I do not own Twilight, any of its characters or plot.

Soundtrack of Chapter One: "Daydreaming" by Paramore.

Staring at the Sun

Chapter One

"The prodigal child returns"

Black.

Solid, shapeless.

There was no sense of time or space as she floated away.

As fog clouded her lungs and mouth, she felt herself weightless, being slowly but surely pulled in direction of…something.

She knew not where left or right, up or down was. There was a fleeting thought to struggle, but she could not find the will to put her ghost-feeling limbs into action. It seemed as if her brain had been replaced with cotton. She wished to call for her mother, but when she opened her mouth – or what she thought was her mouth – there was no sound.

As she foggily worried over predicament, there suddenly came the dizzying plunging effects of gravity returning. She was unexpectedly swirling, rapidly plummeting down as another color was added into her world.

Green.

Razor sharp, stinging her face, legs and arms, swirling, puke inducing, sudden flash of white, vortex of green, and suddenly bang!

She landed with a sickening crack, the air swooshing out of her lungs .

As her body slowly, painfully, regained form and sensation, she returned consciousness to the feeling of wet and cold... A faint buzzing sound reached her ears as the prickly sensations of shape and texture returned to her fingers. Leaves, it seemed, she was lying over leaves and grass.

She opened her eyes to what she expected to be harsh sunlight, but instead she was greeted with green… skies? No… Trees... Very tall endless green trees, they blended together with gray-black skies, illuminated by a gigantic full moon. Confused, she slowly sat up, careful not to disturb the surroundings, lest she alerted someone of her presence. She looked around, searching for the source of that buzzing noise as she could hear it increasing.

How had she managed to find herself in the middle of a forest?

Slowly, she stood on her knees, eyeing her surroundings suspiciously. She couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding as she tried to adapt her eyes to the darkness surrounding her. She carefully got up and was about to give her first step when suddenly she felt every hair on her body stand and a shiver run its way up her spine.

She was being watched, she realized, her breath catching as an absurd sense of blazing heat, she oddly recognized as hope, filled her chest.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, she turned her head to peer at the forest behind her. The buzz from before unexpectedly intensified tenfold, and she covered her ears from the splitting pain of it, but it was instantly shadowed by the sudden hot blades of fire that tore and gnawed through her chest, sinking searing claws into her heart, and pulling her forward.

Oh! She knew that feeling… She welcomed it thoroughly, the same way she'd done a thousand times before. Tears leaked from her eyes, as she sank to her knees. From behind teary lashes she saw, she could feel, the massive form blending with the pitch black darkness.

She slowly looked up, to the glowing eyes of the beast...watching her.

And she smiled.

Isabella Marie Swan started awake to harsh sunlight coming through her window, almost falling off her bed in the process. Her heart beat erratically and she couldn't keep an almost hysterical giggle to herself as she felt the delicious searing heat fading from the vicinities of her heart. Her Protector had come to her… she couldn't have hoped for a better start to that day!

The loud buzzing sound still there, she now recognized it as her alarm clock echoing loudly. She swiftly smashed it against the wall and turned away, silently bubbling in hatred towards the device that took her away from dreamland so prematurely.

Burying her head against her pillows, she sighed, remembering the dream she'd just had. Those eyes… she'd never forget those glowing ambers of fire. She smiled against her pillow. The figure that graces her presence ever so often, the monster she'd come to believe as her guarding angel. She had, long ago, dubbed him the love of her life… sad, seeing as he not even human, and worse, only a figment of her imagination.

Deciding not to dwell too much on the matters of the heart - and mind, she secretly sneered - so early in the morning; she stretched and hopped out of bed. She tidied it up, carefully folding the sheets just the way she liked it: absolutely unwrinkled. Unfortunately, as the sheets were not agreeing with her, it took her 11 minutes to get it done. Not that she was counting.

She then rearranged everything in the room to absolute Isabella-esque order, the carpet fibers combed left, the computer desk perfectly ordered, and (she should even pat herself in the back for) ordered in a way as the items were laid in perfect half circles around each side of the computer according to statistical chance of use. From most used at the inner circles to least used at the outer circles, her desk presented itself as a picture of chaos enough to fool others (a.k.a. Renee, her mother), and absolutely flawless order to her, as it should be.

After that she took her sweet time arranging the curtains symmetrically and finally nodded to herself, admiring her room, and deemed it an appropriate time for a normal (she inwardly snorted) teenager such as herself to be awake and headed out of her room.

Isabella's feet were covered in bright orange wool socks, allowing her to run full force out of her room, sliding on the wooden floor like a ninja, narrowly avoiding a collision with Phil as he stepped out the room he shared with her mother. Isabella smiled at him sheepishly as he shot her one halfhearted glare and tousled her already bird nested hair.

"Morning, Bella." He said. "You had an unusual good night, you know? We're celebrating! With your mama's Crunchies"

Her eyes widened as she nodded, half happy, half suspicious.

Renee's Crunchies were Isabella's absolute all-time favorites. Though Renee, whom was no fool despite all appearances and pretenses, knew how to play her daughter quite well, meaning she usually only cooked her special Crunchies whenever she wanted to sugar coat her daughter for something.

And a 'good night' was certainly no reason for the chocolaty goodness… at least it never had been before.

Bella entered the bathroom, and as she combed her hair one hundred and twelve strokes towards complete smoothness and simultaneously brushed her teeth - a feat she'd managed to master over the years - she tried not to let her mood get dampened by special food scenarios.

Maybe they'd only go on a trip for one of Phil's games or something. Maybe they wouldn't be moving or anything like that. They'd only been in Phoenix for –not that she was counting– 8 months, 3 weeks and 2 days. Granted that was more time than they spent in most cities, but she really really liked Phoenix. Something about the warm, dry, dependable weather took very well to her, she guessed.

Bella sighed as she was stepped out of the bathroom. 'No use avoiding the unavoidable', she thought, and keeping in mind the sugary mouthwatering goodness waiting for her, she ran down the stairs.

Carefully she sidestepped the squeaky, unstable fifth step, trying not to klutz out so early on the morning. She then ninja slid her way into the kitchen, only to be met by Renee's frantic waving of a cloud of smoke away from the house's overly hysterical smoke detector.

Phil hid a smirk against his coffee mug throwing a significant sly look towards Bella, a look she knew well the meaning of. It was a slight raise on his left eyebrow and a crooked smile that showed the indentation of a dimple on his left cheek.

A look that meant 'Sorry I gave you false hope, kiddo. Your mom burned breakfast. Again. We are eating at some local diner. Again.'

Ah, the joy.

Thoroughly dejected for being denied her favorite treat, Bella turned back after grumbling out a barely audible good morning and trudged upstairs to change out of her pajamas. She went to her mother's room and after finding the appropriate keys she went back to her room and unlocked her windows, sneaking a hand outside to check the temperature. She smiled as she found it the usual three gazillion Farenheit, and the sun boasting its fullest, harshest glory.

She turned back and opened her closet, remembering to her dismay that she had yet to do her laundry that week, due to Renee downright forbidding her from washing clothes more than once a week. That problem left her - as she gazed into her nearly empty wardrobe - with little choices appropriate enough for… well, for baking on a furnace with marginal discomfort.

Sigh.

Bella ended up choosing a dark pink mini sundress, suppressing an internal shiver of revulsion at the girly attire (a gift from Renee of course), along with denim short shorts and well worn, yet spotless, beloved black converses.

She retrieved some sunblock out of the drawer and smeared it everywhere on her body, lest she repeat the alarmingly accurate human-lobster performances of the first month under Phoenix's sky.

Renee now bought her an amazing sunscreen brand, with probably the highest sun protection factor known to human kind. 'You know, it was actually Dr Goodricke who told me about this brand, you know that Doc has fairer skin than you do. Turns out it's potent enough to keep a vampire from bursting into flames against the midday sunlight in the middle of the Sahara desert', she remembered her mother saying. Bella now agreed with her wholeheartedly, for it had certainly kept her ownskin from sizzling off every time she took her near-albino self out for some vitamin D producing.

She heard a knock, and her door was opened (without permission, may she have silently add as the intruder - Renee - peeked inside her room). Her mother's eyes narrowed suspiciously as her gaze lingered on her daughter's wrinkleless bed for a few seconds, eventually looking back at her daughter and smiling a little too widely.

"Let's go, honey?" she said in a cheerful voice.

Bella was immediately suspicious; it was not common at all for Renee to forego nagging her daughter about her 'obsessive cleaning tendencies', or her obsessive anything every chance she got.

She didn't like it. Renee was up to something. Something big.

. . .

Jacob Black stared at his cell phone's screen unblinkingly. He'd been awakened by a beeping noise signaling he had a message from Bells, which he promptly checked. And now he wishes he hadn't. Fervently.

He read the message once more, gulping audibly. He forcibly shook himself and viciously rubbed his eyes. Numbingly he read it again.

"Jaaaake, you won't believe. My shrink (the traitor) told my mom that all this back and forth wasn't good for me. So naturally instead of talking to me and settling our family down in one city, noooooo! She just kicked me out!

Talk about a huge blowout yesterday when she told me! So now, apparently, I have to pack up and move to Forks.

Since I have no say in what goes on in my life whatsoever, even though it's me who is living it (insert snort of derision here ¬¬' ) I am now actually packing everything as I write to you (can't believe the rush on my mom's side to drop me off, sheesh!).

Anywaaaayss, your house better be the spotless, shiny, absolutely ordered place I left it as OR ELSE!

xo xo

Bells "

Jacob felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine at the same time as a shiver fought its way up. He turned his back to his computer to check his room. Clothes all over the floor, bed completely messed up, half-filled glass mugs in every possible surface, and he was pretty sure he just saw a tiny spider crawl under his bed.

He felt his lead filled limbs slowly carry him outside his room; dust on the hallway, the kitchen didn't ever deserve a description other than war zone.

Oh boy.

He found his father staring at the television, happily munching away some definitely non diabetic friendly cereal, a feat he would certainly never accomplish again, not under Bella's watch, that's for sure.

He heavily sat at the couch, sinking hopelessly into the worn leather. He groaned.

Billy, Jacob's father, eyed his disposition with a funny look, arching one eyebrow at his behavior. "What's gotten into you so early in the morning, son?" He asked.

Jacob sighed. He rearranged himself into the couch that was getting too small to accommodate his frame. He groaned. He flipped onto his stomach; he buried his face against the sofa cushion. He told his father.

"Manhma mam man" he muffled out.

Billy raised another eyebrow. "What?" he asked, in between munches.

Jacob turned his head to look at his father. "Bella is coming." He said, shutting his eyes as he swallowed another groan. "As in, she is moving back to Forks"

He felt more then heard Billy's body stiffen. He definitely heard the spoon clanking against the bow of cereal as it slipped from his father's grasp.

Now, Billy Black, respected - if not feared- Chief of the Quileute Tribe, was no coward. He'd faced more hardships, overcome more struggles than the average soap opera's main character. But Isabella Swan, Isabella The Hawk Swan, well… shewas a force to be reckoned with.

Billy looked at around at his living room, which he could only describe as a nuclear fallout zone. He gulped.

Oh boy.

Billy looked down at his breakfast cereal and silently said his goodbyes, mourning the loss of each and all sugary goodness in the world.

Bells…she had eyes on the back of her head, the walls were her ears, he was pretty sure she was capable of setting up secret surveillance footage on his fridge, or at least bribing Jake into telling her if he had been keeping to his diet or not (and the Spirits know that boy –the traitor – is no more than gooey mellow putty on Bella's hands, especially if she treats him with food).

Nope,she would never let Billy put his hands on a spoon of sugar ever again.

Billy sighed, wheeling himself towards the phone as it started ringing.

"Black's" he said as he picked it up.

"Sup?" he heard the grunt on the other side of the phone. Charlie Swan, The Hawk's father, exchanged words of mortification with his longtime friend.

Charlie was awoken quite early, on one of his very few days off might he add, by a call from his recently remarried (bitch of an) ex-wife, conveniently informing him that, according to the advices of Dr. Goodricke (whom might as well change names to Dr. God on Earth, given the size of the pedestal Renée held that shrink in), Charlie was now to house their beloved daughter for the remaining time of her high school years, as a stable environment should be better for the success of his daughter's treatment.

Apparently, somehow, only Charlie was able to give her said environment now (because God forbid Renée ever give up a single inch of her life in order to accommodate Bella's needs).

Funny how that wasn't what the judge thought when they were fighting for custody, he mused later, after he had hung up the phone and started grudgingly cleaning up his house.

Now, it wasn't that Charlie minded having his little girl around; in fact he could barely sit still in anticipation between each one of her visits. But Bella was… well, he'd certainly had a reason for dubbing her Hurricane Bella when she was little.

Charlie was an aging man now, completely set on his ways, and he was sure that having Bella…no, worse… teenage Bella around was bound to throw his life into absolute chaos. 'Or worse' he thought 'completely spotlessly ordered kind of worse '.

He grunted while munching on a crispy piece of bacon he was going to throw away but decided against it once he realized he should be saying his goodbyes to all things fried, for he was sure once Bella got word of his latest cholesterol check he would never hear the sizzling delicious sound of anything frying ever again.

Sigh.

Oh and he was sure Bella would get the news because a) Billy was that much of a rat, the traitor, and b) hard ass, feared Chief William Black was total vanilla yogurt smoothie on his daughter's hands and would most definitely tell on Charlie once Bella started cruelly bribing him with food.

Cruelly, of course, as she would only cut him off later once she heard of his latest blood sugar level results. Which she will hear, he's absolutely sure, considering Charlie himself was no more than squishy melted marshmallow on Bella's heavenly lasagna making hands.

Charlie ran a thumb and a forefinger through his mustache and, swaying between hope and hopelessness, he looked down at his stomach – the traitor- and resumed his cleaning of the house.