Disclaimer: As per usual, nothing belongs to me, but if Smeyer wanted to leave the whole Twilight saga franchise in her will for some reason, I would gladly accepted. And of course, 'Running Up that Hill' belongs to Kate Bush, even though the Track and Field cover is really good.

A few things before we start, that you probably might want to know so you don't get too confused: In this alternate universe, Jacob ran away (again) after Edward gave him the keys to his car, and did not end up imprinting on Renesmee, nor will he be imprinting on her when he meets her. And I'll explain much of that later on. In the meantime, R&R!

It doesn't hurt me

You wanna feel how it feels

You wanna know, know that it doesn't hurt me

You, you and me

Prologue:

In one impossible moment of failure, the shadows battled the radiant, warm light from the sun into submission, and his whole world had been plunged into the darkness. He could barely breathe, could barely hold on to the twine of his treacherous immortality, could barely think straight without his mind returning the same moment—where the universe had been suddenly cut away from him, all because he was too late.

"This is all my fault."

"Jacob, there is nothing—nothing!—you could have done."

"I should have been faster, I should have never left her alone, I should have been there to protect her-"

"No, don't do that to yourself, Jacob! She knew what she was getting herself into, and we both know you would have done the exact thing for her."

"And that's it? Is this how everything is supposed to end? Without a fight? I can't accept that. I won't give up on her."

"Jacob, what you're wishing for is impossible. She's dead. Accept it."

"How can I? Tell me that! How can I? She. . . I can't."

How long had he been lying there, numbly motionless on the hollow ground blanketed by autumn leaves? It could have been mere hours, a few days, an entire fortnight, several months, or even a handful of years. To Jacob, it felt more like the quick milliseconds kept ticking into eternity, as he gazed up at the merciless, metallic sky with all its bruised cirrus clouds, and his eyes searched for hope, but found none.

Cold.

His blood ran cold, like thick icicles trying to shove their way through his stubborn veins. It didn't matter to him anyway. There was no longer any warmth in his pitiful life to give his spirit the will to keep fighting on, nothing could replenish his weathering strength now.

The sun—what did it look like? When was the last time he saw it?

"God," he muttered, expelling a sharp exhale, "I have never prayed before, but here I am with no other choice. Please, help me. . ." It was nearly impossible to continue. His tongue swelled three times too big, dry like the Egyptian deserts, and his lips were chapped, but Jacob willed himself to keep his mouth in movement. "Help us. I can't—I can't live without her. She was my everything," his calm crashing waves, his thrumming heartbeat, and the golden light encircled around his giant star.

Again, the frigid darkness began to possess his pure heart; thus, damning his very soul.

He was a blind man once more, but the sun would not give him salvation this time around. Yet still, Jacob prayed for this miracle.

"I don't know what to offer you in return, or how I could ever make it up to you, but if want a life back—trade mine for hers. Don't bail on me now. . . I love her to much to let everything end like this, God."

His wife's life had been stolen all too soon, and every moment that passed the memories of her—how she would hum softly whilst preparing a morning meal in the kitchen, the tingling sensation on his lips after a kiss with her, or the simple rhythm of her heart—were becoming distant, fading into an alternate reality. But the existence of her remained everywhere. Jacob could still remember the gentle curve of her smile, and tasting those perfect lips for the very first time on the cliff near First Beach—their cliff.

Everything was rapidly slipping away from Jacob's feeble hands—the cables had transformed into thin balloon strings, and the weight of the world could not keep him from drifting into deep space.

"Bring her back, God," Jacob begged, "I need her!" His truth echoed into the vapid wind. He needed that woman like Earth needed oxygen to survive, needed her like flowers in bloom needed the summer sun to sustain life, needed her so desperately like the day night needed the night. "Bring her back to me!"

It should have been him. He should have been the one to die. Not her. Why? Why did she have to be so stupid and go get herself murdered? She shouldn't have died in his place; she shouldn't have. . .

She should have known that Jacob would wither slowly into the dust without her.

Jacob belt out an earsplitting, echoing noise, between a splintered cry and a psychoneurotic laugh. He pounded his left fist into the ground, causing a wide crack to form—similar to the very one in the pit of his chest—and growled ferociously into the dirt. He couldn't take it. He couldn't take on life without her.

"Do you hear me, God! Bring her back! Take my life instead!"

"Jacob!" a long-familiar voice yelled—not deep like he would have imagined God's voice to be. "I think. . . I found a way."

And if I only could make a deal with God

And get Him to swap our places

Be running up that road

Be running up that hill

Be running up that building

With no problems.

P.S. R&R!