Sonata à Quatre Mains

by Anonymous

Summary:

Encountering his second singer—a man—sends Edward spiraling into a sexuality crisis. He calls Carlisle.

Notes:

“Carlisle’s always fine with whatever I choose to do.” —Edward Cullen, Eclipse

this fic is very inspired by the fics & meta of the carnivorous muffin & vinelle, though i read carlisle as having more repressed reciprocal attraction to edward

Chapter 1: Overture

Carlisle's phone rings halfway through a night shift, overly loud in the murmuring break room. One of the younger residents laughs at him as he pulls the brick out of his pocket—it's getting conspicuous to not have a smartphone but so far his coworkers attribute this to eccentricity rather than cold vampire fingers. He's already had to stop using his name; he's not giving up his Nokia yet.

The caller ID says "Edward."

"Edward?" Carlisle asks, answering immediately in full view of his coworkers. His son never calls during his shifts. "Is everything alright?"

"It's happening again." Edward's voice is strangled. Even through the phone line his deliberate breaths sound panicked.

Carlisle's stomach drops. Funny how even after hundreds of years his body reacts the same way.

"Is Bella—"

"Bella's fine!" snaps Edward. His footsteps pace back and forth.

Carlisle waits, smiling weakly at the eavesdropping nurses. It sounds like Edward's trying to calm himself down.

"There's another one," Edward eventually whispers. "Another… singer."

He spits out the word, disgusted, tormented.

Obviously Edward would never kill the human, but it will still be difficult to withstand. And he would hate himself—is already doing so.

“Can you get home?” Carlisle hedges. “Esme would love to see you.”

“No!” shouts Edward, and then, more in control of himself: “No, this isn't something I can run from.”

"I'll be there in 20," Carlisle decides.

"No—Carlisle—" Edward is saying, but Carlisle's already removed the phone from his ear, leaving Edward's tinny arguments of self-restraint and blending in to hang ineffectively in the air.

"I'm so sorry," Carlisle tells the only other doctor in the room with the same manager—Rosalie’s with a patient. "There's been a family emergency. Could you tell Laurie I won't be able to finish my shift?"

He doesn't wait for an answer.

"Dr. Platt—" someone calls after him, but he's already down the hall.

"Edward?" he asks, putting the phone back to his ear, cutting off the protests that he should finish his shift and maybe even wait a week, Edward has this completely under control.

“Really, Carlisle,” Edward insists. “I can handle it. I just wanted to… keep you informed, I suppose.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Carlisle assures him. If Edward’s talking to him instead of Alice, he needs more than words.

Carlisle reaches the employee parking lot and considers his car, dismayed. Moving it will take too much time and he doesn’t want to painstakingly peck out a text while Edward's still on the line. The car will just have to stay here for the foreseeable future, nevermind that it will be noticed.

Perhaps Rosalie will take it home. He leaves the key on the passenger-side wheel  for her.

“I had forgotten,” Edward is saying. “I thought I would never forget what her blood did to me, but his—”

He chokes, unable to finish.

“It’s a punch in the gut every time,” Carlisle agrees.

Carlisle has encountered humans whose blood had breached his usual indifference. He ran, every time, moving the whole family if necessary. Risking a life isn't worth it.

“Yes,” says Edward.

The night air is cool and slightly smoggy as he exits the hospital. Carlisle strolls down the sidewalk, yellow street lights sparkling off the damp pavement. When he turns into an alley, he starts running.

Edward must hear the rush of wind, because he starts insisting he’s fine again.

“There’s no shame in asking for help,” Carlisle says, tall buildings thinning out as downtown gives way to suburbs. “And I want to give it.”

“Okay,” says Edward, sounding small and childish.

“I love you,” Carlisle tells him. “I’m proud of you. You have the strength to get through this.”

Edward lets out a hysterical, choked laugh and hangs up.

Disconcerted, Carlisle runs faster. Edward sounds—bad. Really bad, worse than when he first met Bella and had to flee. Alice would have called him if Edward was in true danger of slipping up, but Carlisle worries anyway. Edward pushes himself too hard and needs support.

Edward and Bella’s cottage is less than an hour’s run from the current Cullen residence. The property doesn’t have a lot of land, but its tall hedges afford enough privacy and the nearby national park affords enough hunting grounds. They’ve become partial to cottages. They always prepare a room for Renesmee, awaiting her return.

Edward intercepts him in a park outside hearing range of the cottage. Carlisle can’t help his instinctive relief at seeing golden eyes; Edward smiles ruefully at the thought.

“Bella doesn’t know,” he admits. “I don’t want her to… see me like this.”

Carlisle pats his arm in sympathy, leaves his hand there when Edward seems to relax into it.

“She won’t mind,” says Carlisle. “She’ll want to help you.”

We both love you, he thinks. We want to take care of you.

“I don’t want you to see me like this either,” Edward says, then his eyes go wide with horror. “Did you tell Esme?”

“Not yet,” says Carlisle.

“Please don’t.” His shame is palpable.

“I won’t,” Carlisle assures him, squeezing his bicep. He’ll tell her when Edward’s ready.

“Thank you,” says Edward, avoiding his eyes. “I need to compose myself before I can see her.”

He seems composed.

“I’m not,” Edward chokes. “I’ve been gorging myself but it doesn’t help. Nothing helps, not exposure or dedication or anything that helped with Bella. And the thirst—”

He cuts himself off, clenching his jaw.

“Why don’t you come back with me,” Carlisle tries. “Stay with us while we find a new place and school for you.”

“No!” hisses Edward. “I won’t leave him. I can’t.”

He’s trembling.

Carlisle draws his son into his arms like a wild animal that might bolt, but Edward falls against his chest as willingly as always. They don’t often hug, but sometimes they both need one.

“We’ll get you through this,” Carlisle says, rubbing his back, and refuses to acknowledge the thought slowly taking shape in his subconscious lest it upset Edward further. “You’re not a monster, you aren’t beholden to your worst impulses.”

Edward shakes in his arms, his hair brushing Carlisle’s chin. Absent-mindedly, Carlisle kisses the top of his head. Edward’s fists clench at the back of his lab coat.

They stand like that, breathing together, Carlisle stroking his back and sometimes his hair, until Edward calms down. Despite the circumstances, it’s nice to be close to Edward like this. Carlisle missed him.

“I missed you too,” whispers Edward. Carlisle squeezes him.

His phone rings. Before Carlisle can try to rearrange them to reach his pocket, Edward retrieves the phone for him.

“It’s Rosalie,” he sulks upon seeing the screen, but gives it to Carlisle without complaint.

“I did leave in a hurry,” Carlisle says, keeping a hand steady on the small of Edward’s back as he takes the call.

“Carlisle,” says Rosalie, rushed and worried. “Laurie said there was a family emergency.”

“Yes,” says Carlisle carefully. “Edward needed to talk.”

“Oh, well if Edward needs help,” huffs Rosalie.

Edward frowns. Carlisle rubs a comforting circle into his back with his thumb.

“Would you mind bringing my car home?” Carlisle asks her.

“Sure,” sighs Rosalie. “It will be nice to visit Esme at least.”

Carlisle grimaces. “Can you tell her I might be gone for a couple days?”

“You can’t?” she asks.

“I—” Carlisle starts, embarrassed to use his daughter as messenger to his wife.

“I know, Edward needs you,” Rosalie says, and Carlisle can almost hear her eyes rolling. Then she mutters, “He has a wife.”

Edward flinches.

“Thank you, Rosalie,” says Carlisle, still rubbing his back. “Give my best to Emmet.”

“Yeah,” says Rosalie. “I love you. I hope Edward feels better.”

“I love you too,” says Carlisle, and then she hangs up.

“She’d still be mad if I burdened Bella with this,” Edward complains. “I can’t win with her.”

“She’s just worried about you,” says Carlisle. Rosalie is probably more annoyed that she’s running errands for him.

“It shouldn’t be trouble to help you,” Edward insists.

Edward has always taken filial duty very seriously; he’s like Carlisle in that way. Rosalie has worse experiences with unquestioningly obeying a father.

“You’re a good father,” Edward says, suddenly dead serious, staring into his eyes. “You’d never lead us astray. She shouldn’t disrespect you.”

Carlisle is always awkwardly pleased at the intensity of Edward’s devotion, though he never knows quite how to respond.

“I’m glad she’s comfortable enough with me to disrespect me,” he explains, though he doesn’t think Edward will ever fully understand. “I want both of you to be able to talk to me about anything.”

Edward frowns but doesn’t argue. Carlisle keeps a comforting hand on his back. He realizes he’s still holding his phone, and Edward silently takes it from him, slips it back into his pocket.

Edward did this a lot when it was just the two of them: following him like a shadow, listening to his thoughts to immediately accommodate his needs. He shifted some of that attention to Esme when she was turned, and the habit had faded almost entirely after he returned from his time away from them.

Carlisle missed it, as much as he’s glad Edward lives for himself now. He’s a sweet boy.

Edward flashes him the same small, pleased smile he always does when he overhears Carlisle's pride in him, though it looks distinctly pained.

Carlisle wonders if it’s time to broach the subject of this new singer, if they should move somewhere that’s not the middle of a field in the middle of the night.

Edward sighs.

“He's a professor,” he starts, leaning heavily on Carlisle. Seems they aren't going to be moving for this conversation. “Not one of mine or Bella's, but he shares an office with my history professor.”

He laughs humorlessly. “You should've seen the first time I went to office hours. I turned around and left before even asking a question.”

“Good,” says Carlisle into his hair. “I'm proud of you.”

“That was a month ago,” says Edward. “I can't stop—I need to be near him. To protect him.”

Oh dear.

Edward shrinks in on himself, not to get away but burrowing further into Carlisle’s chest.

“Have you talked to Alice about it?” prompts Carlisle; obviously Edward hasn’t told Bella.

Edward stiffens.

Carlisle remembers two branching paths from long ago: drained or turned. Edward remains still and cold in his arms.

He should leave, thinks Carlisle before he can stop himself. He should get away from this man for both of their sakes.

Edward’s jaw clenches where it lies against Carlisle’s clavicle.

“She said…” he starts. Carlisle waits as his throat works to force the words out. “She said it’s a 90 percent chance I’ll kill him. And then—” he laughs, meanly. “She said I can’t just marry all my singers.”

“Edward…” Carlisle doesn’t know what to say; he wishes Alice had mentioned any of this to him. The smartest, safest option is to just run, but Edward always wants to prove himself. To punish himself.

“I deserve this punishment,” Edward says. “I ruined Bella—I damned her. I need to withstand this temptation, I can’t run. I have to save this man.”

Carlisle can only feel a deep, tired, sorrow. It had seemed, for a few years, that Edward accepted that vampires are one of God’s creatures like any other. That their damnation depends on their own actions rather than innate nature, and that God forgives.

But Renesmee had taken that hope as quickly as she brought it.

“Don’t think about her,” says Edward.

Carlisle can’t begrudge his granddaughter needing space for herself, time to know who she is outside of her family. She hasn’t been gone longer than Edward was, once upon a time. He does wish she’d call.

“I said stop,” Edward begs.

“I’m sorry,” says Carlisle, and pushes it from his mind.

They stand silently until the tension drains from Edward’s body. Carlisle thinks only of daily minutia, happy to hold his son as long as he needs.

The edge of the horizon is orange with pre-dawn light when Edward pulls slowly out of Carlisle’s embrace.

“It’s good to see you,” Edward says to the ground, suddenly shy.

Carlisle grins. “You too.”

Chapter 2: Interlude

Together, they walk to the cottage as the sky lightens. Edward begins scowling as they get closer; presumably he’s within range of Jacob Black’s thoughts. Carlisle isn’t 100 percent certain what the relationship between Edward, Bella, and Jacob has become in the wake of Renesmee’s departure. He doesn’t really want to think about it.

“And thanks for that,” says Edward darkly.

As Edward opens the front gate for him, Carlisle can make out a quickly-hushed argument inside regarding when to begin the search party. A spoon scrapes against a pot, a coffee maker bubbles.

When they enter the little house, Bella is seated at the round kitchen table, watching Jacob stir a pot of oatmeal on the stove.

“Carlisle,” says Bella, pleased but confused. “It's good to see you.”

“Hey, Doc,” says Jacob.

Neither move.

“Hello,” says Carlisle.

Edward trails behind him until they’re standing next to the grand piano that monopolizes the main room. Bella sends a questioning look over Carlisle's shoulder, but he can't see Edward's reaction.

“Carlisle is visiting,” Edward uselessly explains.

“Right,” says Jacob. He and Bella exchange a glance.

“Is everything alright?” Bella asks, wary.

“Everything's fine,” says Edward, stepping forward, hands raised placatingly. He shoots Carlisle a desperate glance.

“I lost a patient,” says Carlisle, smiling weakly. “And it made me want to… spend time with family.”

It's not really a lie; he often loses patients but it still makes him want to cling to his family, every time. Edward looks grateful for the save.

Bella's face crumples.

“Yeah,” she says. “I want to see my daughter too.”

She sniffles, though she has no tears to hold back. Jacob drops the spoon he's holding, splattering oatmeal across the kitchen floor.

“She'll come back,” he assures Bella, stepping towards her. “She has to. We'll find her.”

Edward is already standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder. His fingers dig into her shirt harshly; he could break a bone if she was still human. She leans into his grip.

“Sorry to be a downer,” she says, wiping at her tearless face.

Deciding not to involve himself, Carlisle wets the towel hanging from the oven handle and starts cleaning the floor. He was never very close with Renesmee, and he isn't sure why exactly she left. He can see, though, why this house could be suffocating. Edward had felt suffocated, back when Esme was newly turned.

Edward’s fingers tense on Bella's shoulder.

“Oh, I can do that,” Jacob offers as Carlisle continues wiping oatmeal residue off the floor.

“It's no problem,” says Carlisle.

Jacob kneels down to help anyway, but the job is already finished. They both stand back up, awkward. Jacob takes the towel and tosses it towards where the washer and dryer are tucked into the hall. It splats wetly to the floor.

Edward is glaring a little, hands tight on Bella's shoulders. She looks exhausted.

“Do you want to sit down?” she asks.

“Thanks,” says Carlisle, taking the seat opposite her and Edward. “It's good to see you, Bella. How have you been?”

They exchange inoffensive smalltalk as Jacob assembles his breakfast and comes to sit at Bella's left. Carlisle always liked Bella, though they've never become close. It's nice to hear how her classes are going. He wishes her first time through college was started under better circumstances.

Edward squeezes her shoulders again at the thought.

“Oh, Edward, sit down,” she tells him, and takes his hand when he does.

Outside, the sky gradually brightens, light filtering harshly through the cloud cover.

Carlisle talks about helping Rosalie adjust to working in a hospital, and Jacob talks about his job at an auto shop, and Bella talks about keeping her human classmates from realizing she lives in a house with her husband. They don't talk about Jacob turning down Carlisle's offer to pay tuition, or Edward spending his nights out of the house to follow another man, or the supposedly upsetting loss of Carlisle’s patient. They don't talk about Renesmee.

“So I ended up throwing up everything,” Bella finishes with a self-deprecating smile. “At least they just thought I was drunk.”

Carlisle laughs politely. Edward and Jacob have heard this story before.

“I don't know how you do those drinks with Richard,” Bella says, turning to Edward, who tenses. “I can barely get through a class discussion without dodging questions about boyfriends.”

“We mostly talk about philosophy,” Edward says mechanically, body motionless. “We don't really touch on our personal lives.”

“Men,” Bella rolls her eyes, smiling.

“Hey, I know way more about my coworkers’ personal lives than anyone should,” says Jacob.

Bella and Edward grimace at each other; Carlisle grimaces internally.

“Oh sorry,” says Bella, turning back to Carlisle. “Richard is Edward's human friend.”

“He mentioned,” says Carlisle, a little shell-shocked. Edward is closer with this singer than he thought; he'd expected Edward standing vigil outside the man’s house at night, not regular public outings.

Edward has gone statue-still again, avoiding Carlisle's eyes.

“Guess it's nice talking with another intellectual instead of us plebeians,” Jacob jokes.

Edward half-heartedly scowls at him. Bella rolls her eyes, slapping Jacob playfully and gently on the arm.

“I think you’d like him,” she tells Carlisle. “He reminds me of you.”

Edward appears suddenly entranced by the woodgrain of the table.

“Oh,” says Carlisle. He keeps his mind carefully blank. “I’m glad Edward’s making friends.”

Jacob snorts into his coffee.

Edward’s shoulders hunch, his fist clenches at his side—Jacob must have thought something.

Carlisle reaches to pat his arm. It will all be fine, he thinks, you won't hurt anyone. I love you. The muscles of Edward’s arm slowly relax under his hand. Bella smiles a little at the gesture.

“Speaking of professors, I have to get to my monsters in literature class,” she says, and grins. “Ironic, right? We haven’t gotten to Dracula yet though.”

“Sounds fun,” says Carlisle politely.

“Don’t worry, I won’t laugh too hard at the coffins and bats,” says Bella, then quickly dashes to the master bedroom to grab her school bag.

“Do you want a ride, Jake?” she asks when she returns to the main room, sitting down to tie her shoes.

“Nah, my shift starts at noon,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

Bella kisses Edward on the cheek.

“Bye,” she says, looking embarrassed to do this in front of company. “Love you.”

“I love you,” replies Edward intensely.

“Um,” she squeaks, glancing at Carlisle. “I'll see you later.”

“Bye,” Carlisle says.

The three men sit silently at the table while Bella’s truck roars to life outside. She insisted on another vintage pickup when they moved; Jacob got it running. Edward has complained about it.

Jacob looks somewhat uncomfortable, eyes darting between Carlisle and Edward. Carlisle supposes that he’s the intruding outsider here, and he’d prefer that this conversation be private anyway.

“Let’s go on a hunt,” suggests Carlisle. “I haven’t been in this neck of the woods for a while.”

Edward sends him a grateful look. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

“Have fun,” says Jacob, uninterested, as they stand to leave.

Chapter 3: Crescendo

Edward doesn’t need to eat; his eyes are light and clear. He and Carlisle go on less of a hunt and more of a run, jogging at human speeds through house-lined hills into the dark forest where they sprint until they’re miles away from anyone. They settle on a hill overlooking an expanse of evergreens, washed-out grey in the overcast light. The wind plays with Edward’s hair as he scowls into the distance. He really is beautiful.

“It’s worse,” Edward says eventually. “Worse than it ever was with Bella and I don’t know why.”

He clenches his fists in the dirt, snapping a twig.

“In what way?” prompts Carlisle. He sits a couple feet from Edward, watching his tense posture and brooding face.

Edward grits his teeth. “I want—”

He can’t seem to bring himself to say more, like admitting that much has wrecked him. Like he wants something worse than blood.

“Oh,” says Carlisle, and the thought that's been gestating within his subconscious finally breaks forth, fully-formed: Edward really wants to fuck this man.

“Don’t,” begs Edward.

“It's alright,” Carlisle tries to soothe him.

“And he doesn’t want to—sodomize me,” continues Edward, though Carlisle didn't think that.

But, he reconsiders, a professor taking an undergrad out for regular drinks…

“He's a good man,” insists Edward. “He admires my intelligence and beauty, but it's not untoward. No more so than how you see me. Or I you.”

That was probably less comforting than Edward meant it to be.

“Oh,” croaks Carlisle.

“I wouldn’t do anything to disappoint you,” says Edward, wild-eyed. “I can withstand this temptation.”

Disappoint me? Carlisle’s mind spins. What about Bella?

“She can’t know,” says Edward, finally uncurling from his tense crouch and moving towards Carlisle. “How could I tell her that I want him more than I ever—I’m disgusting.”

His fingers dig into the ground, his face is scrunched and tormented. He looks very very young.

“Your desires aren’t shameful,” Carlisle starts.

“They are,” says Edward, raising his voice. “It’s worse than the bloodlust, worse than any thirst I felt for Bella. My mind and body are turning against me, and I can’t—”

He glares up at Carlisle, almost accusatory. “Thinking of you doesn’t help! Imagining your guidance won’t chase away these… urges.”

This is actually happening. Edward is actually gay and Carlisle has to talk to him about it. And—

“Stop,” chokes Edward. “Don’t say that.”

“Edward, it’s. It’s okay to be gay,” Carlisle forces out. “It's a love like any other.”

He sounds like a PSA from the aughts—how was Aro better at this three centuries ago?

“Oh, if Aro says so,” Edward spits. “Yes, let’s allow the murderous demon to dictate our morality.”

“I say so,” says Carlisle. “Edward, I—”

He clamps down on the memories before they get too revealing, but Edward got enough of a peek; he withdraws, shaking his head.

“No,” says Edward, disbelieving.

“I have had… relations. With men—a man—in the past,” Carlisle manages. “It's not a shameful thing.”

“But,” Edward stutters. “Esme—”

“This was in the past, before I met you,” Carlisle repeats. How did he end up on the back foot during Edward’s breakdown? “It has no impact on my marriage, I love Esme—”

“What about me?” yells Edward, anguished, on his hands and knees.

“I—of course I love you, as a son,” says Carlisle, trying to reassure the boy that he's not some crazed deviant.

“But why didn’t you—I was your first companion! You could have had me!” If Edward had tears, his eyes would be brimming. His perfect face is twisted in pain.

The guilt Carlisle feels is immeasurable; how can he convince Edward he isn’t a threat?

“Why wasn’t I enough?” Edward asks, beautiful and wrecked, catching Carlisle completely off guard.

Edward has always been beautiful. Carlisle doesn't think about it. He’s spent a lot of time not thinking about it. But he hasn’t been able to ignore it entirely.

A flurry of half-visualized fantasies flash through his mind, his standard repression techniques helpless to stop them. If Edward never saw him as a father, never wanted Esme as a mother, if he changed his mind, if it didn't matter. His lean body, his pianist's fingers, his angel face, flushed and writhing on his sickbed—

They're horribly incriminating. Carlisle manages to erect his normal mental wall of pleasant memories and hospital concerns, but the damage is already done.

Edward's pupils are blown wide; he looks starved.

“You do want me,” he breathes, in either awe or shock.

Carlisle grimaces. It’s a temptation he’s learned to withstand.

“I would never betray your trust,” he says, but he can feel the century-long relationship deteriorating around him. He tries again: “Edward—”

But whatever conciliatory words he might have strung together are halted by a pressure on his mouth, a deathgrip on his arm, a determined brow and squeezed-shut eye flooding his field of vision.

Edward is kissing him.

For a second, his mind stutters. All his brainpower is occupied by this observation with no room for even a value judgement. Edward is kissing him, gently, closed-mouthed, and he certainly feels… something about it.

When Edward pulls back, face too close, fingers clutching Carlisle’s bicep, he looks both determined and very, very frightened.

Carlisle blinks at him.

The corner of Edward’s mouth curls tentatively upwards. His eyes are wide. Carlisle remembers when they were green—

He can’t do this. Edward is just a boy. He needs a father, not someone who would take advantage of his sexuality crisis.

“I need you,” says Edward.

His breath caresses Carlisle's face. He smells like home.

“See?” asks Edward, and kisses him again.

Carlisle is more prepared for it this time; his thoughts run past regurgitating his current circumstances and straight into the fact that kissing feels nice. Edward’s tongue slides along his bottom lip, and Carlisle’s responding shudder is not spurred by disgust.

He pushes Edward back with a firm hand on his chest.

“Edward,” he scolds, but is unable to prevent himself from wishing he'd given in.

“You want this,” insists Edward, leaning into his palm. His grin is too wide, too manic. “It's the perfect solution. It’s not infidelity, it’s platonic, in the classical sense. You can teach me how to overcome these urges—I'm too weak. I can’t do this on my own.”

Each word out of his mouth is more insane than the last, the internal logic of a boy who desperately hates himself. Unfortunately, Carlisle's libido doesn't care about that—it’s been a while. Stupidly, Carlisle wonders if Esme might be less upset by him sleeping with Edward than some random other man. He's horrified by the thought.

Edward, however, nods seriously.

“Exactly,” he says. “This is a family matter.”

Carlisle chokes out a hysterical laugh.

“I must have been a horrible father if this is what you think of family,” he says bitterly.

Edward moves his hand to cover Carlisle's where it presses into his unbeating heart.

“You’re an amazing father,” he says, looking up through his lashes, completely sincere. “I'm only able to be this good, flawed as I am, because of you.”

Carlisle can’t deal with Edward’s praise and eyes and fingers twisting through his own. It's disconcerting and wrong that he likes it.

“I need you,” Edward begs, voice small. “Please.”

When he leans forward again, they both know Carlisle could stop him. Instead, his elbow hinges to let Edward press closer, his fingers twitching between his son's.

Carlisle doesn’t quite give in, but he lets Edward mouth at him, mapping the shape of his lips with a tentative tongue. When Edward sighs into his mouth, he inhales the sweet-smelling air.

He thinks of Volterra, of Aro leaving bloodied humans outside his quarters in an attempt to force him to eat nutritionally. Without centuries of practice ignoring it, the smell had coated the back of his throat, making him dizzy and desperate—he feels the same way now.

Edward pulls back, disgusted.

“I’m a monster,” he says, hands stiff on Carlisle’s shoulders. “I'm tempting you to sin, I'm no better than that—”

“Edward,” Carlisle interrupts before he spirals. “You’re not a monster. You're my son and I love you.”

Edward collapses into his chest.

Carlisle is careful to not think anything at all. Edward needs support right now, not demonization. Carlisle’s past shouldn’t matter right now, he should focus on helping Edward without destroying their relationships.

“This is how,” Edward mumbles into his neck. “We can’t move again; I can’t disrupt Bella’s first time through college. And if I do this with you, I won’t hurt him.”

The ultimatum shakes Carlisle, revealing the choice that underlies this entire conversation.

“It’s not—” starts Edward.

“I know,” Carlisle calms him; Edward isn’t manipulating him, just expressing his overflowing emotions.

Edward nods, chin brushing back and forth over Carlisle’s collarbone.

“I’m sorry I’m so weak,” he says.

“You’re not weak,” Carlisle says into his hair. “You protected Bella—” he ignores Edward grimacing in protest, “—and you’re protecting Richard too. I’m proud of you.”

Edward clings to him.

Carlisle wishes he could help, that there was some way to safely expel bloodlust. He could let Edward do this, he thinks, if it wouldn’t make the boy’s self-hatred worse, if it wouldn’t ruin everything.

Edward is kissing him before he can process that thought. Their knees shuffle over the dirt to maintain balance as Edward’s arms snake around his body, clutching at his coat and hair. Edward presses himself closer and closer, lining up their chests, biting at Carlisle’s mouth. He needs this, badly.

Carlisle keeps his hands steady on Edward’s back, letting his head tilt into the kiss. He holds them up as Edward falls to pieces in his arms, and his mind is blissfully empty.

Edward eventually pulls back, dark-eyed and flustered. He licks his bottom lip and watches Carlisle track the motion.

My son is hot, Carlisle thinks, and a wave of self-hatred rolls through his body. Edward, though, looks pleased, smiling crookedly.

“Thank you for doing this,” Edward whispers, and Carlisle can’t resist as he's pushed backwards.

Dry pine needles crunch behind his head as Edward straddles him, holds him to the ground with the length of his body. Edward kisses his temple, his cheek, under his jaw, and Carlisle lets out a shaky breath. He cups Edward's face in his palm, traces his cheekbone with his thumb as Edward stares back with wide amber eyes.

“You're beautiful,” Edward breathes.

Carlisle almost laughs—Edward is the beautiful one.

Edward grins and kisses him like a man starved, all tongue and teeth. Carlisle… wants him to. Sandwiched between dry earth and the solid body of his favorite person, tree branches blotting out the sky, Carlisle lets himself enjoy this.

As soon as he makes the decision, he knows that Alice has seen it. For a fraction of a second, he stills under Edward’s attention. Did Alice see this coming?

Edward frowns a little and kisses the corner of his mouth.

Carlisle sighs, stroking Edward’s hair. He’s long forgiven his children for manipulating the family’s fate—he’s often grateful for it. He might, someday, be grateful for this.

Edward shifts his weight, rocking the hard length of his erection into Carlisle’s abdomen and driving every thought from his head. Both men shudder as their hips rock together. Edward’s fingers carve gauges through the dirt, his back muscles tense under Carlisle’s hand.

“Sorry,” Edward pants into his mouth.

You have nothing to apologize for, thinks Carlisle.

Edward’s kisses grow increasingly frantic, his movements frenzied. Carlisle guides his head to a more comfortable position with a thumb under his jaw. Their legs slot together, erections rutting against each other through layers of fabric. It’s not uncomfortable; they’re not human.

After some time Edward comes, biting down on Carlisle’s neck hard enough to break skin. They both groan. He licks apologetically at the wound as he calms down, avoiding eye contact. He’s only 17.

Carlisle can feel venom trickle slowly down his neck, dripping onto the earth. He has no adrenaline to leave his limbs shaking; the tremor is all him. It's as if a gallon of human blood has been poured down his throat—he should be disgusted with himself, should force himself to vomit, but it's already sinking into his system. He feels alive.

“I've ruined you,” Edward realizes, scrambling off of him.

“Don’t be silly,” says Carlisle, but lying in the dirt with tented pants and a love bite is straining his credibility.

“I’m sorry,” says Edward, panicked. “Truly.”

He runs.

Carlisle lets him. If nothing else, he knows that Edward won’t kill a man today.

The cloud cover is heavy and dark by the time Carlisle has gathered his thoughts and tempered his passion. Tallying and rationalizing his actions, he comes to the conclusion that he’s unforgivable. No matter what Edward thinks he wants, Carlisle is supposed to be his father and should have stopped him. He can’t bear to leave Edward alone to deal with what they’ve done, but he can’t bear to face him either.

He thinks again of Alice. When he finally retrieves his phone and powers it on, he has dozens of missed calls. She saw everything, then. Whether she keeps it to herself will depend on what produces the most fortuitous outcome.

Carlisle steels himself and goes through his voicemail.

The first message starts: “Edward is going to try something stupid, hold your ground.”

The second: “Carlisle, you can’t just let him do whatever he wants.”

The third: “Turn on your damn phone! It’s like you want him to destroy the family.”

By the most recent message, her tone is resigned.

“If you’re doing this, you’re doing this, Carlisle,” she’d said. “Edward doesn’t do half measures. You have to commit.”

She calls as soon as the recording ends.

“I’m sorry—” he starts.

“Save it,” she says. “It would’ve been better if he ate Richard.”

“You know I can’t agree with that,” Carlisle says.

“I know,” she sighs, a crackling hiss through the phone line. “I won’t tell anyone. But pull yourself together or Jasper will notice immediately.”

“Okay,” he agrees, cowed.

“Now go after him,” she orders.

“I really think he needs space.”

She laughs, mean. “He really doesn’t.”

Carlisle is left sitting dumbly with the dial tone. He blinks at his Nokia, half expecting Esme to call next, but it's silent. He’s given no additional insights.

Eventually he starts following Edward’s scent through the trees, further into the forest.

Chapter 4: Coda

He finds Edward on campus, sulking under the trees of a well-populated quad. Bella has come and gone, her hour-old trail having no opportunity to intersect with her husband's.

Carlisle sits carefully next to Edward, who, unmoving, lets him. Repeating “I want to talk, I'm not mad” in his head as he approached seems to have worked.

“Not mad, just disappointed?” Edward asks sardonically.

“Disappointed in myself,” Carlisle corrects. “I didn't want you to find out like that.”

“That you want to fuck me?” He stares straight ahead.

Carlisle grimaces. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. I'm sorry.”

Edward laughs.

“I force you to—to give into temptation and you're the one apologizing.” He turns, finally, to look Carlisle in the eye. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Edward, you didn't force me to do anything.”

Edward frowns, but he reaches out to fuss with the collar of Carlisle’s sweater, hiding his new scar. His lab coat is still folded over a chair in Edward’s kitchen.

Carlisle wants to put a hand on Edward’s shoulder but hesitates. Would it be taken the wrong way?

“Of course you can—please!” insists Edward, leaning towards him to better facilitate touch.

They end up side by side, Carlisle’s arm around Edward’s shoulders. They’ve sat like this thousands of times over the years, as companions and brothers and father and son. Countless students scattered over the quad are positioned the same way. They look like—he can't think about this.

Edward has gone back to gazing into the distance. Carlisle's eyes trace the furrow of his brow, the twist of his lip. Then they follow his line of sight through the window of a classroom to a man enthusiastically gesturing before a whiteboard.

“Is that him?” Carlisle asks.

Edward’s frown is response enough.

Richard is tall, blond, sturdily-built. Though Carlisle can’t hear the lecture over the campus's background chatter, it looks engaging.

“He's a good teacher,” Edward quietly agrees. “Sometimes I listen in on his lectures.”

“You should apply for class credit,” Carlisle jokes.

Edward smiles in response but quickly returns to brooding.

“I don't know how to help you,” Carlisle eventually admits.

“Yes you do.”

“Edward—”

“You already did,” he says. “But I can’t ask that of you again. I can’t drag you down with me.”

When Edward ran away, Carlisle had thought he needed space. He believed Edward could find his own path and would return with a deeper understanding of the sanctity of life. Now, he worries that Edward only thinks himself such a monster because Carlisle left him alone.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Edward begs, but how can Carlisle do anything else?

Edward shifts as if to stand, but Carlisle holds him in place.

“I'm an adult, Carlisle,” says Edward. “I have to take responsibility for myself.”

“You’re my son. I'll always take responsibility for you.”

Edward leans back into his side, staring up at his face with dark eyes.

“Then do.”

“I'm your father,” emphasizes Carlisle.

“So morality is only relative when you want it to be?” Edward snaps. “It's fine to be a bloodsucking demon but not to make love?”

Carlisle gets stuck on “make love.”

“What else would you call it?” grumbles Edward, embarrassed.

Carlisle had thought—he doesn't know what he thought. He tried not to think of anything. He wouldn't have called their desperate tussle in the dirt “lovemaking,” though. Surely Bella is the one Edward makes love to.

Edward says nothing. Frowning, he turns back towards the lecture hall.

Carlisle decides to wait him out, rubbing his bicep and idly eavesdropping on nearby students. He keeps his thoughts light and doesn’t dwell on love or marriage or the sturdy slope of Edward’s shoulders under his arm.

Edward tenses when Richard’s class lets out, students swarming the front of the room to ask questions. They watch him joke with undergrads, shuffling his laptop into a messenger bag. Carlisle tries not to scrutinize the overly friendly interactions, not wanting to upset Edward. The man disappears from view when he exits the classroom, but Edward’s eyes trace his thoughts down the length of the building until he emerges onto the quad.

Richard automatically heads in their direction without even looking—does Edward often wait here to meet him after class?

Edward is frozen until Richard glances up from his phone and sees them sitting together. Then he leans slightly more into Carlisle, tilting his head, almost smirking. Richard frowns.

A part of Carlisle is deeply pleased that they look like a couple. He can barely be ashamed of it when the assumption is safer for both Edward and the human, though his true motivation is closer to possessiveness.

Edward lets out a relieved sigh at the thought.

“I won’t let you hurt him,” Carlisle assures him, squeezing his arm.

“And you’ll…” Edward looks down, embarrassed. “…Help me?”

Carlisle doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to make a decision. He feels numb.

“Don’t go out with him anymore,” Carlisle says instead of answering. “Please.”

Edward studies him sidelong, jaw clenching.

“Alright,” he eventually agrees. “You'll come out with me instead.”

“To the bar?”

Edward’s shrug is overly casual. “We could go somewhere else.”

On one hand, Edward is quite clearly asking him out on a date, swapping one obsession for another, and Carlisle doesn’t want to encourage this behavior. On the other hand, it’s been a long time since the two of them did something fun together. He misses his son.

“The opera is doing Carmen this month,” Carlisle offers.

Edward smiles.