A/N:

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Basket-Case. This is my first time posting on this site so I hope it goes over fairly well. Just a forewarning that I don't entirely know my posting schedule so it could be a week or two before I can get the next chapter out. Also, side note, I don't have a beta. I edit this all myself. So if you would be so kind as to review to tell me what the hell I'm doing wrong or any information that I've jacked up, that would be amazing.

This is kind of AU, and I'm not even sure if the vampires are going to be making an appearance in this story. It takes place a few years after Breaking Dawn (or what would be Breaking Dawn. But since this is AU, I don't know. Anything could happen).

I'm basing this story off of one of the Quileute legends. I haven't been in the Twilight verse in a while to read any of the amazing fanfics so if you've already thought the idea up, sorry. Hopefully the plots will differ from each other. But since I've never read any with the legend I'm using, I'm assuming it will be slightly unique. But we all know what assuming can do to you.

First chapter is short, but the ones that follow will be much longer. This one is just to get you started.

This is rated M mostly just for Paul's potty mouth. Sorry if you were looking for smut, but believe me, I couldn't write a lemon scene to save my life. Well, I'm sure I could, but the amateur writer that is me would come out too much and you'd be thinking, "...No, just, no. That is sooo not right." It's just too awkward for me.

DISCLAIMER for the whole story:We all know I don't own Twilight. My first name isn't Stephenie, and my last sure isn't Meyer. Keep that in mind when you go to maybe complain about this story. The only thing I do own is Babette and her family. And possibly the plot, not entirely sure.

Apologies for the long authors note!


*Babette's View*

Prologue


"...-nother child has been reported missing in the North-West part of Washington. Six year old Amanda Jensen disappeared yesterday morning while playing at a park near her home. Witnesses describe nothing out of the ordinary and so far no evidence has been found of foul play. The parents of Amanda are asking for anyone with any kind of information to please come forward. This has been the ninth missing child in the last two weeks in the state of Washington. Richard and Hailey Slater, and Nicholas Banks from Olympia, Layla Littlesea from the La Push Native American Reservation, Christian Tuttle, Olivia Star, and Roger Searle from Seattle, Corey Stanley from Port Angeles, and now Amanda Jensen, also from Port Angeles. In regards to their cases, the police are still searching for any new evidence. If anyone has any information, please, call the the number at the bottom of the scr-..."

I sighed, closed my eyes, and leaned my head against the flowery patterned back of the folding lawn chair. I sat just outside the propped open front door. The news continued on inside, the newscaster rambling on about the chance of gas prices rising. There was a click and the channel was changed.

Layla Littlesea. She had been one of the first gone missing two weeks ago from the elementary school playground that my own brother played on. At nine years old, she was in his grade. Hell, she was in his class. That could have been him.

For days the Littlesea family searched for Layla. They went door to door and handed out fliers around La Push. They were unnecessary. Everybody knew who everybody was. Everybody knew who she was. She was the dark haired little girl with hazel eyes. She played the lead in the school play two years in a row. She got her own picture book published from a story she had written in class. She worshiped her older brother Collin, following him around whenever she was allowed to tag along.

Collin was devastated when she couldn't be found. He came into the diner I worked at every few days with a few of his friends. When he sat in my section, I never asked him if there was any new news. He got enough hassle from the rest of the other customers pestering him with the same questions they had asked a few days before.

Did they find her yet?

Any new leads?

What kind of person does this?

I hope she's okay.

He looked haggard. Collins' eyes were always drowsy, and the dark circles that ringed them grew darker day by day. His hair was unkempt, his clothing wrinkled, and I swear I could see dirt smudges along the skin of his shins, like he had been roaming the woods looking for her. His parents weren't any better.

Each of them were given a free meal by the owner of the diner, Vince, every time they came in. Collin especially looked like he needed it. His friends might have teasingly complained every now and then about not getting their own free meal, but, for the most part, their table stayed solemn with short, soft conversations. Collin never spoke.

My eyes watered.

That could have been me slowly going catatonic.

And it still could.

I sent Barnibee off to school every day never knowing if he was going to come home or not. Everyone in the state was keeping a closer watch on their children. The school's weren't taking any chances with the students, seeing as two of them were grabbed from right under their noses. Recess had either been canceled or there were at least three or more parent volunteers out in the yard to watch the kids. If a school had decided to keep with the breaks, then after each bell rang heads were counted, names were called, and everyone was accounted for. For some, recess had been taken indoors to the gymnasium. Barni had complained about not getting much time to spend out on the monkey bars. After Layla went missing, his school had shortened recess and their lunch hour was cut in half.

I breathed deeply to quell the tears and rubbed at my face.

It wasn't just the elementary school age children that were going missing either. Two of the missing kids from Olympia, Richard and Hailey Slater, were fourteen. Twins. Christian Tuttle from Seattle was only two.

My other two siblings were close to those ages. Bebe had just turned seventeen. Braxton was fourteen months. I could lose any of the three or even all three at any time.

Inside the house the TV clicked off. The light reflecting off of the collage of photos pinned to the wall next to the front door dimmed. I quickly swiped the heels of my hands across my eyes just in time for the screen door to squeak open.

Bebe held it with one hand and leaned the opposite shoulder against the door frame. She yawned before telling me, "I put Braxton down and Barni's asleep on the couch. Do you want me to put him to bed or can you do it?"

I wearily shifted off the fabric lawn chair and stretched. I had too much stress for a twenty-one year old. Weren't these the years that were supposed to be the time of your life? Instead, I was raising three kids and distressing over whether I was going to see them again or not after dropping them off at school in the morning.

"I'll get him, Babes. You get to bed and I'll be in in a minute to put him down."

She smiled groggily and turned to go back inside. I left the chair where it was, knowing neither of my neighbors would steal it, but picked up the empty soda can that had been left on the ground from dinner.

As I opened the screen door back up, a wolf howled off in the distance. I paused to listen, waiting. A few moments later a second wolf joined the howling. And then a third. A fourth. Several more after that began their singing into the night. Their harmony rang across the trees, delving farther into the forest and across town.

Barni told me once that the wolves were protecting the reservation. That they weren't here to hurt us, but to help us. The legends that were told to us since we were toddlers were what kept his beliefs alive. Bebe had to quietly remind him that they hadn't helped Layla. That if they were here to protect us, then why hadn't they found the little girl and brought her home yet?

He had gone silent, a frown scrunching up his face. His response still haunted me, even after it being said a week ago, not long after she first went missing. Eyes cast down, his voice was so low we almost couldn't hear it, he voiced:

"Maybe there's nothing left for them to bring home."