Chapter Text
Peter stretched his legs out on the deck, leaned back against the creaky wood of his home, and stared at the tree line as if it could give him all the answers.
As always, it didn't. Not one fucking bit.
The air was crisp, cool enough that he could almost pretend it mattered. Whiskey in hand—another generous pour, because screw it, he was working on positivity—he tried to loosen his shoulders. He tried to think happy thoughts. Or whatever the fuck Alice had told him to do.
He hadn’t read the book. Of course, he hadn’t read the book. Not until it had been collecting a solid amount of dust on the shelf of his so-called library—really just a graveyard for Alice’s endless charity of books, magazines, and academic articles. Shelves buckling under the weight of her unsolicited attempts at helping him. Every time she visited, she’d poke around, her eyes narrowed like a goddamn fairy detective, hunting for signs of progress. “So, how’s the mental health project going?” she'd ask, all pointed smile and twitchy fingers.
The project. Like he was some rusted-out car she was hellbent on refurbishing.
He didn’t have the heart to lie to her. Or, well, he did. It’s just that Jasper had looked at him over her shoulder with that half-shrug and resigned glance that practically begged him to humor her.
And, well, Jasper was one of the only people Peter gave a damn about anymore. So he’d accepted the fucking book.
And then another. And then another.
And now, there was a never ending supply of self-help books grazing his damned house like just being in the vicinity would be enough to help him.
Even God knew he was a hopeless cause.
But that wasn’t the point. The point was, Peter had cracked open one of them—finally—and the premise was the same old drivel that had probably been recycled since cavemen tried to cheer up their buddies after the first bad hunt. Twenty-one days to rewire your thought process. As if positivity was a fucking bandage you could slap over everything rotting in your mind.
There weren’t enough bandages in the world to do that.
Whatever. Peter could play along.
Call out the things of beauty. Appreciate them. Positive reinforcement breeds positive thoughts.
He swallowed. Yeah. He was already regretting this.
Then, as if the woods could offer any solace, he glanced around, eyes narrowing as if that could solve all his problems.
Birds chirping somewhere out there; some overachieving robin trying to build a nest. Probably one of those little bastards Jasper had once joked about getting tattooed. Because yeah, that was a conversation they’d had once, back when life still held a fucking ounce of joy. Not that vampires could get tattoos—they’d figured that out the hard way. Still, it hadn’t stopped the both of them. Jasper, sketching out some intricate, gothic thing in his notebook with that furrowed brow like he was still a general planning a battle. And Peter, half-drunk, tossing out suggestions like “How ‘bout a goose holding a knife?”
Jasper had just given him a look. Something almost fond. Maybe exasperated.
And—
No. He wasn’t gonna go there.
Goddamn, he was losing focus. Alright. Five things I like. He took another gulp of whiskey, burning his throat because why the hell not.
One. The deck. The wood was splintering in places, but it had a good feel under his boots. Solid. Something he’d built with his own hands when he’d needed to stop thinking. When Charlotte’s name was still a fresh wound he couldn’t stop picking at.
Two. The whiskey. Amber and biting, with just the right amount of slow warmth seeping into his veins. Cheap, but effective. Kind of like him.
Three. The air. Sharp and clean. Like it was trying to remind him he was still breathing, whether he liked it or not. Whether he couldn’t or not. He could smell a deer somewhere off to the right, deep in the pines. Blood pumping through its veins, thick and tantalizing, if you went for that sort of thing. Peter didn’t.
And anyway, he wasn’t hunting today. Today was about inner fucking peace or something.
Four. Flowers. Not the kind anyone sane would plant, but the scrappy, wild ones that cropped up like stubborn little miracles out of the dirt. Lupines. That’s what they were called. Bright bursts of purple against all the green. They shouldn’t survive out here, but they did. He could respect that.
Five.
Peter squinted into the tree line like it might do him the favor of coughing up something worth liking. He was this close to counting not having Alice around as number five, but that felt cheap. And Alice would probably sense it, and would then corner him on her next visit, another book in hand and hopeful smiles aplenty.
He shook his head. He definetly needed something better.
So. Five.
He sat. He waited. It didn't come easy.
Rather, it didn't come at all.
Peter cracked his knuckles. Walked back and forth over the deck, sipping his Whiskey. But even the alcohol didn’t seem to give him any inspiration.
Right as he started to give up on the whole exercise, the forest went and spat out something alright; like it had heard every single prayer and decided to answer it.
Jasper. Dragging a human like he was hauling in fresh meat, his face set in that familiar mask of grim purpose.
Peter nearly dropped his glass. Blinking hard, he glanced at the bottle that stood on the table next to him, like it might have swapped itself for absinthe while he wasn’t paying attention. Nope. Still cheap whiskey. And still not hallucinating. Probably. Did vampires hallucinate? That’d be news.
But there Jasper was. Boots scuffing the dirt, his shirt torn and mud-streaked, wild-eyed and twitchy like he’d crawled out of a nightmare. And dragging a human, no less. A little limp thing with dark hair and dirt-smudged skin. Jasper’s grip looked tight enough to snap bones.
Peter groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be shitting me.” Of course, Jasper would show up now, just as Peter was trying to better himself. With a goddamn human in tow, like that was perfectly reasonable.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t seen each other in years or something.
No greeting. No explanation. Just Jasper, moving like the world was on fire behind him. Eyes locked ahead, jaw tight, shoulders drawn back like he was one bad day from cutting the whole world to pieces.
And fuck, if Peter didn’t feel something twitch to life in his chest.
It was the way Jasper moved. That ruthless, razor-edge precision. That determination Peter used to cling to like a lifeline, back when blood and chaos made sense.
And maybe that was the problem. Or maybe that was the point. Because, of course, Peter liked it. That rush of adrenaline, the way Jasper’s fury sharpened everything. How Jasper’s purpose made Peter feel real, even when he was trying so damn hard to be normal.
Fuck. That’s number five.
Now he just needed to figure out why the hell Jasper was here, wrecking his half-assed attempt at inner peace. And dragging a human along like they were supposed to make sense of that.
Somehow, he doubted Alice’s dumbass book had any advice for this kind of positivity.
“No.”
Peter almost spat it out, it tasted wrong. Bitter. Maybe it was just the whiskey burning his throat. Either way, he was sticking to it. Hadn’t changed his mind the first nineteen times Jasper asked, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“Peter…”
“No.” And that was fucking final.
Peter took a longer pull from the bottle—because yes, he was drinking from the bottle now—pretending Jasper’s sudden reappearance wasn’t grating on his last nerve. Hell, he could’ve been getting into something way more productive tonight—like drinking himself into a stupor or not babysitting whatever doe-eyed stray Jasper had dragged to his doorstep.
“Captain, please.”
That is when Peter froze.
And not just because Jasper had managed to wrangle a 'please' out of his ironclad, pain-in-the-ass throat. It was the title. That damn title Jasper hadn’t used in years, like yanking out a rusty knife just to dig around for whatever scrap of patience Peter had buried so deep even he’d forgotten about it.
He set the bottle down slow, his gaze dragging from Jasper’s clenched jaw to the half-dead thing skulking behind him. Little shadow of a girl, clinging to the wall like it might swallow her up if she pressed hard enough. She could probably use a good bath. And a better attitude, from the way she kept her head down, practically cowering.
“Fuck me,” Peter muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
And yeah, he was curious. Had been from the moment Jasper showed up on his doorstep with a pet human like it was something normal people did. But calling him Captain? That meant desperation. Desperation meant leverage. And Peter liked leverage just fine.
He could probably use it for something. Like finally getting Alice to stop sending him those goddamn books.
He stared Jasper down, but Jasper’s eyes were glued to the girl. Protective. Not a whole lot Jasper gave a shit about these days, so that was… something.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Alright, Major. Let’s play this stupid little game. Why the fuck would you need me to harbor a human?”
Jasper’s mouth twitched. Not a smile. Not a scowl. Something right in between. Peter’d seen it a hundred times before. The kind of expression that said this is complicated and I’d rather be hunting, tearing, or biting something than explaining it.
Yeah, tough luck man. Especially in current company.
As if to illustrate his point, the girl flinched Jasper’s title ‘Major’ like it meant something to her. Maybe it did. Maybe his brother had talked her up about what a great commander he’d been, what a fine leader, how they’d carved out their own bloody empire together once upon a time. But looking at him now, those amber eyes half-starved and frayed around the edges, Peter didn’t feel much like reminiscing.
“And better yet,” Peter continued, because being an asshole was practically second nature, “who the hell are you hiding her from? The goddamn thought police?”
Jasper grimaced.
Peter smiled. His reading had paid off. Alice hadn't stopped at self-help books—praise the Lord for not being that pathetic yet.
The human scoffed, which would’ve been real cute if it didn’t sound like a mouse getting stepped on. High-pitched, squeaky, and more ballsy than smart.
The Major, however? Well, he wasn't that amused.
His jaw worked like he was chewing on something sharp. And Peter had to admit, he was a little impressed Jasper was even trying to hold his temper. That he didn’t have Peter against the wall yet, teeth at his throat. Restraint wasn’t the Major’s thing—never had been, never would be.
Maybe he should get some of those goddamn self-help books.
Or maybe, the man had already read them. Because here he was, all leashed-up and clenching his teeth like it was a goddamn hobby.
Interesting.
And of course, Peter being Peter, he needed to see how far he could push his luck.
“I’m serious, Major. This better be good.”
Peter folded his arms over his chest, all casual disinterest while his brain spun through the worst-case scenarios. Vampire politics. Newborn hordes. Some idiot Volturi guard on their high horse—
Why were there so many damned options?
It was the girl who broke the silence. Not with words—God forbid she use her voice—but with a look. Wide-eyed, but not quite terrified. More like desperate, her hands hanging onto Jasper’s arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Jesus. What the hell had the man gotten himself into?
Peter heaved a sigh big enough to fill the whole goddamn room, then stepped aside, jerking his chin toward the darkened interior of his shitty little hideaway. “Fine. Whatever. Come on in before I change my mind.”
Jasper nodded, solemn and grateful, herding the girl inside like a damn sheepdog. But Peter wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easy.
He let the door swing shut with a heavy thud, leaning against it with his arms crossed.
“Just so we’re clear, Major—you’re explaining this shit. And if it turns out I’m risking my neck for some half-assed sob story, I’m throwing both your sorry asses out back into the woods. Got it?”
Jasper met his gaze, eyes dark and solemn. Not a man who’d come begging without a damn good reason.
But in their world, that didn’t mean shit.
“Thought so,” Peter grumbled, snatching up the whiskey bottle again and heading for the nearest chair. He needed more alcohol. Because whatever nightmare Jasper had dumped at his doorstep, it was gonna take at least seven drinks to process. And maybe eight more to forget.
By the looks of Jasper, he was about two bad minutes away from cracking the bottle open himself.
Peter hummed under his breath. Interesting, indeed.
The clock on the wall ticked. And ticked. And ticked.
Peter was starting to think he was going to snap his own neck just to end the agony of listening to it. But Jasper and the girl—Bella, apparently—were just sitting there looking like they were about to break into a goddamn eulogy.
“So let me get this straight,” Peter said, slow drawl dragging every word through a layer of barbed wire. “The human—”
“Bella,” Jasper corrected, already tight-lipped like he expected a punch.
Peter rolled his eyes so hard he was surprised they didn’t just roll right out of his skull. “Right, Bella. The one who’s apparently got a golden ticket to the vampire shitshow. So, she knows about us. Nearly changed, got the venom sucked out of her,”—his gaze flicked to the girl, who looked half-wilted and half-pissed—“Nice job surviving that one, by the way.”
“Uh, thanks?” The human shot him a look like she couldn’t decide if she was grateful or ready to throw something at his head.
Peter barely let her finish before he kept going, words tumbling out like he’d been storing them up for months. He really should think about getting some friends. Or maybe, at least one.
The thought played around in his head for a split second, before he thought better of it. Then, his eyes held Jasper’s.
“You killed the one who was tracking her. Then his fucking mate wanted revenge on her—not you, because why would that make sense? And instead of, I don’t know, hunting down a human the easy way, she decided to build a newborn army. In Seattle, of all goddamn places—because hey, genius move. Clouds, yes, subtlety, no.”
He watched Jasper’s jaw lock up tight. Like the man was trying to swallow an entire obituary that would put Peter back in his place.
His eventually retort was, well, underwhelming.
“Well, we took care of that, evidently,” Jasper replied, somehow managing to sound defensive and exhausted in the same breath.
“Yeah, sure,” Peter snorted. “Just cleaned it all up nice and tidy, didn’t you? And on top of that, the human—”
“Bella.”
“Right, Bella. Decided to pay a little visit to the Volturi last year?”
Jasper nodded like the dumbass he was. Meanwhile, the girl just let out a tiny, half-hearted, “Yeah, bit of an accident, really.”
“An accident?” Peter scoffed so hard it nearly came out a bark. “How in the seven hells do you ‘accidentally’ hop a plane to Italy and make a house call to the goddamn rulers of our entire fucked-up world?”
Bella looked down, chewing on her lip like she was trying to decide whether or not to bother explaining herself. Jasper’s expression was the kind of uncomfortable that usually came from holding in something much worse than words.
Peter clicked his tongue, glancing between them. “Major, what the fuck happened?”
Jasper hesitated, which just confirmed to Peter that whatever he was about to say was going to be a steaming pile of horse shit.
“I might’ve tried to… sample the merchandise,” Jasper admitted, voice lower than Peter had heard it in a while.
Peter blinked. Once. Twice. And then kept right on blinking because he was trying to process the fact that Jasper had just said something so blindingly stupid.
Bella, though? She cracked. Burst out laughing so hard she nearly doubled over. It was the hysterical, teetering-on-the-edge kind of laugh, like her sanity was hanging on by a string and Jasper had just cut right through it.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “What the hell is wrong with this one?”
Bella wiped tears from her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… Jasper tried to bite me. Except he missed. And my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend—thought the best way to save me was by throwing me into a cabinet. Because obviously, being thrown into a glass cabinet stops the bleeding instead of exacerbating it.”
“Your ex?” Peter echoed, as if that was the only unbelievable part of that entire clusterfuck.
Bella made a dismissive gesture. “Yeah. Edward tried to bite me too, then got all broody and dumped me like it was some kind of noble act.”
Peter felt like he’d been handed a puzzle with half the pieces missing and had simultaneously landed in the middle of a vampire telenovela. Entertaining but confusing shit. He tried to summarize it as such. “Okay, so he dumps you, you get left high and dry, and the first brilliant idea you come up with is to haul your human ass across the Atlantic and show up at the Volturi’s doorstep?”
“Well, he thought I died, so he went to kill himself,” Bella deadpanned. “So, really, I didn’t have much of a choice.”
Peter stared at her. Then at Jasper. Then back at this puzzle of a human.
“… Please tell me you killed him yourself, Major,” Peter said, because at this point, that was about the only way this train wreck of a story could possibly redeem itself.
Jasper glanced away, awkward as if the cat got his tongue. “No.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. I leave you alone for five short years, and this is what’s happening?”
Jasper didn’t dignify that with a reply.
Peter dragged a hand through his hair, then cut a glance at Bella. The human. Her. He really looked this time. Like she was some weird, glitching experiment he couldn’t quite figure out. There were soft edges where there should’ve been scars. She was composed when she should’ve been crumbling.
“Fuck, okay,” Peter sighed, glancing around the room like the answer might’ve been hiding behind his ratty old curtain. Newsflash, it wasn’t.
“So, to recap, you met the Volturi, a newborn army, and then you met the Volturi again?!”
Jasper nodded. “Yeah, they showed up.”
Peter rolled his eyes once more. “And you’re acting like that’s unexpected?! She,”—his finger jabbed in Bella’s direction—“committed to change. It’s been a year. Aro don’t like waitin’, Major.”
Jasper nodded again, steady and infuriatingly calm. “And that’s just the thing.”
“No.”
Peter’s voice came out flat and final, the kind of ‘no’ that wasn’t meant to be questioned.
Jasper opened his mouth to argue.
“No,” Peter repeated, because apparently one syllable was too complicated for the man to grasp the twenty-second time.
“Captain, please.”
Peter’s gaze slid from Jasper to Bella, like she was the unwelcome guest nobody had invited but everyone was now stuck with. “Give me one good reason.”
Jasper met his eyes, steady and unflinching. “She’s not ready yet.”
Peter barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Is anyone ever?”
“Please, Peter. She’s young. Not even nineteen.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, she should’ve thought about that before falling headfirst in love with a sparkly seventeen year-old dead boy.”
“Nineteen, Peter.”
His eyes narrowed at Jasper. “It’s not like you’re much older yourself.”
Jasper’s gaze cut sharp. “And how many times have you told me I should’ve grown up? That being in your twenties is better. That you’re so much more emotionally mature.”
Fuck. Jasper had him there. Annoyingly smug bastard.
Peter just stared, cursing his own big mouth.
Jasper continued, because apparently, he was on a goddamn roll now. “She can’t stay with us, because it's too close to Edward and his brooding. This way, she’s safe. Her human family is safe, at least for a while. Until the Volturi really come looking.”
Peter was silent. Stubborn. Wondering how much worse this shit show could get before it exploded.
Jasper pushed on, voice tightening at the edges, as his desperation bled through the cracks. “Give her a chance, Pete. Just some time. To grow. To be away from all this mess. The last years have been either spent running from some crazy tracker, dodging a newborn army, or playing lapdog to Edward’s martyr complex.”
Peter groaned. Loudly. That last part especially sounded like fucking hell. But it wasn’t like he could offer her something of substance—a life worth living. Fuck. He himself barely could stand to dwell in this hellhole, and it was his fucking house.
Peter’s gaze dragged back to Bella, where he found two big brown eyes staring at him like he was some kind of savior instead of the bastard he’d always been.
She had that look about her. Like she’d seen hell and walked out the other side, but forgot to wipe the ashes off her shoes. Hell, maybe that’s why Jasper liked her. Like recognized like.
Fuck.
“Fine,” Peter snapped, all rough edges and barely restrained frustration. “I’ll take her. But once the Volturi comes knocking, it’s game over. I’m not playing hero for this mess.”
Bella offered him a small smile, the kind of smile that was way too grateful for someone with this level of terrible judgment.
Jasper’s lips were a thin line, like he knew exactly how bad this was going to turn out but was too damn stubborn to admit it.
It didn’t matter, Peter thought. It was done.
“Deal,” Jasper said, all calm certainty like he hadn’t just dropped a fucking nuke in Peter’s living room.
He took a deep breath. Positivity. He needed to think positively.
His eyes turned to the far end of the room, to the promised cabinet that would hold all his answers.
Yeah, that sounded positive right about now.
Peter hauled himself up, stomping over to the rickety cabinet like it offered salvation. In his current state, it probably did. He pulled out a fancy-looking bottle he must’ve been saving for some occasion that never bothered showing up. Whatever. It’d do the job.
He uncorked it and took a long, burning swig. Because he was going to regret this. Oh, he was absolutely going to regret this.