KISMET
written by arctic-howl
Post-Eclipse AU
prologue: "dreams"

Jacob Black ran.

What else can I do? He wondered miserably as he raced through the forest, not even paying attention to where he was going. The wolf picked up the slack, anyway, guiding his legs where his conscious mind would not have noticed a gnarled tree root or large rock, guiding his nose when he unconsciously picked up the scent of a nearby highway or human hiker so that he would avoid them. A thousand agonies sliced through his being, burning and freezing alternately: he was torn between red-hot anger and ice-cold misery, unable to deal with only a milder version of the two.

There was a sense of both calm and panic inside him at the blessed, cursed silence of his mind. Relief, because no one could hear him (and he couldn't hear anyone). Unease, because it felt unnatural. It's better this way, he told himself as he soared over a fallen tree. It's better this way, he told himself again just as he landed perfectly on two, then four, feet with a loud thud! on the dirt-softened ground. Propelled by the urge to escape, to flee, to disappear and forget himself and forget everything, especially her (thinking of her-no-it was a mistake; instantly he was assaulted by memories and broken hopes and crushed dreams). A snarl escaped him, one followed by a whistle-whine under his breath at the flurry of emotions that never pause for a second.

He ran and he ran and he ran. He'd often thought himself limitless in terms of speed and energy, but he wasn't paying any mind to the time – it could have been minutes, hours, days... he wouldn't know. Wouldn't care, if his legs weren't aching, if his breath wasn't ragged and raw as it rushed through his throat in harsh, irregular gasps in-between jerky strides.

Finally, when he couldn't keep up much more than a hobbled walk, his legs gave out. He fell in an unceremonious heap of fur and muscle and hopelessness, not even trying to shift his weight to get more comfortable (his legs would refuse to budge, anyway, if he even tried).

His eyes slid shut after he desperately hoped for numbing blackness.

It was a foolish hope.

His dreams are chaotic at best: a mish-mash of visions, occupied almost entirely by her with the occasional appearance of himself with her.

Sometimes it doesn't make any sense, like it should be unrelated to anything but he sees it and all he thinks is Bella, Bella, Bella even in his own dream. Such is the case with a tire, an old motorcycle tire, on top of grass, or waves crashing against the shore, the waves that could have swept her away. So, maybe, they do make "sense" after all.

Except they don't.

Nothing makes sense to him anymore, not even in slumber.

The next day is no different.

The wolf in him ensures that he awakes with energy that his mind cannot keep up with, so he resumes his run.

It is only the irate rumbling of his stomach that makes him pause, if only for a moment, to let the wolf take over and hunt.

Not long after, he runs again. He runs until his legs give out and hopes once more that his mind will be too tired to do anything.

The dreams are no different.

The next week is the same, as is the week after that.

However, the third week yields the numbness he seeks.

He dreams of nothing. He surrenders to the wolf completely, and Jacob Black is tucked away somewhere in the recesses of his own mind, as the wolf roams the desolate tundra, unable to focus on anything but existing. Unwilling, too.

Then, one night, it changes. He dreams again, but it is different, so very different...

"Jacob?" A voice, a question, but meaningless. He did not know it and he did not want to. "Jacob." It was more insistent this time, less inquiring and more stern. "Jacob!" It's calling him, but he had no interest in answering. Maybe if he ignored it, the darkness will return and he will forget once more that he – "Dammit, Jake... Jacob, listen to me!"

Against his own wishes, he opened his eyes.

And promptly closed them; the light was blinding.

"Aha, there you are!" He' was being shaken, now, by the shoulders. "Open your eyes."

He does, but with great reluctance. Squinting, he tries to see, but cannot see anything but all-enveloping light, as if he is on the surface of the sun itself, or at least orbiting as close as possible, unable to do anything but bask in its glow and feel its burn.

"Oh, Jacob..." Only then does he have the presence of "mind" to realize the voice was female, but it was still unfamiliar, meaningless. There was a startling reverence to those two words and he recognized the sadness – he knows that tone, he's spoken in it plenty of times now. "You look so different without your scar." He cranes his neck, struggling to see, but he is blind, blind but not in the dark. "Well, I guess it isn't your scar... but..." A sigh. "Jacob, you need to go back to La Push."

"Who... Who are you?" It took a great deal of effort for him to get the words out. He got the sense of patience, somehow, as if the other "person" had been waiting. "Why would I have a scar?"

"You'll know me soon enough. Well, a different me. A younger me, one who doesn't know you. Yet. I-she'll know you soon enough, of course. But you won't know 'me' until you go home."

"I don't want to."

"Oh, boo-freaking-hoo." The sudden irritation startles him; it was a marked contrast from the near-adoring tone she had only been using a moment before. "You'll have to do a lot of things you don't want to. I'll have to do a lot of things 'I' don't want to. That's just how it goes. You're extra-lucky this time around: you have me. Right now, that is. For now, that is. We had our story, Jacob Black. It's over..." A long pause. Her voice wasn't quite as steady when she continued: "But it might start again. But you can't let it, you hear me? You can't."

"What... what are you talking about?"

"No time. I'm running out of it, actually. I... so many things, so many things I would love to say... but they're not meant for you, those words. I realize that now. The Jacob I know is... You're not him, I'm sorry. Don't become him. Don't. But you might, you might and I can't prevent that because you need to go back. And I need to go, too. Elsewhere, though. Far away from wherever you may be and will be. Maybe to you, the other you, if I'm lucky. Or unlucky. I don't know yet. I'll find out, maybe."

"Wh-"

"I'm sorry, Jacob. Go home. For us, for what we were and cannot be ever again. I know it doesn't make any sense – and hopefully it never will, but you have to listen to me. Go back to La Push, back to your pack. They are in danger. Your people, and everyone around them, are in danger. Or, they will be. Or, they are. I don't know. It took so long to break through to... it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. I have to go now and so do you."

Warmth bloomed around his shoulders, back, and neck, like an embrace. "But-"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, again, and again, and again. The light began to dim and he felt cold, so cold. "I'm so sorry."

Jacob Black woke up.

A/N: Cliché title, yeah? Ah, well, I can only come up with so much. I apologize, but I'd rather agonize over the story than an impermanent title.
Please review if you've got the time. You'll get a shout-out in the next chapter if you do! C'mon, as if you don't want your screen name to be immortalized in a piece of silly fanfiction...
~Howl