had internal bleeding and have a concussion, a broken rib, a stomach ulcer and multiple cuts and bruises.”

“I’m not in a fancy hospital am I?”

“No, you requested that I not take you to the hospital,” the man replied with a look that said he disagreed with the whole thing entirely. “I had to acquire some supplies from the hospital to take care of your internal bleeding, but everything else I managed to take care of with the supplies I normally carry in my bag.”

Stanley eyed the doctor, wondering how shady he really was. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my home,” he glanced up from his notepad. “Do you mind allowing me to continue with a checkup?”

“Knock yourself out…”

He stood to his feet and took his stethoscope and used it to check his heart and lungs and then used a light to check his eyes.

“Everything looks well all the things considered. You smoke, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The man nodded to himself and wrote it down. “Alright. Mind answering some questions for me?”

Stanley eyed the man warily. “Depends on what they are.”

“Simple, I assure you. What is today’s date?”

It took a moment but he finally remembered. “March 17th.”

The man nodded and wrote it down. “Your name?”

“Steven James.”

The man gave him a reproachful look. “Your real name, please.”

Stanley shifted uncomfortably. “Stanley Pines.”

“Thank you,” the man wrote it down. “Do you recall my name?”

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“Dr. Carlisle Davis. I didn’t expect you to remember considering we haven’t seen each other in years and have run into each other once between then.” He finished writing and placed the notepad on his leg. “I have more personal questions considering you’re in my home with my family. Would you mind answering them?”

Guilt gnawed at his insides. “I guess…”

“Why are you in trouble with the law?”

“I plead the fifth,” Stan said out of habit.

“I don’t care about anything unless it has to do with violence,” Carlisle assured.

“Embezzlement, smuggling drugs and stuff like that. I wouldn’t hurt anyone ‘less they deserved it."

“Alright… and who is George?”

Stan felt his stomach drop at the mention of the man.

George White was one of the most cold-hearted crooks Stan had ever met in his life. Most of the crooks he knew had decent reasons- needing money or protection or seeing no choice- but this man did it for the sheer love of power. The things he had to do under that man’s unwavering green gaze made his stomach churn with regret. If he never saw that man again it would be too soon.

“Someone you never wanna meet,” Stanley said simply, chest tight.

Carlisle seemed to note his discomfort and leaned closer, golden gaze sympathetic. “Take some breaths and calm down.”

Several breaths later and he found himself calmed down enough to continue a conversation. The doctor’s presence was surprisingly calming considering Stan’s ingrained mistrust of most people. Maybe not ingrained, but it certainly had become instinct in recent years. Trusting everyone led to-

“Good,” Carlisle nodded, leaning back in his chair. “I’m keeping you on bedrest for the next few days-”

“No need for that, doc,” Stan insisted, already moving the covers of his legs. “I’m good to go.”

Carlisle moved faster than he looked capable of as he placed a hand on his chest to keep him still. The man was stronger than he looked too. “I insist. I’m invested in your well-being now. I’ve called in sick and let them know I’ll be out for a few days to ensure I don’t infect anyone else.”

“Why?” The questions left him before he could bring himself to bring back his filter.

“Because I remember you as a child and it seems you need help. I live a good thirty minutes from the city so you won’t have to worry about anyone tracking you here. I’m very persuasive so any police that come questioning will leave you alone. And your car was impounded so you have no way of leaving without my assistance.”

Stan scowled. “You didn’t bring my car?”

“I was a bit more concerned about keeping you from dying,” Carlisle deadpanned.

The young man’s face flushed from embarrassment. “I guess I should thank you for that…”

The man hesitated a moment before saying, “You’re welcome.”

Those words hung in the air for a while, leaving both men sitting there awkwardly.

Carlisle finally cleared his throat and stood to his feet. “My wife, Esme, made breakfast. I’ll bring some up for you.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed as he found himself lacking a response to that. He wasn't used to simple kindnesses from just anyone. Darryl’s wife had been really nice to him, making an extra plate of breakfast and cup of coffee for him any time he stayed over. He held her in high regard even if she knew the bare minimum of what he and her husband got into. This… this took it to another level. He didn’t know how to feel about this doctor doing impromptu emergency care on him in his own home for free.

“For now just rest,” Carlisle stood, leaving Stanley to his thoughts.

Chapter Text

The next few days Carlisle found Stanley to be… mistrustful. He didn’t need either Edward or Jasper’s gifts to know that he had been through recent trauma and didn’t feel comfortable with the situation. Considering the state he found him in and the less than savory activities Stanley confessed and implied himself to be in it was not surprising. Regardless, he had the rest of the family stay away from their house guest and only had himself interact with him.

Today- however- was his last day off and he wanted to ensure proper care so he decided to introduce Esme and Edward to him. It would set the young man more at ease knowing Carlisle was being cautious with having a criminal near his family than giving them free reign around him. Stanley would probably not trust his judgement as a medical professional otherwise. Not only that, but it ensured the young man had no reason to think of him and his family as anything but human due to the- admittedly unnecessary- precautions. With Edward “protecting” Esme, it would give him less reason to attack if he felt threatened. Edward was the only viable option as Emmett was too large and intimidating and Jasper's battle hardened demeanor would set Stanley on edge. Edward- at least- seemed the least physically imposing to most humans.

At breakfast he went up the stairs at a human pace with Esme behind him. She carried the tray of food he had taken to bringing the past few days without even the water and coffee stirring, which she would allow when she walked in.

Carlisle knocked and opened the door, looking at Stanley to make sure he was decent before he let Esme in. He imagined the young man would be embarrassed if he was indecent.

“Good morning,” Carlisle greeted. “This is my wife, Esme. Esme, this is Stanley.”

Stanley’s eyes flickered between the two before he smiled politely if not charmingly. “Nice t’ meetcha.”

“The same to you,” she replied, setting the tray in front of him. “While Carlisle’s at work, our son- Edward- and I will be looking after you. I’ll be sure to introduce him to you later. For now eat up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stanley said, waiting until she was out of the room to take a slow bite and savor his food.

Carlisle got the impression Stanley thought he’d not meet anyone else in his family.

He took his usual seat and crossed his right leg over his knee, his golden gaze on his patient as he ate for a few more moments before he averted his eyes to write nonsense on his notepad. He had noted this helped Stanley feel more at ease and he would rather not risk his ulcer worsening due to unnecessary stress. Each night he helped Stanley to the bathroom, shower, and change with complaints only coming from Stanley himself. Carlisle was just glad there was enough sense in his head and respect for his person that the young man listened to him instead of fighting every step of the way.

He glanced up when he heard Stanley finish eating and noted that there was still a significant portion remaining despite the food being easily digestible and light. A sure sign of starvation he had already noted and taken into account for further treatment.

Carlisle placed his notepad on his knee and looked directly at his patient. "How are you feeling today?"

Stanley scratched the back of his neck lightly. "Fine."

Another fight for information. He shouldn't have expected anything less. "Please elaborate."

A sigh from the injured party. "Still tender, but feeling better. The pain's not as bad if I move slow."

"Very good," Carlisle said, writing down the information. "And have you been able to keep down all your food?"

He knew the answer already, but he had to feign sleeping in order to minimize the chance of exposure. Stanley got up once during the night and it was to relieve himself. It was actually a pleasant surprise after three days of "waking up" in the middle of the night and attending to him as he hurled the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Perhaps he should have been glad Alice went as far as to buy pajamas before this situation even came about.

"Yeah. Didn't throw up at all last night."

"Very good." Carlisle's voice was a bit higher pitched to convey surprised delight at the progress. "I still don't recommend moving around too much, but I think it's safe to say you shouldn't need more than a couple of more weeks to be properly back on your feet."

Stanley groaned quietly. "I'll be fine, doc. Right as rain and ready to leave."

Time for a different approach. Sarcasm seemed to be something Stanley understood well enough.

"You have a medical degree?"

Stanley blinked. "Huh? No?"

"Then if you don't, what makes you think you an override a doctor's recommendation?" Golden eyes held steady with whiskey. "I know you're not comfortable with- as you call it- taking handouts, but this is my life's work. I love helping people, getting paid is merely a bonus. So, please, allow me to continue to care for you until you're fully healed."

Stanley hesitated. "Just a couple of weeks?"

"Yes, that's all I ask."

"Fine."

"Thank you." It was said as sincerely as he could convey through voice alone as Stanley wasn't looking at him. After a moment he pulled out the medicine and vitamins that Stanley had to take daily and handed over the correct amount of pills. "Please, take these."

Stanley popped the pills into his mouth and then took a gulp of water, whiskey eyes grateful.

Carlisle had dealt with many patients that lived rough lives and he was careful to keep the medicine locked away in a cabinet . He  only brought the amount needed each time. Regardless of the medical training the others in the family had, their home was not equipped to handle a human overdosing. He was sure to give every family member clear instructions on Stanley's care plan just in case he and Esme weren't able to be there. Edward and Rosalie- each having full medical degrees- could take care of him unsupervised if it weren't for the fact their ages would cause suspicion.

"Is there anything you would like in the meantime?"

Stanley shrugged helplessly. "Maybe a book?"

Apparently the television they moved into the room was is losing it's appeal. He needed other stimuli otherwise he would go mad in this room.

"What type of books do you like?"

The look on Stanley's face said he hadn't been asked his preference in a while. It was the same look he wore being asked what he wanted to eat. Carlisle mentally checked the young man's chart from when he was eleven and came to the conclusion he'd just turned twenty about a month prior. He was practically still a boy! He knew that parents typically just set food in front of their children and let them eat, but even such a simple kindness seemed to throw him off.

"Uh, I'm not picky."

Carlisle sighed quietly. "Alright, I'll be back with a book."

He picked up the tray and took it out of the room.

After making it down the stairs he flitted to the kitchen to started washing the dishes.

"He likes adventure novels," Edward informed from the living room, scowling at the chessboard between him and Alice.

"Thank you," Carlisle sighed as he places the dried plate in the pantry. "Did he think of any book in particular?"

"No. Perhaps Huckleberry Finn will interest him. Alice." He glared up at the psychic as she smirked.

"Just testing a theory," she insisted innocently.

Carlisle shook his head with amusement and made his way to his office instead of sticking around to figure out how Alice was irritating Edward. He would find out another time regardless of his interest.

It took only a moment to find the book he was looking for, but he dawdled in order to give it an appropriate amount of time for a human to clean and search for something.  Once a few minutes passes he made his way to the guest room and knocked, pausing long enough for Stanley to deny him entry before entering.

"I grabbed The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for you. I hope you enjoy it," Carlisle said as he walked forward.

There was surprise on the young man's face as he took the offered book. "Oh, uh, thanks."

Carlisle tilted his head without thought. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Carlisle hesitated a moment. "At lunch I'll introduce my son to you."

Stanley grew still but then nodded. "Alright."

Carlisle exited the room with a thoughtful frown on his lips.

Stanley was certainly an interesting character. From what he had discussed with Edward, Alice and Jasper, Stanley wa basically a ticking time bomb of festering emotions- particularly anxiety.

Edward informed them that he couldn't read Stanley's mind as thoroughly as he could everyone else and could only get mild impressions unless they were unwaveringly strong for more than a few seconds. Most of those strong thoughts consist of unpleasant things that Edward refuses to share anyone about as it was, after all, Stanley's personal business. He only advised for and against certain habits. The first things he advised Carlisle to do was always having his hands within sight, closing the doors softly and making sure his footsteps could be heard at all times.

Alice advised him on treatment, looking into the future to see what would and wouldn't work. If she saw something that would likely trigger their human guest, she was quick to warn him and allowed him time to change tactics.

Jasper had been a great help while he was in the house, letting him know when Stanley was feeling overwhelmed or was hiding it well, warning him when he was feeling sick.

Even with over a century of medical knowledge under his belt, he was grateful for their advice. It kept Stanley comfortable and that was all that mattered for his impromptu patient.

"You'll give yourself a headache thinking like that for so long," Edward mused from downstairs.

Carlisle gave an amused huff and made his way downstairs again. "Physically impossible for our kind, but I accept the sentiment behind it nevertheless."

Edward threw an amused look over his shoulder before returning to his chess game with Alice who was glaring down at the board.

Esme came downstairs with red and green paint on her cheeks. Carlisle allowed himself a smile as he gently cleans it off her cheek.

"Another project?" he asked.

"Yes. Something to add to Rosalie and Emmett's cottage in Maine," she replied with a sparkle in her golden eyes. "And before you ask, no you cannot sneak a peak. It's bad enough we have two vampires that know about it already."

Her pointed look to Edward and Alice was returned with innocent smiles.

He chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of ruining the surprise."

"I can just go up there now," Rosalie said as she entered from the garage absolutely spotless despite her tinkering with the cars the entire time.

Esme's eyes narrowed playfully. "You wouldn't dare."

Rosalie rolled her eyes with a fond smile as she settled on the couch. "Are we really keeping the human a few more weeks?"

"We have to," Alice piped up as she knocked over her king. "His injuries aren't gonna go away anytime soon and that ulcer alone would've nearly killed him if he hadn't been attacked."

"She makes a point," Carlisle replied. "I don't know his entire situation, but I know there's something more to this... he was a good kid and he's still a good kid. He's just been down the wrong path."

"Can he really be all that good being a criminal?" Rosalie asked. It was not sneered, but genuinely curious.

"I can vouch for him," Edward added in with a curious look on his face. "I don't know what it is about him, but I know he's a good kid. Misguided and possibly mistreated, but good nonetheless."

"Poor boy's probably been through too much," Esme muttered, gaze looking towards the stairs.

The room grew quiet with contemplation as they all thought over their human guest.

"All we can do is do the best we can while he's with us so he will go through no more," Carlisle finally said firmly.

Unknown to him, Edward and Alice shared a meaningful look.

...

Emmett and Jasper were back from their hunt just before lunch, both immediately starting to bug Edward in good fun who excused himself to help Esme get lunch together. Alice and Rosalie disappeared into Alice and Jasper's room to look over some magazines of the latest fashion. That just left Carlisle to check on their guest and allow him to meet Edward after.

“How is the book so far?” Carlisle smiled.

“It’s pretty good so far. I’ve only gotten a few pages in,” Stanley shrugged, a smile tugging on his lips. “I read Tom Sawyer as a kid so I’m looking forward to the rest.”

Carlisle found the twinkling in the young man’s whiskey eyes to be a blessing. Not once before had Stanley done anything to make himself vulnerable- not even showing he was enjoying anything except maybe the food given to him in a polite thanks. It made him look as young as he actually was- just a boy coming into manhood. A strong protectiveness overwhelmed him for a moment seeing the quiet, pure joy on Stanley’s face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Carlisle whispered genuinely as he marveled the sight

Stanley looked up with mild confusion from his food, but said nothing.

Instead of addressing that questioning gaze, he opened his notebook and fidgeted a little to set the human at ease. “When was your last bowl movement?”

Stanley made a face. “This morning after breakfast,” he answered before taking a sip of orange juice.

“Good. And how is your pain right now?”

“Pretty bad,” Stanley complained. “The meds’ve worn off already.”

“He’s lying,” Jasper warned from downstairs.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

Stanley fidgeted uncomfortably and muttered, “No, they’re still workin’…”

Carlisle sighed quietly and wrote it down. “You’re not getting extra medication from me. If you have too much in your system, you could die.”

Something in Stanley’s eyes said that’s the point and it broke Carlisle’s heart in new ways he wasn’t sure was possible. The first time he'd met Stanley he was a happy boy who had the most vivid imagination and big dreams. All he needed in life to be happy was his family. He had no idea what was happened to the boy between now and then, but his outlook on life was cynical and bleak and he knew injustice better than mercy. Yet Carlisle could see the remains of that little boy in his whiskey eyes during small moments.

After an unnecessary, steadying breath, Carlisle looked at Stanley with unwavering gold. “I hope that by the end of this visit… you can put a bit more worth in yourself. Until then, please enjoy the book. When you’re done set your tray on the nightstand and I’ll pick it up later.”

Stanley responded with a noncommittal grunt.

Carlisle closed the door after himself and heaved a quiet sigh.

Chapter Text

Stan had decided the Davis family is nice... but strange.

He could only make that assumption due to his limited time with them and the limited amount of information they had given him about the others.

He'd had the most interaction with Dr. Davis but he could tell the man had more layers to his character than anyone else he’d ever known. There was something suspicious about him. How he was so willing and able to take care of Stanley in his own house, his seemingly endless kindness and irrationally bright golden eyes. Mrs. Davis was- from what he could tell- motherly and kind without fault. Her golden eyes were always warm and remind him of his Ma almost too much despite the color difference- which considering his mother was a pathological liar wasn’t entirely a good thing. Their son, Edward- who also has golden eyes- was polite and surprisingly sharp for his age. He would have to keep an eye on him to keep from slipping on the more unsavory bits of his life. Carlisle was one thing, Edward was another matter entirely. He was still a kid.

He had heard that the second youngest, Alice, was eccentric and about as obsessed with clothes as most women were assumed to be- perhaps too obsessed from Edward's loving complaints. Jasper was the strong silent type who normally set others on edge but was apparently “such a sweet boy” as Esme insisted. Rosalie was like her name’s sake- beautiful with thorns- hard to get to know, but fiercely protective of those she loved. Emmett was apparently a large “teddy bear” who loved pranks and having a good time.

In the middle of these thoughts there was a knock on the door. The fact that it didn’t open immediately let him know it was either Esme or Edward.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened to reveal Edward whose golden eyes glint with mirth. “Good morning.”

“How do you always wake up in such a good mood?”

“I never sleep,” Edward shrugged.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Hardy-har-har.”

“It’s summer vacation, I’m not on a normal sleep schedule,” Edward shrugged again before leaning against the door frame. “Carlisle says you can come downstairs for breakfast. It’ll help you get your strength back.”

Stan felt a swell of joy at that. “Great. I’ll be down after my shower.”

“I’ll be in my room. Holler if you fall.”

With that said, he slipped out of the room, closing the door while he was at it. He heard another door close a not too far away.

Stan was absolutely ecstatic when he didn’t need help taking a shower anymore the previous week. He relished in each bit of freedom he got because Carlisle- unlike every shady doctor Stan had ever met- wanted him to be at full health before he left. He had this thing about him… almost like he genuinely cared.

Stanley snorted to himself. Yeah, right.

He took a nice, warm shower and got dressed in clean clothes. Esme insisted she didn’t mind doing his laundry on top of the loads of laundry she must have been doing for the rest of the family and even grabbed his clothes from his hands when he attempted to leave to do it himself. He found it strange, but... it warmed his chest and left him grateful.

He slipped on his sneakers and exited the room where he found Edward exiting his room.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” Stanley grunted.

He walked down the stairs gingerly with Edward hovering worriedly behind him. He made it down alright, but he was a bit breathless. He knew he would likely need help getting up the steps, but he hoped Carlisle would be back by that time to force his help on him instead of subjecting Stanley to ask for it.

The table had two of the four other teenagers sitting at the table. If he remembered correctly Emmett and Jasper were out on a camping trip with some of their friends since down south the weather was far more suitable for camping than where they currently were. Edward stuck around because he didn’t want to go apparently. So that left Rosalie- the beautiful blond who was taking a sip of orange juice- and Alice- the pretty black haired girl who is flitting about helping Esme get the last of breakfast on the table.

“Good morning,” Alice chirped, bright gold eyes curious as she looked at Stanley. “I’m Alice.”

I figured, Stanley thought as he took her offered hand and shook it. “Stan.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “You don’t like being called Stanley?”

“No,” he admitted. “Saves more time that way.”

She smiled. “Then Stan it is.”

Stan smiled back, charmed by her immediately. “Thanks.”

The blond stood- taller than him by a few inches even without heels on- and held out her hand, golden eyes observing him. “Rosalie.”

Stanley took it and notes how strong her grip was- like she was used to shaking hands with men who didn’t hold back when shaking hands with a woman. “Nice t’meetcha.”

“Breakfast is ready,” Esme announced.

The spread on the table was a sight to behold. She had outdone herself. If this was what it looked like for a regular breakfast he wondered what big events like Thanksgiving looked like in the Davis household. He tucked in with the rest of them and ate the most out of all of them- even Edward who was only seventeen.

Again, the Davises were strange. All- that he had interacted with- had flawless ashen skin, golden eyes with dark circles under them, and grace in every movement. Sure, all of them had varying features and Alice wa half-Japanese from what he'd been told, but they were all are too alike to be denied. None of them- except apparently Carlisle, Rosalie and Jasper- were related. If the boys he hadn’t met were anything like he expected, they would have the same things to cause a resemblance. It didn’t take a genius like his brother to figure that out.

Suddenly his appetite was gone and he found himself struggling to put away the last of his plate.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” Esme asked gently, golden eyes worried.

He glanced at the clock. About fifteen minutes until Carlisle returned from the night shift. “Not yet.”

He wanted to think of anything else except for-

"Are you gonna finish that?" Edward inquired as he sipped on orange juice.

Stan pushed his plate closer to the teenage boy. "Have at it."

"Thanks," Edward said, taking the last of his french toast.

"What type of music do you like?" Alice asked suddenly.

Blinking in surprise, Stan answered, "Anything."

Her forks rested against the plate. "Is there anything that's your favorite? I love Chain of Fools."

"An Aretha Franklin fan?" Stan asked, lips twitching up in a smile.

"She's the queen of soul," Alice insisted, giving the impression she'd had to defend her love of the song. "Have you heard that woman's voice."

"Oh, I'm not knockin' it," Stan assured as he raised his hands in defense. "Listen to her a lot. Listened to her growin' up cause she was one of Ma's favorites."

Alice shot Edward a victorious look. "See! I told you Aretha's great."

Stan's eyebrows raised in surprise. How could anyone not like Aretha Franklin? This he had to hear.

"I never said she isn't!" Edward argues, golden glare on Alice, but there's no heat behind it. "She's got a fantastic voice and she's one of the top artists for a reason. I'm just saying that I don't like Chain of Fools all that much. I'm not saying every song she put out is bad."

"She's very defensive about her favorite songs," Esme says quietly from Stan's right. Her golden eyes twinkle as she looks between him and her arguing children. "Edward's a particular fan of music so when he doesn't like something, she likes to annoy him by playing it as loud as the radio will go."

Stan chuckles in amusement. "Sounds like me and my- uh- my family. Argued over what songs to let play in the car and everything."

He wants to disappear or travel back in time to fix his mistakes. He wants to be able to talk about his past without the stabbing feeling in his chest every time he even thinks about them.

"What's your favorite song?"

He looks across the table at Rosalie in surprise, finding her finished with her meal. Her golden gaze is inquisitive and polite. As if she knows the train of thought he was going down and wanted to prevent it from getting worse.

"Oh- ah..." He felt- for once- a delightful pain in his chest as he gave a sad smile down to the table. "The Way We Were... that's my favorite song."

He could see his ma in the kitchen or cleaning or even just dancing to the song as it played on the radio. Her voice wasn't as perfectly pitched as Barbara Streisand's, but it was pleasant in it's own way as it rasped in harmony. It'd only come out within the past few weeks, but he knew his mother would love it the second he heard it.

"A beautiful song," Esme said quietly, cold hand touching his arm.

He looked up at her with her quiet sympathy. He forced a smile and turned back to the still arguing siblings when Edward's voice raised slightly.

"You leave Sinatra out of this!"

"He's overrated!" Alice bit back.

"Well that's unfair," Stan threw in his two cents, "he's got quality music. Just cause you don't like it doesn't mean it's not good."

"See!" Edward fussed, gesturing to Stan. "Stan agrees with me!"

Alice shot Stan a betrayed look.

Before Stan could stutter out a response the front door opened, saving him from having to respond.

"I'm home!" Carlisle called.

Stan pushed himself out of his chair in time with Esme and fled before Alice could sucker him onto her side. He walked as quickly as was comfortable which was apparently slower than Esme who flitted to her husband's side so she could give him a kiss on the cheek. Carlisle returned the sentiment and then looked up at Stanley with a pleased expression.

"It's good to see you up and moving," Carlisle said.

Stan gave a crooked grin. "Good to be up and movin' doc. You also just saved me from gettin' conned into another argument over music so thanks for that."

Carlisle chuckled quietly. "Let me guess... Edward and Alice?"

"Yes," Esme answered with an eye roll.

"Dad tell Edward that he's wrong!" Alice shouted from the dining room.

Rosalie slipped out and went to the stairs with a quiet "welcome home" thrown over her shoulder as she fled her arguing siblings.

"Get me back upstairs and I'll hold ya hostage long enough to keep them from draggin' ya into their argument," Stan offered.

Carlisle nodded. "That sounds like a deal."

"I'll take your bag," Esme offered.

"Thank you, dear," he said quietly, kissing her forehead as she took it from his hand. His attention returned to Stan and his smile softened. "Let's get you up stairs."

Going downstairs was much easier. Going upstairs was agonizingly slow and left Stan leaning onto Carlisle for support when they finally reached the top. Throughout the entire climb, Carlisle gave encouragement and didn't touch Stanley at all unless to keep him from stumbling back and falling. Even as he half-carried Stan into the guest room, he was praising him for his progress.

A swell of jealousy overwhelmed him for a moment. These kids had an amazing man as a parent if this was how Carlisle treated them.

Instead of going down that road he allowed himself to flop down on the bed and pulled the covers over his waist.

"Thanks," he panted.

"You're welcome," Carlisle replied as he settled in his chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," Stan admitted with a grin. "Feels good."

"The progress you've made is tremendous. You went downstairs with no help?"

Stan preened. "Not a bit."

"Fantastic. I'll bring lunch up and- if you're up to it- you can have dinner with us."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick with one meal a day for now," Stan admitted. "Try and minimize my chances of getting between Edward and Alice over their music."

A musical laugh. "I can't blame you. One of the reasons I took night shift today."

A barking laugh. "You ain't gotta tell me about it. Your kids are great. You're doin' a good job."

"Thank you," Carlisle replied with fondness coloring his voice. "Is there anything you need before I go to bed?"

"Just some music and I'm set."

"I'll turn on the radio and keep your door cracked so you can hear it," Carlisle said as he stands and places his chair back against the wall. "Goodnight... or morning?"

"Goodnight," Stan laughed.

A few minutes later music drifted in, a soft piano and humming. A familiar song. His favorite song.

"Memories at the corners of my mind. Misty water-colored memories of the way we were..."

Sorrow filled him and he doubled over despite the pain and sobbed quietly.

Chapter Text

Carlisle sat in living room, thoughts far from where he was. Several hours before he'd heard something he'd never heard in the time Stanley- Stan, Alice insisted- had been staying in their home. Crying.

The first song that came on was The Way We Were and it seemed to set something off in the young man. The smell of salt assaulted him when he climbed the stairs to check on him, pulled by the muffled sobs of the young man. It was only Alice's warning voice that stopped him from continuing onward. She insisted that Stan would react horribly to the intrusion and that was what led him to sitting downstairs with a concerned frown on his face.

Esme's hand was in his as she looked up towards where Stan was sleeping. She wanted to comfort the boy, but she couldn't. They weren't even supposed to know he cried in the first place.

"He thought a lot about his family," Edward informed from his place near the doorway. "It was vivid... something happened."

"The question is what," Carlisle insisted.

"We can't say," Alice said quietly. "You have to learn from him yourself. It's just gonna take time... probably a lot of time."

"I suppose that's all we can do," Carlisle sighed.

"It's for the best," Jasper said from his place next to Alice. "Emotions about the past are volatile... it can get pretty ugly if you step in before he's ready."

Carlisle nodded his acknowledgement. He couldn't push Stan too much otherwise it would be a backward step after making so much progress and gaining amicability.

Alice's eyes glazed over abruptly and confusion contorted her and Edward's faces with each passing second.

The entire living room of vampires grew unnaturally still, all watching and waiting for the inevitable reveal. Silent questions undoubtedly bombarded Edward, leaving him scowling lightly.

Easy, son, Carlisle thought as soothingly as he could.

Edward sent a grateful look his direction and then turned back to Alice. "When?"

"Phone call from Stanley's mom in two seconds," Alice rapidly whispered.

Lo and behold the phone rang two seconds later.

"Carlisle, you should answer," Alice finally said after the second ring.

He took an unnecessary breath and picked up the phone. "Davis residence, this is Carlisle speaking."

"Hello, Dr. Davis," the rough, feminine voice replied. "I'm Cassandra Pines, Stanley's mother."

"I recall," Carlisle said, sending a questioning look towards Alice and Edward who were silently communicating in the corner, ignoring him. "May I ask how you got my number?"

"Let's just say, I'm particularly attached to my boys and have a good feeling on them regardless of how far they are from me. How is my boy doing? Is he still having a hard time moving?"

Carlisle decided to question that later. "He's doing better, Mrs. Pines. He's still stiff and moves slowly, but with each day he grows stronger. Just this morning- er maybe yesterday morning?- he was able to walk downstairs for breakfast."

A breath of relief. "Good. Thank you for finding and taking care of my baby."

Carlisle gave a small smile and nodded despite her not being anywhere near him. "Of course. I'm happy to, ma'am."

"I have to ask you keep our conversation between us. My son worries too much about me and often lies about how he's doing to me," Cassandra said, her voice catching at the last word. After a steadying breath she continued. "Can you do that Dr. Davis?"

"Yes, ma'am, I can," he assured.

Many thoughts ran through his head, majority being questions. How did she get his number? How did she know her son's condition when he hadn't even made a call back home? If she knew that what else does she know? Was their secret compromised? Would she spread word of the truth and risk her life? The lives of others who she told?

"Despite my... occupation," Cassandra cut off his line of thought, "I can assure you any secrets you may or may not have will stay confidential. You saved my baby. I owe you everything."

Her voice wavered with what he assumes to be tears. The tears of a mother who kew she nearly lost her child.

"You owe me nothing," he said without hesitation.

Rosalie growled quietly, the only one to have voiced her disagreement.

"I do. This is the least I owe you. All I ask is... is that you take care of my baby... even... even after he gets better."

He gulped the venom building in his mouth with nerves. "Might I ask why he doesn't feel he can't come home? Surely he'd be better off with his family."

There was a long silence before she took a gulp of air. "Things are complicated. Stan... he's good with secrets. He's got too big of a heart to go back to what he was doin'. I can't... you're the only hope I have of keeping him safe. If he goes back out there he'll..."

The phone was moved and by the faint sound of cloth, he assumed the phone was placed on her chest in attempt to keep her sobs from being heard. He waited, not knowing if she would hear him at this point.

The phone was moved back into place and her breathing was labored, hitching occasionally when she spoke again.

"He'll die," his stomach dropped, "Maybe not physically, but he will. He will go down a road he can't come back from and it'll kill him. He's been lucky so far to just skim the top of the underbelly, but he'll go deeper. I feel it in my bones. His heart won't be able to take that on top of what he's already been through."

"What has he been through?" Carlisle asked, desperate to know more about the boy she was entrusting in his care.

"I don't... I don't know," she said quietly. "I just know the beginnings of it and nothing after he's been gone. I just know bits of the boy I raised are dead already, but he's still there. His core. He can be saved. He can be made better, but if you can't get through to him there's no hope."

"How can you be so sure? How do you know as much as you do already?"

The questions left him without his permission, but they were- admittedly- important despite their intrusiveness. If she already knew his family's secret then how? Nothing made sense. This human woman couldn't possibly have such connections could she?

"I'm not a complete fraud, Dr. Davis."

It all clicked into place.

He remembered her being a phone psychic, robbing people and giving them generalized predictions or telling them what they wanted to hear. After living with a real psychic he thought it was amusing when he looked back. He never would have guessed this woman would have had such a gift manifest without being changed.

"How?" He whispered. "How does it work?"

"My boys are my world. Anything pertaining to them, I know enough to make contact if needed. I know enough to know what they will become with or without help. Please, Dr. Davis, believe me. It's not so far fetched considering... your truths."

"What are our truths?"

"I don't know. I just know your truths are beyond my reach and I don't want to know them. They're your truths and if was necessary for me to know them, I would already."

Carlisle shared looks of confusion with his family. As many strange conversations as he'd had in his life he could honestly say this was one that left him speechless. Surely she couldn't expect them to keep a human around? It was already a risk having him in their home for so long healing. If he were to stay with them, his life would be in danger and their family would be in danger.

"How long are you expecting us to... take care of him after he's healed?"

"As long as it takes for him to heal," her voice was stronger and almost authoritative. "You'll find him hard not to love. You'll probably end up fighting to keep him around once he decides to wander again."

"Is that what you... see?"

She laughed. "No, but it's what I know. Stan's hard not to love. He's a goof and when he cares it's with his whole heart. It's hard not to love someone like him..."

Her voice had a sad lilt in the end, leaving him with just as many questions as before.

"Please..."

He looked to his family. Rosalie and Jasper seemed against it, Esme looked semi-hopeful, and Alice and Edward were nodding. Whatever it was Alice had seen, it was apparently worth the risk.

"We'll look after him, Mrs. Pines," Carlisle finally assured.

A breath of relief. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

Stan gritted his teeth as he went down the last few steps, trying his best to minimize the verbalization of his pain. The stiffness was easing, but it was not gone after a week of going up and down the stairs for one meal a day. He wondered if he should have push himself to do more, but by the way Carlisle often had him ease up, it seemed that he would have to tread carefully for a while longer.

As he settled on solid ground, Carlisle took most of his weight on his shoulder.

"You did great," the doctor praised with a genuine smile.

Stan gave a nod of acknowledgement, trying not to let the praise settle too hard in his chest.

He was settled on the empty couch and Carlisle took his seat beside the young man. At the moment the television was on I Love Lucy and Emmett was arguing with Alice over why his shirt was or was not an atrocity.

Emmett- Stan had learned- was an absolute clown and he knew that the argument was only done for his own amusement. Emmett absolutely loved getting under Alice's skin and seemed to purposefully wear the ugliest shirts, pants and shoes that he could find just for that purpose. Nothing irked her more than ugly clothes and Stan would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing her huffy over it.

"Stan! Tell him that shirt's ugly!" Alice demanded, turning to him with large golden eyes pleading with him.

He looked to the mustard yellow shirt Emmett decided to don with the collar popped up and one button undone. The fact that it was paired with brown slacks and black shoes made it work better than if he were to wear black. If Stan were honest, Emmett could have done much worse.

"It's not that bad," he finally said, smirking down at the girl whose eyes widened with betrayal.

Emmett burst into booming laughter, arms holding his stomach as he rolled back onto the ground.

"Stan!" Alice cried.

"He's done so much worse, Alice," he defended. "At least he's not wearing purple pants."

Emmett's eyes gleamed with mischief.

Alice shoved her brother. "Emmett, don't even think about it."

"Too late," Edward muttered from the love seat, eyes on the television.

One didn't have to be a mind reader to know that.

Alice groaned and fell back into Jasper's leg with a childish huff that brings laughter through the entire room.

Stan was trying his best not to get attached- he would have to leave as soon as the doctor cleared him (which apparently would take months rather than weeks given the ulcer). His first meeting with each person was filled with mistrust until he felt himself begin to relax around them. Jasper and Emmett were intimidating at first and he was wary, but with time he began to see them as normal boys. After coming to this realization- that while the Davis family were strange, they were normal people. It would be painful when he did move onto the next city to try and scrape by, but the attachment was hard to fight. Carlisle and Esme's unfailing kindness and care, Alice and Emmett's pleasantly chaotic presence, Rosalie and Jasper's dry and sarcastic sense of humor, and Edward's wry and insightful conversations were all magnets to him. They reminded him- in their own way- of something he'd lost what felt like eternity ago.

He bit his inner cheek briefly to ground himself in reality instead of drifting into the past or the future. He would have rather enjoyed the peace while it lasted before he was back in a sea of chaos.

A scoffed behind him caused him to turn his head and see Rosalie at the tail end of her rolling her eyes.

"You two are impossible," she said.

"You know you love us," Emmett said with a grin.

Her eyes softened at his smile, but she didn't reply.

He'd noticed that each teenager had their favorite of their siblings that bordered romantic, however, this wasn't his place to bring up. He'd rather have given them the benefit of the doubt since he'd seen more messed up relationships than anything that seems to be present in this family. If it seemed to be problematic, he would bring it to their parents' attention.

"Lucy, you've got some 'splainin' to do!"

Rosalie sat on Stan's other side and adjusted her hair so it wouldn't be pinned to the couch.

Stan self-consciously touched his hair, knowing it was getting longer than he preferred. He nearly had a mullet at this point. While the mullet was popular at the moment, he didn't want one. If it was a leftover ism from his parents, he wasn't sure, but either way it was too much work to clean. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper hair cut. The amount of times he'd contemplated cutting it with a knife would make a proper barber weep, he was sure.

"-not touching my hair!"

Stan's attention was brought back to Alice and Emmett who was holding his arms over his head protectively as if she already has a pair of scissors at hand. Her eyes were pleading.

"C'mon. Look at dad's! It looks good."

"I like my hair the way it is," Emmett insisted.

Stanley raised an eyebrow. She had cut Carlisle's hair? Perhaps...

"You can cut mine," Stan offered.

Alice turned to him with sparkling eyes. "Really?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not? I mean, if you mess up I can always shave it."

"I won't mess up," she promised.

"In the bathroom please," Carlisle begged.

Alice nodded enthusiastically. "Do you want your hair cut now?"

Stan assessed himself and felt he could make it to the bathroom unaided. "Yeah."

With a quiet grunt, he pushed himself to standing and took a moment to ensure he was steady before talking to the bathroom where he leaned against the counter. Edward brought a chair for him to sit on so Alice would have easy access to his hair and gave him a towel to wrap around his shoulders.

"Have fun," the teen called as he walked out.

Stan rolled his eyes, but settled down regardless. No sooner than he wrapped the large towel over his shoulders did Alice walk in with a comb, scissors, hair clippers, and a blow dryer.

She set up the bathroom sink nicely and then pouted at him. "You can't face the mirror! You've gotta be surprised."

Stan scooted the chair to be turned around and then raised an eyebrow at her. "Better?"

Alice beamed. "Much. I'm gonna give you the best hair cut."

Stan found himself relaxing quite a bit under her sure hands. She went about wetting the comb and raking it through his hair to make sure every bit of it was damp before she set to work. She never seemed to doubt herself and she hummed a merry tune as she worked. The best part was she didn't force him to talk at all. He just sat there letting his mind go blank.

He didn't realize he'd dozed off until a hand touched his shoulder and he opened his eyes with a quiet "hmmm?" to find Alice beaming at him.

"You're done. What do you think?"

He looked at his reflection and blinked. The hairstyle was classic like the movie stars he watched growing up. It was shorter at the sides and a bit longer on the top and slicked back in a way that left his curls in waves. He imagined if he had a mustache he could have been an imitation of Fred MacMurray. 

He reached back and slicked down his hair along the nape of his hair reverently, ignoring the itchy feeling of loose hair there. It looked good with his face and he was pleasantly surprised by that. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to recreate this look perfectly without the purchase of a lot of hair gel, but it was more manageable and he was sure he could wrestle it into submission when he left.

He looked like the respectable and successful young man his father wanted. That thought put a sudden pressure of emotion in his chest and he found himself struggling to breathe evenly.

"It looks great," he whispered.

Alice's eyes grew soft in the mirror and she lowered herself to kiss his cheek. "Thanks for letting me do this."

He blinked at the surprise act of affection and smiled, trying to keep from being awkward and sappy. "I outta be thankin' you." He gestured to himself in the mirror animatedly. "I mean look at me! I look more gorgeous than usual! I could be a movie star!"

Her golden eyes twinkled pleasantly. "Glad someone thinks so."

"Anyone who thinks you can't cut hair is an idiot."

She bursted into laughter, and hugged him. "You're the best. Can I trade Emmett for you?"

He chuckled awkwardly and scratched his neck over her arm. "I think you're better off with Emmett. The guy's hilarious and scares people more than me."

Not many took him seriously unless he had a weapon or he looked like he did before Carlisle took him in to take care of him.

Something in her demeanor dimmed, but her smile is still soft. "I dunno, put me next to you and anyone would think twice about hitting on me."

"That's just because they'll think I'm your dad. Have you seen this beard?" He gestured to the thin layer of hair on his chin. Stubble had always made him look older, but given a beard with how he looked before and he could pass as his own father.

"Dads are scarier than brothers. Trust me."

He couldn't even begin to imagine Carlisle angry and protective which made the very idea of it that much scarier. And the image of his enraged father came to mind immediately after, leaving him feeling cold inside..

"Y'got that right," he whispered.

Chapter Text

Carlisle was pleased to say that Stan's healing was progressing well. His bruises were faded, cuts were healed though some had scarred, his ribs were nicely healing and had not been unset, the ulcer had shrunk significantly if his scent was anything to go by, and he was strong enough to climb the stairs multiple times a day with no assistance. Stan had followed every order based on his health to the letter. He only needed a few more months before he was fully healed considering the ulcer.

The only hesitation he had on releasing the young man after his clean bill of health were Cassandra Pines' words.

"Take care of my baby... even after he gets better."

"He'll die. Maybe not physically, but he will."

Those words sent chills up his spine even if he couldn't feel the cold any longer. Those ominous words were spoken with such conviction, he found little room to doubt. He couldn't doubt because with little to no resources, she'd found his number, knew of the pitiful state her son was in and knew that his family had a secret. Alice was clear example of knowing the future being true and he was sure that some humans could tap into their abilities before changing. Perhaps Cassandra was an example of such.

Though he hoped with fervency she was wrong, but in his soul... in his soul he knew otherwise.

The young man was headed down a road with little to no return. He was in with the wrong crowd, one that went against his large heart and morals. He held little fondness for others, but he was not one to hurt someone irreparably. In the crowd he had surrounded himself with, he would have been forced to decide between himself and another and the boy was selfish enough to choose himself, but not enough to harden his heart to keep from being damaged by the choice.

Until Stan was fully healed, he would have to work with the young man to ensure he would be alright physically, mentally, and financially. He had no doubt he could find a job for Stan and provide for him until he got back on his feet properly, but it was a matter of pride for Stan. He would not accept handouts like that without fighting- he already had a hard enough time letting his family take care of him now.

But in order to help him, Carlisle had to get the young man to trust him. He could not help a patient that did not trust him to take care of them. Physically, Stan seemed to have no problem, but mentally? Even now, Carlisle knew he is too stubborn to easily give up information about himself. He still had no idea of what happened to lead the boy to where he was now.

He shook the thoughts from his mind and focused on the last few lines of paperwork he had to do before he went home. He would have plenty of time to think over Stan's situation later.

A knock on his door came right when he finished.

"Come in," he called.

The door opens and his "work wife," Dr. Jackie Brown entered with a quiet frown on her lips.

"What's wrong?" He asked apprehensively.

She grimaced and opened her mouth a few times before finally coming out and telling him the bad news. "Tim died."

Carlisle grimaced and sat back in his chair thinking about the young intern. He was promising, enthusiastic and one of the best men he'd met in this town. There wasn't a soul he couldn't uplift with his presence and it was a shame that he was taken so soon.

With a painful intake of breath he asked, "What happened?"

Jackie satin the chair in front of his desk wearily. "Wrong place at the wrong time... got ran over by a skidding car... he died on the operating table."

Understanding shot through him and he realized the strong scent of soap and disinfectant on her was from a recent surgery. It didn't take a lot to figure out that she was the one that performed the operation.

"Oh, Jackie," he breathed with sympathy.

Her eyes watered and she wiped her eyes fiercely. "I'm fine."

She wasn't.

He stood and walked around the desk to hug her. She broke into a sob and buried her face into his shoulder.

He'd only seen this woman cry once in his time at this hospital and that experience did not make this one any easier. Since a few weeks into settling into the hospital, they met every Monday morning before their staff meeting to discuss problems or work out how they expected the week to go and it was in one of those meetings that she received a call informing her that her father had passed. She was inconsolable for an hour and once she was calm enough, he convinced her to let him take care of putting in her leave and insisted she return home.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed into his coat, but he knew it was not for him. "I-I tried... I failed him."

"You did everything you could." She shook her head in disbelief. "Tim would never hold it against you."

Jackie knew better- he was sure- but having been the one charged with trying to save Tim's life and failing left a guilt that was difficult to overcome. He knew it would take her time, but he hoped to help her understand that this was not her fault. It was a lesson he had to learn the hard way himself over the centuries.

Finally, she calmed enough to pull away and she wiped at her face with hiccups shaking her instead of sobs. He turned and grabbed the tissue box on his desk and offered it to her to which she gratefully took it with a quiet word of thanks and set to making herself presentable again. He knew better than most that this woman would lock herself in her office for hours before letting anyone see her after a good crying spell.

"What do you need?" His voice was quiet so as not to break the unacknowledged tension in the air.

Her face crumpled. "I don't know. A drink?"

"I highly advise against that." He leaned back against his desk.

He waited patiently as she thought over his offer. Indecision and grief marred her face, but she was holding herself together. It seemed to be helping her find peace to return to the familiar mask of icy impenetrability she'd set her for herself. He was quite sure anyone who had spent more than an hour with her knew that she had a large heart full of sympathy and love.

"I need a day off and a long therapy session," she confessed.

"Tomorrow's your Friday," he said slowly. "I can call in Williams to take over your shift."

She scowled. "No, it's too short notice. I'll take Wednesday off."

He nodded. "Alright. I'll work it out before I go home."

"You just pulled a double," she reminded.

"Tomorrow morning then. All of this can wait until tomorrow. For now go home and take the time you need. If you choose not to come in, I'll figure something out."

She sighed with exasperation. "You're a saint."

He chuckled. "No, I'm no saint."

Jackie threw her tissues into the trash and stood abruptly with her mask firmly in place. Were her eyes not red, there would have been no sign of her having cried at all.

"I'll be in tomorrow. For now, go home. You need rest as much as I do."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a smile.

She exited his office with her shoulders back and strode purposeful. It was her 'I've-got-something-urgent-to-do' walk that never failed to get people to throw themselves out of her path.

Confident that she would be fine, he set about filing his paperwork and then drove home with thoughts racing over how the morale would be low his next shift. They would likely hold a small memorial to help everyone cope in the coming week and a number of the staff would be likely go to the funeral. He knew it would be difficult to walk in and not see Tim's warm smile as he greeted him or hear his jokes at the cafeteria or see the determination in his eyes when he worked with a patient. Tim had the makings of a wonderful doctor.

He was calm and comforting in the face of a grieving woman, but his grief was no less there.

He parked his car in the garage and hesitated at the door, trying to leave work behind. He had a family to focus on and a patient that needed to be checked on. Once he was calm, he walked in and was almost immediately assaulted by a tiny body.

"Welcome home," Alice said.

His shoulders relaxed and he hugged her back. "Thank you, Alice."

Carlisle was quick to notice the worried glances he'd being given and he shook his head minutely. He wanted to shower, change and relax.

"How was work, doc?" Stan asked as Alice walked over to the table.

He was surprised to see those eyes sharp and flickering about him to take in the minute details.

"It was fine," he assured.

The brief downward twitch of his lips was the only sign of his disbelief before they curl upward in a grin that reminded Carlisle of sunshine and laughter. "You missed another argument with Alice and Edward."

Carlisle relaxed a bit. "What was it this time?"

"Johnny Cash."

"I'm just saying, he stole all of his songs," Edward muttered under his breath.

"It doesn't discount his talent! His voice is great and you know it," Alice retorted.

"Enough, you just hashed this out," Esme snapped, worried eyes glancing towards her husband.

He walked over to her and placed a chaste kiss on her temple. "They'll find something else to argue about, I'm sure."

Stan leaned back in his chair so it balanced on two legs and tugged at Carlisle's sleeve for his attention. "When's my check-up, doc? I need to know if I'm escaping this madness now or later."

"Hey!" Alice cried out.

Stan turned a playful grin in Alice's direction. "Not you of course."

Edward laughed and earned himself a hit from the pixie-like girl.

"I'll steal you now if that's the case," Carlisle chuckled and led the way back to Stan's room.

Odd how it went from a spare room to Stan's. It felt as if he'd become a fixture in their lives at this point, especially knowing they would have him around quite a bit longer.

Stan sat on the bed and allowed himself to be poked and prodded in silence.

Carlisle could smell that the ulcer was still larger than he was comfortable with, but he wouldn't be broadcasting how he knew with the resident human. Stan's ribs were still tender, but they were still making progress since he had been taking it easy.

He wrote this information in his notebook and decided it was getting time to adjust his prescriptions to lower doses since he hadn't smelled of pain near as often.

"What's wrong?"

Carlisle startled and looked up into curious whiskey eyes. "Pardon?"

Stan shrugged nonchalantly and turned his head to look at the book beside his bed. "You seem off. Figured you might need an ear without the kids around."

It was with those words that Carlisle was hit with the sudden realization that Stan cared. His gruff, nonchalant demeanor was undermined by his glance towards Carlisle and the tense set to his shoulders. It was... endearing to know this. He supposed no one spent every day with each other for nearly two months without developing a bond.

Deciding to test the waters on this tentative development, he sat on the bed beside the younger man and released the sigh he'd held in from the moment he'd learned of Tim's death.

"I lost a coworker today," he confessed quietly.

Stan stiffened beside him as if surprised at the confession. It took several moments of fidgeting with his book before he spoke with a quiet voice.

"What was his name?"

Not what happened. Just asking about the person that Carlisle lost and assuming they were close enough that it would warrant a bit of grief on the doctor's part. It made him smile even if the grief hit him a bit harder now that he was acknowledging it.

"His name was Timothy White."

Stan leaned back onto his arms, discarding the book. "Tell me about him."

And Carlisle did. He told him about his first meeting with the boy and how much potential he saw from him in the beginning. He talked for far longer and about far more than he thought he would about the boy and how much he'd miss him. By the end he was emotionally exhausted and his head was bowed forward.

Fabric shifted and soon a comforting hand was placed on his shoulder. Carlisle turned his head to look at Stan who looked back at him with sympathy glittering in his eyes. He didn't need anymore than this look to come to the conclusion that Stan understood what Carlisle was going through.

"Thanks."

He blinked. "For what?"

A small smile twitched into existence. "For sharing. I know it sucks and it's hard, but... y'know..." He awkwardly returned his hand to his side and looked away from him with his cheeks flushed. "Thanks..."

Carlisle smiled. "Thanks for listening."

Stan shrugged. "Any time, doc."

Chapter Text

Stan laid in bed far longer than necessary with his mind racing.

He hadn't called his mom the entire time he had been with the Davis family and she would be worried to death. He wanted to avoid it, but he knew the longer he didn't call her, the more trouble he would be in. It was not something he wanted to face even from over a hundred miles away. He had always been under the impression she would appear suddenly if he didn't call after more than three months. He was expecting her to appear with this phone call.

He groaned and rubbed his face. "You're a grown man, you can do this."

It was not like he had the excuse of his entire memory being erased. He'd had the number to house memorized from the time he was five.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he got up and went about his morning ritual of cleaning up before presenting himself to... none of the Davises. He'd briefly forgotten majority were out today. He'd have to use the phone soon otherwise he wouldn't call. He would put it off again.

He walked down the stairs, incredibly glad he could do so with no support. When he walked into the kitchen there was a small plate for him in the fridge since it was well past breakfast time and the others probably already ate. There was an omelet with some sausage on a plate wrapped in saran wrap.

He took it out and ate his breakfast cold as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He eyed the phone on the wall near the kitchen entrance the entire time. He stared at it even after washing his dishes. He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and fought with himself.

Edward wandered in and stopped just in the doorway with a confused expression. "What did our phone do to you?"

Stan let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Nothin'. I need to make a call and I'm not looking forward to it."

Edward shrugged and walked by him to get a glass from the cabinet. "Either call or don't. It's not like whoever you call can reach through the phone."

"Don't underestimate people," Stan muttered as Edward filled his cup with water. Deciding to jump on another topic, he looked over at the bronze-haired boy. "School's coming soon."

The groaned he got in reply made him grin.

"Don't remind me."

"Ah, don't be like that. Eventually you'll be done with school and then you can do whatever you want."

The smile on Edward's face made Stan feel like he was on the outside of a joke. "Yeah."

He decided to drop that line of thinking and waited until Edward left to make his call. He didn't want to have this conversation with anyone around which was why he was waited for most everyone to be out of the house. Esme was grocery shopping, Emmett, Rosalie, Alice and Jasper were out of town shopping (only Alice seemed to be over the moon about it), and Carlisle was at work. That only left Edward.

"Good luck with whoever you're calling," Edward called as he walks out.

It was only when he heard the door close upstairs that Stan took a breath and walked to the phone.

Before he could change his mind, the number was dialed and he had the receiver pressed to his ear. With each second that passed, he wanted to hang up more. What if it wasn't his Ma that answered? What if-

"Pines residence, Cassandra speaking."

An odd mixture of relief and apprehension roiled inside of him.

"Hey, Ma," he said with a reluctant smile.

He could hear her intake of breath.

And then the tirade began.

He cringed and took the beratement without complaint.

"Stanley Richard Pines, you don't call me for six months and you decide 'hey' is just fine?! I've been worried sick! Do you have any idea how much sleep I've lost over you? And you call like it's all hunky-dory? Like it's normal to go half a year without calling your mother?"

The familiar and effective guilt trip.

At least she didn't appear in front of him to beat his chest.

He sighed into the phone. "I'm sorry, Ma. I've been... held up a bit. I promise to call you more often."

When she spoke, it's calmer, but filled with the worry she was talking about prior. "Are you alright, baby?"

His chest tightened painfully and he had to close his eyes to keep from crying as he lied through his teeth. "I'm great! I've been livin' it up and have every luxury you can ask for."

"That's great, sweetie," she whispered.

She knew he was lying. He'd learned from experience it was difficult to lie to a liar and even harder when that liar was the one that raised you. He was just glad she didn't call him out on his bluff.

"How's everyone doin'?"

A safe topic.

"Doin' well... Shermie's got another kid now."

It took a lot for him to force his voice to be cheerful. "That's great! What's the little gremlin's name?"

"James Robert. He's a cute little thing. Damned kid can't let me sleep a wink when he's over though." Despite her complaints, he knew she loved that little tyke to death.

He laughed through the tightness in his chest. "That's your fault for letting him spend the night."

He could practically see her glare. "Watch it."

"Sorry," he muttered insincerely.

"Shermie says 'hi' by the way. Told me to tell you when he came over last week."

"Tell him I say hey and congrats on the new gremlin."

"I will... Mary-Ann asked after you too. She wants to see her uncle."

His heart squeezed so tight he felt like he couldn't breathe. He hadn't even gotten to know his niece- he'd only seen her as a baby before he left- and she was three years old now. He knew his Ma's told stories about him to her, hoping that one day he would come around and spend time with the family, but he didn't see himself seeing her any time soon. He couldn't show his face to his family again until he made a fortune to rub his Pa's face.

"I can't right now, the job's got me workin' around the clock. I'll try sometime in the summer," he lied.

He'd said that every year since she could say his name.

"I'll let her know."

She wouldn't. It wouldn't do to get a little girl's hopes up.

He cleared his throat. "Hey, uh, I gotta go. I just wanted to check in."

She hesitated. "Alright. I love you, baby."

"I love you, too, Ma. I'll call you again soon."

"You'd better," she growled. "Bye, baby."

"Bye, Ma."

He hung up the phone and felt completely drained.

The heel of his hands pressed against his eyes in an attempt to calm himself down. He couldn't break down crying in the middle of the kitchen when anybody could just walk in.

But he missed his family. Hearing his Ma's terms of endearment and hearing about his niece that he'd met only once and his newborn nephew that he'd never met struck a painful cord. He'd never even met Shermie's wife- he thought her name was Samantha or Amanda or something. He knew he couldn't expect his family to stay put while he was gone, but he never expected time to move so rapidly. They were all moving on without him as if he was never part of the family and it hurt that he was not a part of it.

He took in a shaky breath to calm himself. It took several to make the ache in his chest bearable and the sting in his eyes receded. When he was finally calm, he lowered his hands and looked around as if he was in a completely different dimension.

He didn't belong here. He disrupted this family's entire life and he was soaking it in like he could be family... like he wouldn't end up messing up again and being kicked out like before. They were no replacement for his family...

Despair sunk into him as he stared aimlessly about him.

A drive... I need to go for a drive or something, he decided. A drive always cleared his head and made the horrible thoughts that crept in go quiet. It was a need that he hadn't had in his time here since the first few days.

He rubbed his chest absentmindedly and glanced towards the garage. Maybe they would have another car that he could hotwire?

The sound of the garage opening startled him and he realized that plan would have to be put on the backburner. Either Esme or the kids had gotten back and he had the feeling that the thought he'd just had would be frowned upon.

Before the door could open, he rushed to the stairs to get to his room. He couldn't stand the thought of looking at any of the Davises in the eyes.

As soon as he was in the relative safety of his room the destructive thoughts assaulted him again. The pain in his chest hurt enough that he was itching for release, but he was at a loss as to how to go about it. He couldn't pick a fight- it wouldn't be right to do that with the Davises- and he couldn't practice boxing because his ribs were still healing.

He dug his nails into his palms to focus on the physical pain instead of the emotional one.

I just want to sleep...

He glanced at his bed and decided that would be for the best. At least in sleep, he wouldn't have to think.

With that in mind, he fell into the bed and drifted off.

A gentle hand shook him to consciousness. The world outside was dark so he knew he'd slept through lunch. With more effort than should have been given to such an action, he turned his head to look up at Carlisle whose eyes were filled with concern.

"Hey, doc," he grumbled as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

"You missed dinner, do you want me to bring something up?"

The thought of food made his stomach churn unpleasantly. "Um... not right now... later."

The concern seemed to grow in the good doctor's eyes. The silence stretched to such a length that Stan thought Carlisle would leave the room with just a word of good night when he slowly sat on the edge of the bed near Stan's feet.

Stan just stared at him, not having the energy to get annoyed and send him out with assurances.

"What's wrong?" Carlisle finally asked in a quiet voice.

It was a loaded question, more loaded than when Stan had asked a nearly a week ago. Because of this, he did what he had done best.

"Just tired," Stan lied.

Thankfully, Carlisle didn't push the issue.

"Alright. If you need anything, I'll be up a bit longer."

Stan nodded and watched the man exit the room. He collapsed backward into the bed and stared at the ceiling with what felt like a gaping hole in his chest. He'd experienced this often enough over the years away from home and each time he'd trudged through. This was the first time he'd had the luxury to wallow more than a few minutes in a long time.

He took a few deep breaths and turned over, hoping that by the morning his old wound would be scabbed over.

Chapter Text

It was incredibly obvious that Stan was depressed.

Whatever had transpired had brought him from ribbing at everyone as if he'd known them all his life to making half-hearted attempts of normalcy. The spark that once lit up his face turned non-existent and the amount of food he eats is nowhere near the amount that he needs to sustain himself and he stays in bed longer and longer. If there was one word to describe how this shift made him feel, Carlisle would be remised to use any other word than 'disconcerted.'

His family, preparing to go to their new school, were overwhelmingly distracted by the changes as well. He'd found Edward and Alice having silent discussions several times and Jasper had had to leave the house to get a break from the despair that threatened to crush him. He only wished he could figure out what Stan needed.

To his surprise, it was Rosalie that decided to reach out to him over dinner.

"Hey, have you worked on cars?"

Stan startled and blinked owlishly before getting his bearings. "Uh- yeah. I've worked on my car since I was fourteen."

"Maybe you can help me with a project I'm working on. Our car is out of commission and I'm gonna be tinkering with it tomorrow," Rosalie offeed.

"That..." He smiled. "That sounds great. I'll help you out, kid."

Rosalie smiled in return. "Thanks."

Carlisle whispered a quick 'thank you' in her direction as he brought the medium rare steak to his his lips. A pet project would likely give him something to focus on and help distract him. While Carlisle didn't advise anyone to put off confronting their emotions, he knew well enough that Stan would likely explode if made to do so.

Edward seemed to pick up on something and he offered, "Maybe we can all go see a movie. You've been stuck in the house for a while, so you've gotta be getting bored."

Stan glanced at Carlisle, seeming to be asking for his advice or permission. After all, he wa staying inside the house to limit the chances of running into George or any of his people. It wouldn't do any good for all the work done to make him healthy was undone by a mistake like that.

But despite that, Carlisle knew his "children" would keep him safe. He needed to get out more and if this could help him, then Carlisle wouldn't stand in the way.

"That sounds like a good idea," Carlisle said. "How many of you are going?"

"I wanna go!" Alice piped up immediately, putting on an eager expression though he could tell she was tense, looking for an excuse to keep a close eye on Stan.

Edward raised his hand slightly to signal he would be going.

"We can make it a family outing and we all go," Emmett suggested before turning to Stan. "What type of movies do you watch?"

Stan shrugged, shoulders a bit tense. "I'm not picky. Whatever youse guys wanna watch."

His wife reached over and grasped his hand. "I think it will be lovely to go out as a family. Will you be able to join us?"

He squeezed Esme's hand lightly and smiled. "Tuesday will be a good day to go. I'm off all day."

"It's settled!" Alice grinned. "I'll look for the movie."

"Make sure it's after nine," Rosalie insisted. "I'm not getting up any earlier than I have to."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Of course, Sleeping Beauty."

Carlisle wiped his mouth once finished with his food and was disappointed to see Stan's plate was still half-full. He needed more food than that and already Carlisle could see he was losing some of the weight that he had regained from his time in their home.

Once the dishes were collected, the family dispersed. Edward washed the dishes, Jasper and Emmett roughhoused in the living room, Alice went up to her bedroom to see which movie everyone would enjoy and Rosalie started talking with Stan about the car they would be working on.

Esme took his hand and laced her fingers with his. "He's still not eating..."

He sighed quietly and squeezed her hand. "I know... hopefully with a project he will be more at ease."

"He needs the distraction," Edward piped up as he placed a plate in the dishrack. "His thoughts are more clear lately..."

Carlisle recalled that Edward could only hear Stan's thoughts if his emotions were strong or if his guard was let down. It would make sense- in his depression- Stan's thoughts would be fairly clear to him. Hearing this made him worry all the more.

"It will work out," Alice assured from upstairs. "We just need to give him time and be there for him."

"Is there anything more we can do?" Esme asked.

Carlisle leaned back with a defeated sigh as he shook his head. "There is nothing more we can do."

Esme leaned her head onto his shoulder. "I just hope it will be enough."

Edward turned off the water and dried his hands. "It will be. As... close-off as he is, he's a gentle soul."

His son seemed to want to say more, but he pointedly refused as mental privacy is important- especially for someone as private as Stan was about anything not pertaining to the present. Carlisle could only assume Stan would fly into a blind rage if it was found out that Edward spread word of private information from whatever thoughts he'd picked up.

"For now, let's focus on preparing for the movie," Carlisle suggested.

It was a relief to see Stan smile again. Time with Rosalie working on her car led to the both of them bonding and giving Stan a much needed distraction in his time of depression. Carlisle was both surprised and delighted to see that Rosalie's eyes twinkled with fondness every time she set her gaze on the young human man. It was not unlike when she looked at her siblings (when they were seamlessly getting along). He supposed each of them had become quite taken with the boy. It was as Mrs. Pines had said- he was easy to love.

When it came time to go to their chosen movie- one which he had failed to ask what it even was yet- they all piled into a large SUV with Carlisle at the wheel. Occasionally he glanced into the rearview mirror and would find Stan grinning over at one of the others or leaned forward to talk to Esme. It seemed he was more excited than he let on to the fact that he was out of the house for once.

Carlisle dropped off the group at the front of the movie theater and then found a parking. By the time he made it over to the doors, Esme had already paid for the tickets and everyone was walking inside with the door being held open by Jasper.

"Thank you, Jasper," Carlisle nodded toward the younger man.

Jasper nodded back and then made his way inside, gravitating toward his wife.

"What movie are we seeing?" Carlisle whispered to Esme.

"The Hello Gal," she answered, handing him his ticket and lowering her voice for the next sentence. "Alice says Stan will love this."

That at least, he was grateful for. None except Alice and- to some extent- Edward were aware of what would trigger a negative reaction from the human man and none were willing to take that risk.

Carlisle paid for two buckets of popcorn, a slew of snacks and drinks, and herded his younger counterparts towards the theater. The lighting was dim, but not near as dark as it would be if the movie had already started. Alice insisted on sitting in the back row, which no one argued with and they took up the middle seats.

He stood to the side with his wife as the children decided on what order to sit. Emmett and Rosalie went first, followed by Edward and Stan, then Alice and Jasper. Just two seats were left at the end of the isle and Esme took the inner seat while Carlisle settled in the outermost, hand immediately finding hers and their fingers twining together.

"Why did you pick a chick flick for all of us anyway?" Stan asked quietly.

"Because me and Rose wanted to see it and we're Carlisle's favorites," Alice replied in a sing-song voice.

Stan leaned forward and looks at Carlisle for confirmation, but thankfully they were quiet enough that Carlisle could send a confused look in his direction. After all, he'd never been in the habit of choosing favorites since he loved all of them fiercely.

"They definitely are," Edward muttered to Stan.

"It's not like we didn't already know," Emmett assured with a grin as he shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Edward wadded up a napkin and tossed it over to his brother. "You'll need this."

"Thanks, bro," Emmett said around his popcorn.

Esme leaned over and gave him a stern look. "Emmett..."

This earned a gulp and a "sorry, ma" just in time for the room to grow darker.

Carlisle leaned back into his seat and rubbed his thumb along his wife's knuckles as he watched the movie.

He could say it is an enjoyable movie, even if it was not one he would watch on his own. A woman and her daughter lived in New York with the woman's boyfriend who rented out his penthouse to another man- an aspiring playwriter. The two fell in love and it was every bit as cheesy as one could expect, but that was the joy of watching romance films. The most endearing thing about the whole experience was that, for all his complaining, Stan was thoroughly invested, muttering under his breath at stupidity and crying during tender moments.

A gentle soul indeed, Carlisle thought with a small smile as he saw the young man wipe at his eyes for the eighth time in the last ten minutes under the guise that he was bored to tears. Anyone with eyes could see that it was a front, but they allowed him to have his pride.

When the lights turn back on, it was easy to see he had cried, but with a warning look from Carlisle, no one mentioned it.

"How did you like the movie, dear?" Esme asked as she wandered over to Stan and twined her arm with his.

"It was alright," he shrugged. "Couldn't see 'cause I got butter in my eyes, but it was decent."

Esme smiled endearingly at him and patted his arm. "Maybe next time be more careful when you eat popcorn. Maybe rinsing your eyes will help?"

He shrugged. "I think I'll be fine, but... thanks."

This gratitude was heavy, as if it was meant to cover more than just bringing him to the movies. It seemed he was trying to encompass every act of kindness thrown at him by their family in his thanks and it made Carlisle's chest ache pleasantly.

"Any time," Esme promised, gently pushing a stray strand of hair back into place.

He smiled down at her with utter adoration. "Are we going someplace else or are we going home?"

Alice leapt forward, wrapping her arm around Carlisle's. "Can we go shopping? The mall here is so much better than in town."

Any fight he could possibly put up left him with an indulgent sigh. "Alright."

Chapter Text

Emmett climbed out and closed the door after himself, turning to look at his parents expectantly.

Esme had already given them money to splurge- even Stan who would've protested harder if she didn't insist it was for helping Rosalie with her car- and she and Carlisle were still sitting in the car.

"Carlisle and I are going to the museum down the road and we'll be back in two hours," Esme said, giving Alice a pointed look.

"Remember to stay together," Carlisle insisted as he leaned forward to make eye contact with them. "Stan and Jasper are in charge."

"Why not me? He's my twin," Rosalie demanded with a huff.

"Because he pays attention more than you," Carlisle deadpanned, something Stan sometimes forgot the man could do.

Edward snickered beside him, shaking his head when Stan gave him a confused look.

"See you in two hours," Emmett cheered.

"Two hours," Esme confirmed just before they drove off.

"Get ready for a day of shopping with Alice," Edward snickered.

Stan shrugged. "It can't be that bad..." He looks between four faces of varying degrees of pity and humor. "Can it?"

"No, it isn't," Alice snapped, glaring at her siblings and then grabbing Stan's hand in her cold one. "Let's go! There's gotta be some good sales."

Stan walked with the crowd of teenagers, feeling dazed. He hadn't chaperoned anything so... mundane in years. Scratch that, never. Babysat? Sure. Been in charge of a bunch of teenagers? Not once. He consoled himself in the fact that they were all teenagers and not kids that could wander off. If anything, he would have to make sure the girls were never alone since he figured the boys could handle themselves.

He glanced at Edward's lean frame and pictured him going up against someone Emmett's size and rethought that. One big, intimidating guy for each of the younger siblings should have been enough to detour any creeps.

And he knew his fair share of creeps.

He nearly groaned when the first store they walked into was JCDime's where Alice went straight to the men's section with every intention of playing dress up with them. He wondered if it was too late to grab Edward or Rosalie and flee before Alice could notice.

"Stan, you should try on this jacket," Alice said with a mischievous smile.

The answer was clearly no.

He looked for any bit of help and the boys had wandered away to look for something that they might have wanted for themselves. No help from them.

Regardless, he was a sucker for the bubbly pixie and so he took the deep brown leather jacket and pulled it on. He wasn't sure why he wasn't surprised she chose the right size for him, but he was surprised that he liked it so much. He looked into one of the mirrors on a pillar and smiled.

"Not bad, kid," he praised.

Her eyes sparkled with delight. "You should get it! Winter is coming."

"Well... yeah, I guess it is," he shrugged, looking at the price tag and knowing in his heart of hearts if Esme didn't give him money for helping Rose he would have never been able to afford this. "But I dunno..."

"If you don't get it, I'll just convince mom to get it for you," Alice insisted.

Rosalie shook her head. "You're better off not fighting it. Alice is a force of nature."

He took off the jacket and decided that he would give into her whims this one time during this trip, but he wouldn't let her talk him into buying anything else. He was not made of money and he couldn't afford to be indebted to this family regardless of how fond he had become of some of them. Besides, if the money Esme gave him remained his, he would have to save as much as he could for when he inevitably went on his way.

This seemed to make her happy because she left him alone to bug Rosalie into trying on "the perfect dress" she spotted when they walked in.

"And so it begins," Edward said ominously.

Edward was right, of course. Alice convinced each family member to get one thing from JCDime's before she decided that they were to go to Cole's on the other side of the strip. Stan found himself sitting off to the side often while Alice forced her siblings to model for her the outfits she picked out for them. He did not envy them. They continue the trend of going from one side of the strip to the next with Alice rarely modeling herself, but subjecting her siblings to it. Out of all the siblings, Emmett was the only one that seems to have as much fun as Alice.

Stan checked his watch in one of the newer shoe stores, having figured they were near their time. They had about ten minutes left before Carlisle and Esme returned from the museum.

"Alright, kids," he said, though he looked at Alice specifically. "We've got ten minutes left. Wrap it up and we're heading back."

Edward lifted his chin and thanked the heavens for the end of their shopping trip.

"Are you going to buy anything in this store?" Jasper asked with an amused grin.

Alice stood there with a contemplative expression before she smiled and shook her head. "No, not this time. We can always come back later."

"You mean you can always come back later," Edward said.

"I mean we."

Stan walked between the two and waved his hand, not in the mood for their particular form of bickering. "Alright, alright, let's go."

After putting away the shoes that were tried on, Stan and Jasper herded the group to the front entrance where Carlisle and Esme pulled up two minutes later.

"Did you have fun?" Esme asked with a knowing glint in her eyes as they all climbed in.

"Yes!" Alice chirped.

Carlisle looked into the rearview mirror, eyes crinkled with amusement. "And what about the rest of you?"

"My feet are tired," Rosalie complained, "but otherwise, it was fine."

"Are we getting something to eat?" Emmett piped up.

"Yes, Emmett, we're going to get food. What does everyone want?" Esme turned in her seat to look at them.

Alice piped up, "What about steak'n'shake?"

With no arguments, the family headed to the nearest steak and shake. Stan had quite a bit of difficulty keeping Emmett from launching some of his fries at Edward, but he managed. This day, if nothing else, convinced him that he didn't want to be a parent any time soon. How Carlisle and Esme delt with five teenagers in the house, he had no idea. Their main holdup for leaving was the fact that Alice wanted to overstuff herself rather than take home leftover because "they didn't taste as good reheated," but Emmett argued that if she didn't eat it anyone else would. Relenting, Alice got a to-go box.

When they returned to the house, everyone was lethargic. Emmett fell onto the couch and was nearly piled onto by Jasper, Alice and Rosalie while Edward managed to trudge upstairs to go to his room. Stan chuckled at the sight and shared a glance of amusement with their parents.

Esme ended up grabbing a blanket and draping it over them. "Happy napping everyone."

"Night," Jasper and Rosalie managed while Emmett and Alice seemed out like a light.

Stan grinned and ruffled Jasper's hair as he passed by to go put away the leftovers.

Today was a good day...

Chapter Text

He should have known things had been going too well.

Stan was in higher spirits after the family fun day, and it had helped in his healing process. He seemed to be falling into a pattern that seamlessly melded him into the family. More importantly, he had more genuine smiles (even if most were still tinged with sadness and some with fear).

Carlisle had bid Edward, Alice, and Jasper a happy hunt some hour before and moved onto helping Esme with laundry with music playing in the background.

It was as they are folding clothes that it happened. He had one of Alice's jeans in his hands and was folding it in half over his arm when a raw and unfamiliar blood curdling scream caused him to accidentally tear the material in his hands- an incident that hadn't happened in centuries- in his haste to run up the stairs to Stan's aid.

"Slow down!" Emmett shouted just low enough not to carry to the man's room.

The reminder would have been discarded if it weren't for the fact that Stan himself was safer in ignorance of their secret. So, with that, he forced himself to wait at the foot of the stairs and count.

1... 2... 3... 4... Esme's breath was wheezing as if she was holding back tears. He knew she desperately wanted to help Stan as much as he did. 5... 6... 7... 8... Rosalie broke the arm of the couch when another scream erupted. Carlisle took a tentative step up the stairs. 9... 10... 11... 12...

Emmett shook his head. "Not yet, just a few more seconds."

There was a short, gasping breath before there was another scream.

13... 14... 15... 16.

Carlisle flew up the stairs and only slowed when he got a few steps from the door just in case.

When he threw open the door, Stan was tangled in his sheets and in the throes of a nightmare. Wordless screams tore through his lips as he tried to escape, but he only succeeded in entangling himself all the more. The low light caught on Stanley's glistening cheeks, allowing Carlisle to understand that the young man was crying.

"Stanley," Carlisle called out from beside the bed, wary of touching him in fear of the thrashing giving the young man a bruise. "Stanley, wake up! It's just a dream!"

He touched Stan's warm cheek, and this made whiskey eyes snap open and suddenly a fist was headed towards him. Thankfully, Carlisle had greater reflexes and backed away before the fist could land on his unforgiving skin.

"It's just me," he assured.

Stan pushed himself to sit up and stared at Carlisle like he was trying to get a grasp on the situation. "Carlisle?"

"It's alright. You were having a nightmare."

Stan covered his face with his hands, groaning as if his spirit needed the release. "Moses..."

He hesitated to reach out and touch Stan's shoulder, afraid of a violent reaction. The only noise he could hear were the sounds of a rapidly beating heart and heavy breathing. He was only vaguely aware of the voice of Rosalie some short eternity later telling him that she and the family were leaving for them to have a private conversation.

Carlisle decided he'd been standing for too long and sat on the end of the bed.

Stan wiped at his face with a hollow laugh. "Moses, I can't believe it's been five years of fucking bullshit."

Taken aback by the foul language and sudden openness of the tightlipped young man before him, he stared and remained silent. He figured his input would be unnecessary and seem forced.

"Have you ever made a mistake that ruined your entire life?"

He remembered fighting with his father over the legitimacy of his accusations of the townsfolk. His father had questioned his faith and asked if he doubted a man of God's words. Carlisle hadn't raised his voice at his father except that once where he reminded his father that he was just a man, and no man was infallible and that he would prove he was making false accusations by finding a real vampire. It led him to an eternity of suffering and self-doubt.

"I'm familiar."

A self-deprecating smile. "Seems like you managed well for yourself. Good job, big house, beautiful wife, and great kids. Better than anything I'll ever get."

He frowned with concern. "You're still young. There's so much you could do for yourself."

"I'm a worthless piece of shit." He ran his hands through his hair irritably. "And I'll be worthless for the rest of my life."

"No, no you're not-"

"You don't even know me! You picked me up off the street to fix up and you’ll send on my way after." His reddened eyes and fierce scowl wouldn't have been out of place on any of the mountain lions Edward was so fond of.

"I know enough," Carlisle argued, though he got no closer. "You're a good man. No matter what you think, you are. Not once have I been concerned about you around my wife and children- not because you're injured but because I can see that you don't have it in you to harm them. You like making people laugh and you're always trying to pull your weight. That's not something a worthless person does."

"As if you're any better than me," Stan scoffed. "I'm not the only liar here."

Carlisle had to fight to continue to breathe, to not freeze into unnatural stillness at the accusation. "Pardon me?"

"I'm not the only liar here, Dr. Charles Hughes."

"That's not my name," Carlisle insisted.

He had been so sure that Stan didn’t remember his old name. He was sure that to Stan he was forgettable, but apparently Stan’s memory was better than he’d expected. Carlisle hadn’t heard that name since he was in New Jersey on the night shift.

"Maybe not anymore, but it was. Does your family know that you changed your name?" Stan's lips twisted into a snarl.

"They're aware," he said honestly, refusing to break eye contact or fidget more than necessary as he quickly came to a solid excuse. "My sister's husband was not good to Rosalie and Jasper. I changed my name to make it harder for him to locate them."

"What's his name?"

Carlisle looked away and shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I haven't heard from him in years."

"I have some contacts. I could make sure he never becomes a problem for them again."

And he calls himself worthless? "I don't want to get involved in that type of business. I changed my name, changed theirs so that they wouldn't have to worry about it. I’ve been assured he won’t be able to find them ever again."

Stan's expression became unnaturally blank. His gaze was not focused on Carlisle or on anything present. It was focused on the past- or perhaps the future- and it seemed to consume him.

"You might have to change your name again if George hears about me being here... might have to pick up and move," he finally said, seemingly to be dancing around the original issue entirely.

"You let me worry about that."

"I'll have to leave soon."

Carlisle hesitated only a moment, trying to figure out what to say to ease this young man's fears. "...you let me worry about that."

Stan's nose scrunched up. "I'm not one of your kids, Hughes or Davis or whatever your name is. I'm a grown ass man and I can take care of myself."

He bit back the comment that he hadn't been doing so well when he'd found the young man. It would not have been conducive to regaining the rational conversation he’d become used to with Stan. If he wanted to make a difference and fulfil his promise to the young man’s mother, he would have to take care of what he said next.

“No, you’re not one of my children… you are a grown man, and you don’t need to be taken care of… but I want to help you.”

“Why?”

It was one word, but within it held a past that Carlisle ached to decipher. There was so much mistrust in that voice that it only spoke of constant lies and broken promises. He was sure he could have eternity with Stan and would never have enough time to learn all of the young man’s secrets from the time he’d met him as a boy until now.

“I could say it’s just what good people do, but you wouldn’t believe it,” Carlisle said slowly, wiping his palms down his legs as if they were sweating. “However, I’ll speak on this matter personally… you’ve brought the light back in my family. I’ve not heard this much laughter in… in what feels like eternity… I feel as if I ought to pay that back.”

It was as close of an answer as he could give without revealing two very large truths. He hadn’t lied in saying he had not seen his family so happy, but he had stretched the truth that he had ever known them to be so happy. Stan was a beckon of light to his family of moths. It was as if their family had been completed.

Stan was still in the way only an animal could achieve. He looked liable to pounce or flee at any given moment. It was—as Carlisle distantly remembered—like a dog testing a man to see if he would harm them. Carlisle wanted to make sure Stan wouldn’t have to feel like that—at least not with him and his family. It was why he looked at Stan with as much earnestness as he could muster without seemingly overtly so.

“You’re… just repaying me? For making your family happy?”

“If you like to think of it that way… yes.”

It seemed that those words helped Stan relax because he let out a breath and leaned back into the bedframe. “Okay…”

There was a moment of silence where neither seemed to know how to address the other.

Carlisle opened his mouth to ask if there was anything else they needed to talk about, but Stan beat him to it.

“I’m gonna go back to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Er… goodnight.” Carlisle stood and made his way downstairs at a sedate pace, wondering what had just happened and what this meant for the future.

Chapter Text

“Alright, everything’s looking good. I’ll have the results for your ulcer by tomorrow evening.” Carlisle stood and returned his chair to its usual place on the other side of the nightstand. “Is there anything you need?”

For all of this to just end… “No, doc, I’m good.”

He hesitated a moment before nodding. “Alright. Good night.”

As soon as the door closed, Stan’s eyes narrow at it.

Carlisle—or whatever his name happened to be—was acting as if their conversation that night never happened. It was all fine when he did it around his wife and kids, but to act as if nothing happened around Stan didn’t make sense. He’d never had a conversation like that without the other party giving weird looks or completely avoiding him. It was… disconcerting. No one was that good of an actor, not even Stan.

What all is he lying about? What does he have to gain from all of this?

Stan had neglected to ask these questions beyond the first month, had fooled himself into thinking everything was normal. This man was kind, he was thorough and… and he was a liar. He’d resorted to calling Shermie to ask who their doctor was when he broke his arm and was given a name that did not match the one he’d been given by said doctor. He’d known all along that Carlisle Davis wasn’t the man’s name—at least not back then—but the confirmation made the air leave his chest.

He’d checked over his torso many times to make sure he had no additional scars from an unknown surgery, and it seemed he had all the organs he’d entered the Davis house with. That, at least, made him feel better about his continued stay.

Do I even have an ulcer anymore? What, are they gonna traffic me or something?

He had a hard time imagining the man letting his children get involved in any of his illicit activities even if they were smart enough to figure it out (and he had no doubt they had already guessed what their father and uncle was doing). They wouldn’t help him, but they wouldn’t get in his way, Stan was sure.

This entire situation, Stan decided, was far too strange. Not only had he acquired a debt that Carlisle insisted wasn’t there, but there was a mystery that he wasn’t too sure he wanted to solve. He both felt as if he were safe and in danger in this house, but he couldn’t possibly place why for either feeling. They were kind to him and had done what they could to make him feel better, but in the same breath he felt uneasy around them. It was like perpetually being down a dark alley where every instinct screamed for him to run.

Before he could spiral again, there was a knock on the door.

He briefly contemplated ignoring whoever was at the door and feigning sleep, but the insistent knocking grated on his nerves to the point he threw open the door with ever intention of demanding alone time, but the words died on his lips when he found her had to look up to see a shy smile on Jasper’s face.

“Hi,” he greeted with perhaps too much force in her enthusiasm.

“Uh… hey, kid… what—er—what’s up?”

He put his hands behind his back, but Stan was sure that he was fidgeting with his fingers. “I just wanted to check on you since you’ve been kinda… weird lately.”

“I’mma be honest, I don’t know how to respond to that.”

Jasper’s smile was close-mouthed, and he let out a quiet breath as if he was amused. “I know… I just… do you have a minute to talk?”

Stan stepped aside and decided to let the kid in. He had spent the most time with his twin and cousins, but he had gotten a decent idea as to how Jasper was as a person. He preferred to keep his distance, he had a dry sense of humor, he was the first to put himself between his family and any perceived threat, he had the most manners bar, perhaps, Carlisle and (most surprisingly) Emmett, and he was surprisingly in tune with everyone’s emotions. He was a protective and sensitive young man.

While Stan called him “kid” he had the distinct feeling that Jasper had experienced just as much as him which backed up Carlisle’s story about the kid’s father. Why he was still living at home instead of striking it out on his own was a mystery considering the kid was old enough.

Stan kept the door half-way open so that there was some feeling of privacy, but also an easy escape for either of them. It was one thing to have Carlisle in his room with the door closed—he often times was checking for further damage—but one of the children? Well, Stan wasn’t going to be accused of anything if he could help it.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as Jasper pulled over the chair that his father—no uncle—used. There were so many similarities between the two: the long blond hair that tried to fall into golden eyes, the straight eyebrows, and the pale skin. Yet while those were great similarities, there were far too many differences. Their jaws—while both strong—were different shapes, their noses were different sizes and shapes, where Carlisle held himself with comfortable ease, Jasper was stiff and awkward with his hands often in his pockets (though no less graceful). Carlisle put people at ease while Jasper set people on edge, but in this moment Stan found he was more comfortable around Jasper than Carlisle.

 “Alright, what’s up?” Stan asked outright.

Jasper shifted uneasily and took a deep breath inward. “Right… well, I said I wanted to check in. I noticed you and Carlisle don’t get along that well nowadays.”

An amused huff of breath. “That easy to tell, huh?”

“Yeah… look, whatever problem you have with my uncle… we’re cool, right? Like, me and the others?”

Stan allowed himself an easy grin as he reached out and lightly punched the kid’s arm. “Of course.”

“Even if we think this whole thing with you and Carlisle is pretty dumb?”

His smile became a bit more strained. “Yeah, even then.”

He shifted and looked away as if unsure. “I do think it’s dumb… Carlisle just… he’s a lot, I get it, but he’s a good man. You know it as well as I do.”

“Do we?”

“We do. You think me and Rose would stick around someone that wasn’t?”

He noticed that Jasper didn’t state anything about his aunt or siblings. Like Stan, apparently Jasper thought his siblings a bit naïve when it came to people. Knowing what he did about the twins’ past and knowing them as well as he did now, there was little chance they would have taken staying with a horrible uncle sitting down. They’d have fought, have let known their opinion to every person that came around. That was who they were.

Why is he telling me this?

He observed the young man with keen eyes that would have surprised anyone that hadn’t worked with him.

Of all the kids to come upstairs and defend Carlisle, Stan had to admit that Jasper was the last person he would have thought to do it. If this family had planned it, they couldn’t have sent a better candidate. The one he’d spent the least amount of time with, the one who silently observed and more often than not jumped on any outdoor activity he could think of. The one that would best understand Stan on some fundamental level due to his past. If that was the plan, it was a damn good one.

He didn’t want to fall for something so simple if it was a trap—and the more he looked at Jasper the less he thought it was one.

Jasper’s hands were in his pockets—as usual—and he glanced around awkwardly not as if he was anxious for something to go according to plan but rather that he was just trying to figure out how to fill the silence. He seemed like he wanted his words heard but didn’t expect them to be listened to. If genuine, as suspected, Stan couldn’t figure out the angle.

There was always an angle.

George wanted to jerk off to making people suffer, Jorge wanted someone to take the fall so he could take care of his daughter, Sandy wanted to forget everything for just a little while, and the list went on. Even Stan himself usually had an angle and the angle was more often than not surviving.

Why can’t you and pa stop fighting?

Stan jolted at the memory. It was a question he’d asked Shermie years ago—right before he moved out. The constant fighting made every dinner oppressing until the day Shermie finally moved the last box. It wasn’t a fix, but it was better than darting glances between the two to catch who was going to blow first while eating quickly in hopes of escaping the inevitable eruption.

“No, I don’t think you would’ve stuck around,” Stan finally said.

Golden eyes jerked to him with some surprise. “Huh? Oh… yeah… so, that was all I had to say.”

Stan stood and guided Jasper to the door. “I’ll think about what you said. Go get some sleep.”

A secretive smile—the one that made him feel as if he were on the outside of a joke. “Of course. You, too. G’night.”

“G’night, kid.” He closed the door and sighed quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Text

“You’re going to get blood on your clothes,” Rosalie dryly noted.

Carlisle managed to move in time to avoid the unsightly stains—Esme and Alice would not have been pleased. In addition, with a human in their home, he couldn’t return home with bloodied and torn clothes or even clothes that were different than the ones he’d left with. Stan was observant and something like that would not instill confidence between them.

“Thank you, Rose.”

She nodded and peered into the forest towards where her mate was hunting with a contemplative expression. “I think we’ve all gotten too attached…”

It didn’t take a lot to make the logical leap of what she was speaking of.

Stan had not only integrated himself well within their daily routine, but he had also managed to become something like family. When he was doing well it seemed the room lit up with his laughter and good humor. When he was not well, the house felt silent and grew melancholy along with him and every member of the household hoped to coax him out of his mood. The thought of his inevitable departure—from their lives and from this world—was painful and pushed to the side to focus on the moments they still had.

Carlisle had not lied to Stan when he said that Stan had managed to make his family happier than he had ever seen them.

Despite the initial discomfort of having a human in their home, they had grown comfortable enough to relax more than they ever had before. Rosalie smiled more and actually interacted with the entire family more than she had before; Emmett finally had someone with the same sense of humor to enable his jokes; Alice had someone on her side during musical arguments with Edward; Jasper’s self-control grew in leaps and bounds, and he no longer seemed so melancholic; Esme had someone less reluctant to be doted on and had reason to use her kitchen, and Edward had someone that could make him laugh continuously. Carlisle himself had felt a fulfillment in helping Stan and it allowed him to atone for the sins he’d racked up. Stan brought balance to their family that they hadn’t realized they needed.

He found his hand rubbing his thigh as if to wipe sweat off. “Perhaps…”

“You’re still gonna keep him around, aren’t you?”

“I promised his mother.”

“You’ve broken promises in the past,” she reminded.

With perfect memory, it was hard to forget the multiple promises he had to break. The only promises he made to humans that he could guarantee was that he wouldn’t forget them. It was impossible to forget, but it was easy to put the thoughts aside so that he could focus on the present. Breaking promises in the past had hurt, but he was able to do it because of the laws that governed their world… so why was it so difficult to break this one?

“This time’s different.”

“How?” Rosalie’s voice quivered as if she knew the answer and was afraid to hear it.

How else could he explain it but—

“It’s Stan.”

Had it been any other human, he would have been able to give them a clean bill of health and moved them along regardless of their mother calling with a foreboding warning. Stan was different. He was… he was important to the entire family and that alone made it impossible to let him leave without making some effort to heal whatever wounds he held in his heart. He was… he was family.

Rosalie’s lips pinched into a thin line, but there was no argument as he’d expected.

They continued their hunt without further discussion, but he could see that Rosalie was still turning over the conversation in her head. She had to be the one most conflicted about keeping a human around no matter how much she liked him.

As he was depositing the deer carcass near the bear’s den some hour later, Rosalie spoke again.

“How long until we have to cut ties?”

Carlisle had been thinking over the issue for a while, but he’d been unable to figure out a timeline. Stan was not one to open up and it could have been years before they managed to make any breakthroughs to ensure he would not have to return to the rough life he’d lived prior. What they would have to do with him if they ended up having to leave the area was something he turned over most frequently in recent days.

“I’m not sure. We have to play that by ear.”

“And if he figures it out?”

Stan was not an idiot. He was far more clever than Carlisle had initially thought, and he would not make that mistake again. He was sure that, given enough time, Stan would figure out what they were. Given how long Stan had likely sat on the fact that he knew Carlisle was not the name he’d initially used in New Jersey, the likelihood of any of them figuring out he knew their secret before telling them was lower than expected.

“I don’t know.”

His uncertainty seemed to grate on her nerves, but she did not speak on it the rest of the hunt or even after they’d returned home.

Upon seeing Stan playing chess with Edward, he was taken aback by just how attached he had gotten himself. He was not only amused, but he was incredibly fond of the idea of Edward getting along so well with Stan and vice versa.

The thought of another vampire coming into town and threatening Stan’s life made something in his chest tighten with an unfamiliar anger. Unlike the rest of his coven, Stan was the most fragile and—

Edward glanced at him with something akin to surprise.

The rest of his coven… when had Stan become a part of his coven? When had he come to think it so naturally? Would he have the heart to leave Stan when the time came? Would he be able to keep from contacting the young man the rest of his short human life? The more he thought of it, the more he disliked the idea of leaving without Stan and the more he realized how deeply screwed they were.

Stan looked up in that moment and gave a tentative smile. “Sup, doc.”

“Hello,” Carlisle greeted with a nod before drifting towards the laundry room where his wife was folding clothes.

“Welcome back,” she greeted with a smile over her shoulder. “How was your hunt?”

“It went well.”

He wasn’t prepared to speak about what he and Rosalie had discussed earlier. He wasn’t prepared for another conversation with Stan after their… well, it wasn’t an argument, but it was definitely something akin to it.

His interactions that had once been easy as breath had become stilted since Stan had confronted him. He wasn’t sure if regression was the appropriate name for what Stan had slipped into, but it was the closest he could manage. He’d seemed to return to habits that Carlisle had not seen since the first week or so of Stan’s healing. Mistrust and masks, diversions and silence. His interactions with the “children” had not changed much, but he seemed to be carefully detaching himself as if to observe. What he was trying to find was beyond any of them as his emotions hadn’t been so rampant that Edward could read his thoughts.

Carlisle worried. Worried for Stan, worried for his coven, worried for the future. He couldn’t have expected any of this to have happened when he had—on a whim—taken an injured young man into his home for care. He wanted to ask Alice what she saw, but she had discouraged it since she had seen nothing that would indicate any danger to the household (including Stan).

Esme turned to him fully and took his face in her hands. “What’s the matter?”

He gave a weak smile. “Stan.”

Understanding sparked behind her topaz eyes. “I see… give him time, love. He’ll come back around.”

“I can only hope so.”

The unnatural silence between them remained in the coming days where Stan would only answer questions about his health and dismiss Carlisle to do something semi-productive. From what he’d observed that mostly involved walking about the house and speaking with the other house occupants. Whatever information he was gathering seemed innocuous enough, but none could be sure. Jasper confessed that some of the questions seemed to be random with no other purpose than getting to know each of them individually, but the emotions from Stan were more calculated in their warmth than before.

One night Carlisle was doing his usual checkup on Stan, stating the ulcer was nearly gone and he would be able to leave in a few weeks. He had no reason to think the silence would be broken, but it was.

“I’m leaving.”

Carlisle startled slightly and looked up at the young man.

Stan was sitting facing him, but his eyes were turned towards the television that had been playing a rerun of M.A.S.H. where Radar seemed to be securing animals at the moment. He didn’t seem to be paying particular attention to it. Carlisle had the distinct feeling that Stan was watching for his reaction from the corner of his eye, but even his vampiric eyes weren’t able to find something to back that up.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Stan turned to him and seemed to take in everything about Carlisle. He wondered if this was how most humans felt around he and his family when they took the time to observe them closely. He felt as if all of his secrets were laid bare even if he knew he’d kept many close to his chest. There were things that Stan didn’t know, but in that moment—irrationally—he felt as if everything within him was seen and weighed.

Carlisle had counted twenty heartbeats before Stan answered.

“I want to. I can manage my ulcer just fine now.”

“We’ll have to get your car from the impound.”

“I can take care of that. Just drop me off nearby.”

His chest suddenly felt tight. He could have forced Stan to stay, but that would have validated every suspicion he likely had about him and his family. He couldn’t break the young man’s trust, but he could help. He could make sure that when Stan left, he wouldn’t struggle.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll miss you,” he confessed.

“Carlisle what are you doing?!” Rosalie hissed from her and Emmett’s room. “I thought you were going to keep your promise.”

He wanted to, but he couldn’t risk his family by keeping Stan here. He couldn’t risk Stan’s mental health if he forced him to stay. If Stan wanted to leave, he was obligated to let the human go even if everything in him told him to bundle Stan in blankets and keep him there away from every hurt, harm and danger of the world.

Stan shifted slightly and glanced towards the door. “I’ll miss everyone, too…”

“If you think I’m going to stop you, I’m not. You’ve always been free to leave, though I appreciate you stayed for my peace of mind.”

This seemed to make Stan uncomfortable, but he grunted in acknowledgement of what he said.

Carlisle fiddled with the journal in his hand. “What do you plan to do when you leave?”

“Huh?”

He chanced a peek through his hair and found whiskey eyes on him. There was surprise but, most surprisingly, there was no suspicion. That, he could admit, was an interesting development over the past few days.

“When you leave,” he started again, a little slower in his hesitance, “what do you plan to do?”

There was a scowl. “I’ll figure something out.”

If he said he found the answer comforting, it would have been a blatant lie.

What could he say to make Stan change his mind? How could he provide for him if he chose to leave them anyway? What would he tell himself years later if those whiskey eyes lost their spark?

“Alright…” Carlisle said slowly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He rose and placed his chair back in it’s original position. He tried not to run out of the room but had left perhaps a tad too fast to be seen as anything but fleeing.

He needed time to think—time that even his vampiric mind wouldn’t be able to make up for in a human’s waiting presence.

Chapter Text

It hadn’t taken long to pack his bag. He was done within minutes and on top of the raggedy duffel bag that Esme had forced onto him was the jacket that Alice had made him buy some weeks ago with the money Esme had given him. The jacket represented every good thing that had come from staying with the Davises (formerly the Hughes). They had given him a place to rest and heal when he should have died (he wasn’t delusional enough to think he wouldn’t have died if Carlisle hadn’t found him when he did), they had fed him and given him a way for him to relax as he hadn’t in recent memory. He would always appreciate them, but…

George would sniff him out eventually and when he did, he would hurt the family that was helping him. George knew that if nothing else, Stan wouldn’t abandon his El Diablo and with it being impounded he knew that Stan hadn’t left. He would rather grab his car without them and risk running into George’s goons than have any of them getting it from him or being seen with him. It was safer this way.

Besides, Stan didn’t stay anywhere long. He itched to leave this house for more than a trip out of town once in a while.

It was for the best that he disappeared before he ruined everything for them. He would rather have them look at their time with him fondly than resent him considering how fond he found himself of them in turn.

With little flourish, he pulled on his jacket and picked up his bag. He exited his room and found Emmett walking by with Alice already arguing about what seemed to be the best movie of all time’s.

“Stan, tell Alice—” Emmett froze seeing him and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you leaving?”

He gave a smile. “Doc gave me the all clear. I’m heading out.”

“Well, let me carry that for you,” Emmett insisted, reaching for his duffel.

Later, Stan would reflect that it spoke a great deal of the amount of trust he’d given Emmett in easily handing what held most of his earthly belongings outside of his car.

Alice looped her arm with his and stared up at him with a concerned and saddened expression as Emmett continued down the stairs. “Are you staying in the area?”

“Sorry, but I’m not.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the entire truth. “I don’t know the next time I’ll be able to stop by either.”

She tightened her grip on his sleeve and she stared at hime for a long second. “Please, don’t go…”

He stared down at her, helpless to her large eyes and surprisingly effective pout. When had this kid snuck into his heart to make it almost impossible to deny her anything? Why did it feel as if someone was crushing his chest when he thought of her crying over him leaving? It was like Mary-Ann all over again, but… but this time it wasn’t because he didn’t have a promise of riches keeping him from returning.

What he did have was an angry criminal that could hurt her and that made it possible for him to say, “I can’t.”

It didn’t make it easier to say that to her.

Rather than breaking and accepting what he said at face value, she seemed to grow more determined. She glanced at the stairs to be sure her brother had actually left and then turned to glance down the hall.

“Stan, what I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else,” she whispered.

With no small amount of concern, he nodded.

“Let’s sit down.”

She slipped her arm from his and went to the top of the stairs where she sat with a distant expression. It didn’t fit the pixie-like girl he’d come to know. She was happy, carefree and infectiously enthusiastic. She wasn’t serious and pensive.

He slowly moved forward and sat beside her on the steps. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She laced her fingers together and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but… I can see the future.”

“What?” The word was out before he could even process what she was saying to him.

“I can see the future,” she repeated helpfully, only giving him a glance before turning back to look down the stairs.

Stan had always been skeptical about anyone who claimed to see the future. He was, after all, the child of a con artist that claimed the same thing. He’d heard her giving more phony predictions than he’d heard her tell the truth. He hadn’t believed his mother to be psychic most of his life. It was only within the past three years that he began to think otherwise. How else would she be able to call him when he needed her when he hadn’t even given her an updated number? It made him reflect on the many times his mother had warned him off something or someone and exactly what she had said had come to pass. He’d thought—until recently—it was because she’d had life experience, but now…

And now he was being told by this girl that she could see the future. Judging by her reaction, she was scared of his reaction to her telling him that. Had she told someone, and they not believed her? Had they done something to her to make her wary of even telling him? What made her believe that she could? Was she like his mother?

“Sorry, it’s just a lot to wrap my head around,” he said after a long silence. “I just… I’ve known plenty of con artists out there that claim to see the future but can’t.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I figured… but whether or not you believe me, I feel like I should warn you that if you leave now that… that something bad will happen… all I see is a man with green eyes that make me wanna take a shower and then you worse off than when you were brought home.”

The words sent a chill down his spine. No one in this house—not even Carlisle—knew the color of George’s eyes. He’d kept anything involving George and the things he’d been made to do close to his chest. His doubt in Alice’s ability to see the future evaporated with that fact.

“When can I leave?” He asked tentatively.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I just know it can’t be today.”

He noticed her shivering and saw the fear in her expression. He knew with every fiber of his being that she was afraid he wouldn’t heed her advice and leave anyway. She would be anxious and inconsolable for Moses only knew how long if he walked out the door.

“Hey, hey, I believe you,” he whispered, pulling her into a half hug that he was only half-surprised when she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder. Out of some instinct he couldn’t discern, he rested his cheek on top of her head and rubbed her arm. “I’ll stay for a few more days. There’s no rush to leave.”

She straightened up a little and stared up at him in surprise. “You will?”

“I mean, yeah. You seem worked up about it and it’s not like I have a deadline to get someplace,” he shrugged.

She threw her arms around his neck and breathed out a litany of thanks. It sounded as if she were trying not to cry and when she pulled away with watery eyes, he found that she was trying not to cry.

“It’s okay, kid. Let me go downstairs and let your dad and brother know I’ll be here a bit longer.”

She nodded and waved him off when he hesitated to leave her alone.

He could have sworn he heard Shermie’s teasing voice saying “you’re a sucker” as he made his way outside where Carlisle and Emmett were talking to one another near Carlisle’s car. He may have been a sucker, but his gut told him to trust Alice’s vision and his gut hadn’t proven him wrong with such things (even if sometimes he ignored it). Both men were pleasantly surprised to learn he was staying. When asked why, he remained vague and said that Alice’s puppy-dog eyes were too strong. He wasn’t sure if the rest of the family knew and he wasn’t going to out her like that.

Emmett let out a whoop and carried his things back inside.

“What really made you decide to stay?” Carlisle asked as he walked with Stan back into the house.

A shrug. “Alice. She’s very persuasive.”

“She can be, I agree… I’m glad you’re staying.”

Stan remained quiet, but in his heart he was glad to be staying as well.

Carlisle sat with Alice several hours into Stan’s sleep that very night. She had decided to sit on the roof and stare into the forest, but her gaze was distant. If he didn’t know her as well as he did, he would have thought she was having a vision. She was lost in thought and had gone incredibly still with unease. Stan nearly leaving seemed to have shaken her deeply. Whatever it was that she saw was not good.

“It was the only way to make sure he didn’t leave,” she whispered into her knees. “He would’ve left and gotten killed…”

He grimaced. “How long will he stay?”

“I don’t know… at least three days before he brings it up again,” she replied. “I’m going over his future to see what can be done, but… no one’s made any decisions that’ll keep it from happening.”

“I suppose Stan’s too stubborn for any of us to redirect his path,” he muttered.

Her deep, unwavering gaze suddenly focused on him. “If anyone’s able to do it, it’s you. You just have to make a decision.”

“What decision?”

A deep sigh and a shrug. “I don’t know… you haven’t even thought of it yet, whatever it is.”

He sighed and hugged her close. “We’ll figure something out…”

“I hope so…” She rubbed at her eyes. “If something happens to him, I don’t know what I’ll do… what any of us will do.”

They’d grown attached. It was an error on their part, but they were warned it was inevitable almost right from the start. Stan was a light that they hadn’t known was missing from their lives. To have his life snuffed out as easily as a candle flame because of something they could have prevented was something Carlisle feared and—he recognized as he comforted his smallest coven member—so did the rest of his family.

Chapter Text

He had never been any good in school—that was his brother’s niche—but he’d survived three years on the streets by himself for a reason. That reason was picking apart every aspect of where he was and who he was with.

He’d been ignoring it up until this point for multiple reasons. Firstly, he had been too weak to move up until recently. Secondly, his car was impounded, and it was basically a suicide mission to pick it up with George and his goons probably keeping an eye on it. Third, he’d grown comfortable around the Davises. He liked them and he would have been lying if he said he wouldn’t miss them when he left. Fourthly, Alice had confessed she could see the future and warned him of an untimely death if he left too soon. Fifth and finally—and this is an aspect that he usually associated with his brother—they were a mystery he wanted to figure out. There had been too many things for him to discount as anything but strange.

Despite their differences, they were all so similar with pale skin, dark circles, golden eyes that would grow darker over time and abruptly grow lighter, and inhuman beauty. They picked at their food more than they ate it—as if he wouldn’t notice so much food in the trash when Esme was an excellent cook—and they were incredibly graceful and quick. They picked up on things while “distracted” that most people would only catch if they were extremely attentive.

In addition, his doctor had not aged a day since he saw him when he was eleven years old. He knew this for a fact as he had spent plenty of time searching the man’s face for anything to tell him he’d aged and found nothing. He dismissed the change in their surname easily because he had been given a damn good reason as to why, but that did not explain why Carlisle didn’t have so much as a new wrinkle on face. He only knew that because no one forgot a man that good looking.

Stan glanced back at the house from the tree line and added that their house was ridiculously isolated for a family that went into town so constantly. They didn’t even have the excuse of a farm; they just lived out in the middle of nowhere for no discernable reason.

He took a drag from his cigarette and exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl in the air between him and the house.

Despite all of these observations, he hadn’t done anything about it yet. The problem with that was that he’d been burned before for ignoring so many red flags and he wasn’t eager to do it again. It was why he’d tried to leave the one time, but Alice’s warning had given him more than enough reason to stay. She would have no way to know the color of George’s eyes without having met the man. Skeptical as he was to such things, he believed that she could see the future.

He flicked the ashes to the ground and turned back to the forest, looking into it as if it would give him the answers he was searching for.

He had two options, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked either of them.

One: he left as soon as possible and hoped Alice’s vision was just a hoax.

Two: he stayed and tackled the mystery of the “Davises” at the chance he could get killed for digging.

Sure, the third option was not to investigate and just stay until they let him go, but that option isn’t on the table. That would have led to unanswered questions and also his death if he’d misjudged the family and their views on killing people. Hell, he could have even been in a human trafficking household and would be shipped off as soon as he had a clean bill of health. He doubted it, but it was a possibility that had been rolled around his mind for weeks.

Stan had always run away from his problems. It had always been his safest bet—even when he didn’t actually want to. It’d saved his neck more times than he was sure he could remember. Sure, he’d stood up and fought people head on before, but he’d always done that in the defense of someone else. His brother or the kids that needed protection on the streets. Never for himself if he could help it. He hated the thought of walking away from a fight when he was younger, but now it was about practicality (that was what he told himself, but he knew in his heart he was a coward).

Stan decided that it would be best to ask Carlisle by himself—just in case the kids weren’t in it. He doubted it, but at least if it was just Carlisle he had a better shot at escaping if the worst came to pass. Despite the sense of comfortability around the family, he had not stopped carrying his knives even once around them. What kind of conman and criminal would he be not to be prepared at all times? No, better safe than sorry.

He took a long drag, dropped the cigarette to the ground and stamped out the embers with a sense of finality.

He walked back to the porch to sit out for a while and air out since Esme and Alice were sensitive to the smell. All the while, he listened to the birds chirping as they settled for the night and the background noise from the television inside. It was the comfortable feeling of being home and it made his stomach coil with tension. Grifters had no home, they had temporary places to stay and then they moved on. Sooner or later, Stan would move on and go back to dealing and stealing. That was just how his world worked.

The door opened behind him, and he tilted his head back to stare up at Edward who had a peculiar expression on his face.

“What’s up, kid?” He went ahead and patted the spot next to him on the stairs. “Lay it on me.”

Edward sat heavily and leaned back onto his arms as he looked out into the forest. “It’s nothing.”

Stan gave him a disbelieving look. “And I’m a movie star. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your parents no matter how incriminating.”

That earned him a humorous laugh. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

Once the laughter died down, Stan leaned forward onto his knees and looked into the forest with a somber expression. “Gonna keep stallin’ or are you gonna ask?”

A flinch. Stan didn’t get many of those.

“I… I know your time’s coming up with us—your ulcer will probably be gone within the next few weeks, but… I worry,” Edward admitted.

Stan didn’t even question Edward’s knowledge about his ulcer—he’d used it to get out of enough things that all of the children knew (“you’re gonna make my ulcer worse if you keep this up, kid”). He stayed silent but glanced over to the younger man to show he was paying attention. The silence dragged on, but Stan knew that sometimes it was best to wait it out while someone got their thoughts together than to plow forward.

The question, when it came, was but a whisper. “Will you be alright when you leave?”

That was the third kid to confess that they worried for when he left. One came forward with a vision and the other two came forward with just their hearts. Stan didn’t know what he’d done to earn these kids’ worry and good graces, but he figured it was more than he would ever know. It didn’t slip his notice that the ones that came forward were the ones that he’d grown closest to and the most observant ones. They were clever enough to catch on that he hadn’t come to them in the best of circumstances and likely wouldn’t leave for better ones.

The truthful answer was that he didn’t know for sure if he would be alright, but he knew the answer was likely no. He was sure he’d survive because until only recently he’d been good at it, but he knew things wouldn’t be all right. He’d still be scraping by and trying to figure out how to make millions in any quick way he could manage in order to return home to his family and rub his Pa’s face in it.

The answer he gave him was the lie with a reassuring grin.

“I’ll be fine, kid. There’s no need to worry about me.”

Golden-brown eyes stared at him for several moments, assessing him, but Stan sat there patiently, sure that his lie would be accepted no matter how perceptive the kid was. Considering the searching expression on his face, it seemed that Stan had succeeded in that little venture. He didn’t know how, but occasionally Edward could read him like a book which made him more cautious with talks like this.

Finally Edward relented and smiled. “Okay.”

Stan could see through the lie by the less than full smile and lack of relief. He was still worried, and he always would. Stan supposed after so long around each other, the kid had gotten attached. He hated to admit it, but he’d grown attached to the kid too. He guessed that meant they were both screwed no matter what the outcome. It would hurt just that much more when he inevitably left.

“You’re a good kid,” Stan said quietly, looking into the forest and doing his best not to think of what he’d done to make his words meaningless. “Stay good.”

His voice left no room to argue, and he refused to turn his head to open himself up to Edward. He didn’t want to make the kid’s worries justified.

“You’re good, too.”

Stan’s lips curled into a wry smile, but he didn’t argue or accept the words. “Go ahead inside, kid. If you sit next to me any longer, Esme’ll have you hosed off.”

Edward laughed. “Don’t stay out too long. Goodnight.”

Stan watched the young man walk back into the house a moment before turning back to look at the stars. They were the same stars as when he was a child. He had always been able to spot the Big Dipper without trying—like his eyes and the constellation were magnetically drawn to each other. He could recall a time when he was lying on the ground after a vicious beating, and he stared at the constellation as he tried to breathe past the pain.

He shook the thought away. Now wasn’t the time for that.

When he felt he’d aired out enough, he entered the house and quickly made his way upstairs to shower and brush his teeth for the sake of minimizing the smell. He knew cigarette smoke tended to linger even after all this, but he wanted to make it as subtle as he could. He washed his hair, face and scrubbed his skin until it was pink. After he brushed his teeth so thoroughly, he was sure he’d wake up in the morning with minty-fresh breath.

Welp, I’ve done what I can, he told himself.

He rubbed his forehead as a headache began to form. He had to talk to Carlisle otherwise he’d lose his damned mind going in circles.

It was with this resolve that he exited his room and made his way to Carlisle’s office. He’d heard the man in there not too long before and figured at this time of night the only one that might have been in there with him was Esme. It was the reason that he was knocking before entering.

When he was given the call to enter, he took a breath to steady his nerves and walked in.

Chapter Text

It was, admittedly, a surprise to have Stanley knock on his door. After nearly a week of dancing around one another, he had nearly given up hope that the two of them would ever return to the relationshup they'd had before. After all, he’d lied to Stan about several things and even with half-truths there would be no satisfying the young man. After all, he lived in lies for—from what he’d revealed—five years and was able to sniff them out like a bloodhound. Lies did not inspire trust, no matter how honorable the intentions were.

Stan walked in with a surprisingly blank expression; emotions apparently locked tightly enough that even his expressive eyes revealed nothing. Only the scent of apprehension belied the truth, but the lack of knowledge on what that truth was left Carlisle curiously unbalanced. It had been a long time since a human had managed such a feat.

“Stan,” Carlisle greeted with a close-lipped smile.

“Carlisle,” Stan replied with a nod in his direction. “Mind if I sit?”

He waved a hand towards the seat. “Be my guest.”

Stan sat down and purposefully sprawled as if he were comfortable, but his muscles barely relaxed as if he were ready to stand and run at a moment's notice. It was something that had not happened since those first days and made Carlisle wary about where their conversation was about to go.

“Let’s be honest during this conversation, yeah?”

Carlisle leaned back in his seat and nodded, silently promising he would be as honest as he could be.

“Are you planning on selling me or my organs off to the highest bidder?”

He blinked once. Twice. Three times. At last the question he’d been asked sank in and horror overwhelmed him in such a visceral fashion that his face had contorted.

“What?! No! I have no intentions of doing anything nefarious to you!”

Sharp whiskey eyes seemed to relax slightly at the raw reaction that had been given. “I see… So, what am I still doing here?”

“Why are you still here?” Carlisle asked curiously.

While he knew—in part—Alice’s vision was the reason he stayed, there was nothing keeping him with them—no debt or possessions or promises. Carlisle had clearly given his blessing for a departure a few days prior, but still Stan seemed to doubt. That was something that Carlisle had noticed. Stan would likely always doubt if Carlisle kept their secrets.

“Alice is persuasive,” Stan shrugged.

“That she can be,” he admitted with a small smile. “Have you any other questions?”

Stan’s eyes narrowed as he sat in silence for a while. He seemed to be debating with himself over something Carlisle had no hope of knowing even with Edward’s gift. His heartbeat was too steady, fidgeting was too limited for him to be in a high enough state of emotion for his mind to be read anyway.

“How old are you?”

Such a simple but loaded question.

For a fraction of a second he considered telling the truth, laying everything out on the table. Would it even phase him at this point? The young man was more thrown by simple gestures of kindness than the mere idea of his intentions being to sell his organs on the black market.

He opened his mouth to lie, but the phone rang. He frowned and wondered what had happened.

“Excuse me, I need to take this,” Carlisle said distractedly. “It could be the kids.”

Which was not a lie. He hoped that none of them had come across their singers because they would have to move a few months ahead of schedule. He managed not to flit across the house and went at a human speed. When he reached the phone, he felt as if he’d let it ring too long.

“Hello?”

“Carlisle,” Alice greeted on the other end. “You have to tell him.”

He frowned, trying to figure out what she meant and failing. “What specifically?”

“You have to tell him the truth about us—about us being vampires.”

His stomach dropped. “What do you mean? You know why I can’t.”

“I wouldn’t tell you to do it if there wasn’t a good reason. Trust him. He can keep a secret.”

He wrestled with that for what felt like eternity but what was, in fact, mere seconds. They had already risked his life enough letting him stay so long with them. The fact that he hadn’t become a meal for their newest vegetarian was a miracle in and of itself. To add the knowledge that had the power to destroy them, to destroy him if the wrong ones found out the truth was a risk he wasn’t eager to take… however, if Alice was this sure, then the possible reward must have been greater than the risk.

“Alright. Come back when we’re done.”

“Of course. Tell the truth,” she reminded before hanging up.

With a fortifying breath (that, for once, felt completely necessary), Carlisle turned back to Stan whose eyebrow was raised curiously. “That was Alice.”

He frowned. “Is she alright? Are the other kids?”

“Everyone is alright,” Carlisle assured as he retook his seat, hoping the nonthreatening position would help ease Stan’s concerns. “She’s just encouraged me to do something… reckless.”

Stan’s eyebrows scrunched and lips pursed slightly. “Reckless?”

Carlisle took in another quite necessary breath and levelled the young man with a serious expression. “What I’m about to tell you can go no further than our family. Alice assures me that you can keep a secret.”

“I’m not one to spread people’s business,” Stan shrugged. “Are you gonna tell me you’re all slinging drugs or something?”

“Or something.” He allowed himself to go completely still. “You must be curious about why everyone in our family looks so alike and have… odd behaviors, I’m sure?”

Stan stiffened slightly. “Er…”

A warm smile. “It’s alright, Stan. I’m not gonna eat you.”

He squinted. “That’s… an… oddly specific phrase to use.”

“Indeed, it is.” It felt wrong to let it drag on like this and so Carlisle felt it best to come out and say it. “We’re vampires.”

Chapter Text

Straight to the point: I've rewritten everything that's been posted so far for this story. I could not bring myself to reread it as it is and keep going forward with it, so I decided to rewrite it to make it more bearable for me (and only me, really). Thing is, this link will not be receiving any of the updates.

One of my darling cousins convinced me to leave this be and keep it posted for posterity (their words, not mine). So, by the time you read this, the story will be marked as completed with a slight name change and the new version will be reposted under the name Philophobia.

There are some changes to the plot and relationships but what you've read so far will be mostly the same, but it's less clunky with a bit more exposition since now I have a better grasp on how I want to write the characters and an idea of where I want this story to go (unlike when I started writing it where I was flying blind with a concept that was so vague that LaCroix flavor is comparable). There's still gonna be inconsistent updates, but I can guarantee that you'll be getting weekly updates at least two chapters past where we left off in this one.

Thank you all for reading and showing this story love (even if I never/rarely replied, I read every comment and they put a smile on my face). When you go to the link below, let me know your thoughts on the new and improved Philophobia.