Chapter Text
Charlie had forgotten how vast the forest seemed when he was alone.
The damp air clung to his unshaven beard, and each step sank into the soaked moss, releasing a scent of earth, rain, and a certain loneliness that had always been a part of him, but which now seemed even greater. It was an old habit: leaving early, taking his old shotgun, trying to find some normalcy among the trees.
A normalcy that, frankly, no longer existed.
He took a deep breath.
Vampires. Wolves. A half-vampire, half-human granddaughter.
Not even in his teenage nightmares would this have appeared.
Charlie still felt somewhat… betrayed.
No matter how many times he repeated to himself that Bella was alive, that she had chosen this path, that she had a family and a daughter he adored.
The truth is that the girl he raised opened the doors to a world that swallowed his entire life, and he was still trying to stitch together the loose threads.
But at the same time… He was grateful.
Deeply grateful.
Renesmee was growing strong and healthy—and Jacob was always nearby, fulfilling this strange role of protective godfather, a kind of older brother who adored the girl in such a sincere way that Charlie couldn't criticize. He just accepted it.
Thinking of Jacob reminded him of Billy.
Billy with his easy laugh, his infinite patience, the conversations that always ended with bad beer and good stories.
He would give anything to go on another hunt with his friend. Anything to hear Billy complaining that Charlie made too much noise and scared the animals away.
"You should be here, old man…" he murmured, adjusting his coat.
The birds stirred in the treetops.
A soft rustling, then silence.
Charlie stopped, attentive.
Among the trees, the silhouette of a deer emerged. Delicate, alert, with ears moving like antennae.
He inhaled slowly, reminding himself that he still knew what he was doing.
He raised his rifle.
He aimed.
The familiar weight in his hand, his breathing controlled.
Target adjusted.
The shot rang out.
The deer leaped away—it didn't fall.
"Damn it!" Charlie lunged forward, his heart racing. "Come back here…"
Adrenaline propelled him through the woods.
He ran after the trail, dodging roots, trying to keep the animal in sight. But the terrain was uneven, too damp, treacherous.
His foot caught on a branch hidden under the moss.
The fall was abrupt, hard, and violent.
Charlie rolled, the rifle slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a dull thud. A piece of broken trunk cut his thigh.
The pain came hot.
Blood began to flow immediately, staining the fabric of his pants.
"Oh, shit…" Charlie pressed the wound, feeling the throbbing pulse under his fingers. "That's all I needed today…"
He tried to stand, but his leg protested. The cut was deeper than he wanted to admit.
He sat there on the cold ground, breathing heavily, staring at the forest that seemed to watch him back.
Tired.
Alone.
Much more fragile than he liked to admit.
And, deep in the woods, something was moving… something that wasn't the deer.
Charlie raised his head, his hand still pressing on the cut. For a second, he thought it was Jacob, but wolves don't make sounds like that.
His heart leaped when the figure emerged from among the tree trunks, so clean, so silent, that it seemed to have been molded by its own shadow.
"Sheriff?"
The voice was unmistakable.
Polite.
Low.
Too soft for the setting.
Carlisle Cullen approached with the calm of someone who had never, in his entire existence, stumbled over anything. He knelt beside Charlie as if the ground were any less wet just for him.
"Of course…" Charlie grumbled, exasperated with himself, "just you."
Carlisle raised his eyebrows with a friendly but worried air.
"May I know why the Forks police chief is sitting on the ground, bleeding, in the middle of the forest?"
"Because I'm unlucky."
Charlie inhaled, trying to pretend it hurt less than it really did.
"And you won't say a peep to Bella. Not a word. She's going on a trip with Edward and… the little one. I won't spoil anything."
Carlisle gave a small smile, a calm smile that always irritated Charlie a little, because it seemed like nothing could shake that vampire.
He made a gesture with his hand, running his index finger across his lips, as if closing an invisible zipper.
"Medical secret. Or rather… the chief's secret."
"Great." Carlisle then leaned toward the wound, his movements so precise they seemed rehearsed.
"Can I touch it?"
"If I say no, will you let me bleed to death?"
"Of course not."
"Then touch it already, Cullen."
The touch was cold, not uncomfortable, but different, almost numbing. Carlisle pulled aside the torn fabric of the trousers and examined the cut with clinical efficiency.
Charlie watched his face, trying to gauge his reaction.
And then he saw it.
The subtle movement of the throat.
A dry swallow.
Carlisle's eyes, for a moment, lost focus, giving way to a glassy glint.
...almost... starving.
The kind of thing any other human wouldn't notice.
But Charlie, for some reason, did.
"Hey." The voice came out lower, hoarse. "Carlisle."
The vampire blinked, coming to his senses as if waking from a quick dream.
"Sorry." He composed himself, taking a deep breath even though he didn't need to. "I won't hurt you."
Charlie didn't know why he believed him so quickly.
Maybe because, amidst all this madness, Carlisle had always been the only constant calm.
Maybe because those eyes, even when they darkened, never turned to him with bad intentions.
Or maybe because Charlie was too tired to feel fear.
He exhaled slowly.
"I know you won't."
Carlisle looked up for just a moment, and something in that exchange, in that silence, made the world seem narrower. The forest tightened around them. The blood continued to drip. And Carlisle's cold fingers pressed against the wound with the care of someone trying to save a precious object.
"We'll take care of this, Charlie. I promise."
Carlisle took off the light backpack he carried on his back, something Charlie hadn't noticed he was wearing. The vampire unzipped it and, with his usual calm, revealed a well-stocked first-aid kit, with gauze, antiseptic, thread, needle, even tweezers.
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"You're prepared, huh?"
Carlisle brushed his blond hair back in an automatic gesture.
"I usually use this for injured animals." He gave a slight smile, too humble. "The forest deserves kindness."
Charlie snorted.
"Fine. Whatever. You can stitch my leg up before I pass out here and you have to drag me."
Carlisle clenched his jaw, clearly uncomfortable.
"Charlie… it’s going to hurt a little. And this environment isn’t ideal. I’d rather take you to the emergency room. It’s safer, cleaner…"
"Nobody will know I fell. You promised." Charlie’s voice came out low, insistent, almost pleading. "And I’m not going to go into a hospital for my daughter to find out I’ve become the subject of a hospital report."
Carlisle inhaled (even though he didn’t need to) and exhaled in a gesture of patient defeat.
"I can stitch it up here, but there are risks. Infection, complications, irregular healing…"
Charlie rolled his eyes.
"Carlisle, I’ve been shot. I’ve been hit with a bottle. I’ve been bitten by a dog. Just stitch this damn thing up."
It was the first time in years that Carlisle raised his voice.
"No."
Charlie blinked, surprised.
Carlisle then took a clean bandage and carefully tied a strip around the wound, creating an improvised tourniquet just enough to stop the bleeding without tightening too much.
"I'm not going to risk you. Not here, not now." His voice was lower, almost a whisper. "Let's walk to your car. I'll take you to the emergency room, and then I swear nobody will know."
Charlie stared at the vampire for long seconds.
"Carlisle, I can walk."
Carlisle tried, really tried, to respect that.
But when he leaned over to pick Charlie up, like someone doing with newborns and proud men… Charlie placed his hand firmly on his chest.
"Don't even think about it." His voice was deep, dry, almost indignant.
Carlisle blinked, almost innocently.
"But it would be faster."
"I'm not a princess, Cullen."
"I never suggested that."
Charlie mumbled something that only came out as a grunt and leaned heavily on the vampire, hand on his shoulder, body pressed against his. Carlisle slid his arm around his waist so carefully it felt like touching porcelain. The closeness was… strange. Intense. And, for some reason, too comfortable.
"Don't look at me like that," Charlie said without looking up.
"I'm not looking at you."
"Yes, you are."
The rest of the way was silent, except for Charlie's racing heart and Carlisle's perfectly calm and rehearsed breathing.
When they finally reached the patrol car, Charlie knocked on the door with an exasperated sigh.
Carlisle examined the car for a second, then looked at Charlie.
"Is there a problem if I drive?"
Charlie opened the passenger door with what little dignity he had left.
"I'm the boss. I decide who drives."
Carlisle gave a genuine, amused smile.
"So the boss just promoted me to driver."
Then she gently settled him in the seat and closed the door slowly, before turning around and getting behind the wheel.