Author's Note: I'm on a roll here, you guys! Just kidding, I'm not. I'm going to be traveling for a while, so I took the opportunity to update once more before going away. I hope you like it. There's lots of Jared-being-a-good-bro bonus!

Thank you all for the lovely reviews and comments on the previous chapter. *creepy happy smile*

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just another soul long lost to fanfiction.


There she was, beautiful as ever, her hair flowing around as the strong wind crossed the forest once again, shaking the leaves and the branches. It was impossible to understand what she was speaking over the loud noise, making Paul's panic rise more and more as he watched Bella's mouth form several words — crucial words, he knew and was unable to hear what they were. She needed something. Bella was asking for something, he could tell. But what? What?

He screamed for her, trying to gesture that he couldn't hear what she was saying, but Bella carried on as though she could not see him. He tried to get closer — it was impossible. His feet were glued to the floor. The helpless feeling grew in his stomach he needed to help his mate, his imprint. Why couldn't he move?

Suddenly, her expression became one of distress, the words flowing out of her mouth even faster as she gestured with her hands to emphasize whatever point she was trying to make. It seemed, however, that the louder she spoke, the stronger the wind howled between them, muffling the words. Paul was a wolf; he should've been able to hear her no matter what. He tried to move with every strength he had, but his feet stayed glued to the ground, unmovable.

It was torture. The bond tugged persistently, forcing him to help his mate, and Paul wished nothing more than to do so, no matter how impossible. He was sweating, trembling, shaking.

Bella stopped. Her mouth closed and her eyes filled with unshed tears. She looked disappointed; like Paul failed a crucial test he had no idea he had been taking. Despite her obvious pain, there was also agony stamped on her perfect face, twisting her mouth into a mocking frown, perhaps knowing there was where his eyes were going to land. She was angry, furious. Paul had failed, again.

At that moment, Paul realized that wasn't the first time they had been there failing to understand one another. It wasn't the first, but it would be the last because Bella mouthed slowly and clearly 'I hate you', before turning her back and running towards the edge.

What? That hadn't been there before. It was now, though, bright and sharp. It was a cliff and not any cliff, his cliff. It was high, too high for Bella.

Paul screamed, and trashed, with all he could, but Bella kept on running closer and closer to the edge, gaining momentum, going for the jump. The bond exploded around his middle the pain almost too sharp as he watched his soulmate run towards her death. He knew, deep down, that Bella would not survive the fall, and yet that knowledge didn't freeze the scene playing out in front of him.

And she jumped. Open arms, like she was welcoming the arrival of a long-lost friend. Bella jumped, and all the air left his body at once.

With a gasp, Paul woke up. He was sweating and shaking, the air trapped in his swollen throat. It was too much. God, he needed to leave — he was about to shift inside his fucking room.

Paul shoved his sheets aside roughly, one hand holding his stomach as he tried to keep himself from shifting or throwing up while still in the house. The scene kept playing on repeat inside his mind — Bella running, Bella jumping, Bella falling. Fuck. He ran, unconcerned about the noises he was undoubtedly making as he jumped down the stairs, crossed the kitchen, and shoved the back door open. The shaking had gotten so bad at that point that he could hardly feel his body properly. The second his feet touched the soft, wet grass, Paul gave in to his other half, shifting mid-step.

Instantly, he wasn't alone. His mind — his fucked up mind — was bombarded by other people's thoughts. Jared, Embry. Fuck. He couldn't hide the images from his dream — couldn't even pretend to have enough strength to try. They were getting the full-on show of his most personal feelings, and it just added another pinch of salt Paul already felt being rubbed to his old wounds.

'Shit, man, breathe,' Embry's voice echoed in his mind as he tried to do his best to sound calm, but Paul could hardly heed that command when his throat felt so goddamn tight.

'She's fine; she's right here. I can hear her heartbeat, Paul. Focus on me for a bit.' Trust Jared to be the voice of reason, to know what Paul needed to hear at that moment.

And he did. He focused on Jared's mind, hearing Bella's heartbeat as she slept. She wasn't having a peaceful night, however, which shouldn't come as a surprise, but still frayed his nerves even further. Bella was moaning in her sleep — clearly in pain. She was mumbling random words, and Paul felt his mind spin faster.

The cliff, the jump. The look on her eyes. She hated him, she did.

'Shit! Paul that's not- It was a dream.'

'It was a dream. She's having a nightmare too, but she's alright. She's safe.'

Only it wasn't just a dream.


"Stop it!" Ana's sharp command pierced through his fogged mind, and his muscles sized up immediately, his arm frozen mid-punch. "What have you done to yourself now?"

"I'm fine," he forced out, not turning to face her. The last thing he needed was for her to worry about him. More — worry more about him. He wasn't too surprised, however, when she ignored his broody tone — which would be enough to frighten most — and carried on approaching his back. Ana had never been one to back down in the face of a challenge.

"You're bleeding," she stated. "Give me your hands."

And he was, Paul noticed, looking down. His hands were utterly burst, raw muscle exposed and blood running freely past his fingers. It was ugly, he could admit, although busted hands were nothing compared to the many lists of injuries he had faced over the years — and, even now, as he watched his hands, the flesh began to mend back together. It was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Ana wouldn't see it like that. Obviously.

"I'm fine," he repeated, but she was already grabbing his right hand in between hers, cradling it carefully.

"You're stubborn, that's what you are; I've told you that the trees aren't to blame for whatever hurt you." The scolding was a familiar one and was delivered almost fondly — someone who saw a lost battle when it was in front of them, no doubts.

"It looked at me funny," he said, just to watch her try to hold back the grin treating to show up on her face.

"Sure it did," she agreed, raising one hand to touch his face. Ana had never abided by his attempts at keeping his distance from others — not as though she didn't see his painfully constructed walls; more like she knew he would hate to be raised by someone who was afraid of him, who was too fucking tentative. "Perhaps it noticed how you murdered its brothers."

"Better than the alternative."

Shit. As soon as the words slipped past his lips, Paul suppressed a wince at how defensive he sounded. Any chance he had at convincing her he was okay — if there had ever been any — were shot to hell with that. Brilliant.

And sure enough, her brown eyes narrowed sharply, and her hand on his face hated its soothing circle motions.

"Paul," she began softly. "What happened? Talk to me."

"I imprinted," he confessed, unable to lie to her. Not after the past 24 hours.

Both her eyebrows raised in shock. "Who?"

"Isabella Swan." Bella. Always Bella. Shit.

"Jacob's girl?"

His answering growl rang even louder in the otherwise silent woods. Immediately, he gave two steps back, putting distance between them. It hadn't been an angry response — and he would not acknowledge the real emotion behind his possessiveness — but it was better safe than sorry.

"Mine," Paul tried to explain, only it came out sounding like a neanderthal, so he cleared his throat and tried again, "Just don't-I mean-"

"It's alright; I understand. I'm sorry," Ana saved him from further embarrassment, a small smile gracing her lips. "I haven't seen you this strung up since you were a child."

Well, that was the magic of being bonded to an unresolved teenager who was infatuated with a vampire. Lovely.

"She's-"

How could he explain what happened when he wasn't even sure he had fully comprehended yet how fucked up his bond had become after only a handful of weeks.

He ended up going with, "-not interested."

"Not interested?" she questioned with far less compassion what he had hoped. "How long have you known?"

"27 days." Not that he was counting or anything.

"I'm not going to say anything about you failing to mention that to me before," Ana said. "But don't you think less than a month is kind of a short time to say whether she's interested or not?"

"No, I don't. Bella is... She's in love with a fucking bloodsucker."

"A vampire? Ah! The Cullen boy. Billy may have mentioned that in the council once or twice."

Once or twice, right. "Yeah, him."

He was shaking. Of course he was shaking.

"Hard to imagine she's getting much from a boy who's no longer here," Ana wondered, once more closing the gap separating them.

"Dammit, Ana, give me a minute," he asked — pleaded.

"Oh, hush, Paul, don't give me that." She ignored him, unsurprisingly. "You're doing fine."

Only he wasn't. He wasn't, and her saying that only served to send a sharp stab of pain through his chest, as he tried to breathe past the anger and the frustration. Bella would never be his — worse, she already belonged to someone else. A goddamn leech. He wasn't fine — he had no idea how to be fine with giving up of his own desires to make his mate happy. It was ridiculous, pathetic.

It should've been easy.

"Oh, Paul." The tone was completely different from before, and suddenly he was wrapped in Ana's arms as he hugged him with all her mighty force. "I'm here for you, okay?"

Paul couldn't return her embrace, but he allowed himself to be held, burying his nose into her soft hair to breathe in her scent. Ana always smelled of hospital and lavender, and while it wasn't the most pleasant scent for someone with his level of sensitivity, he had come to associate it with calmness and kindness and love.

The moment lasted for a couple of minutes before he heard the familiar sounds of paws hitting the ground and Jared's smell hit the air. He wasn't rushing or howling, however, so clearly, his approach wasn't a call for help, which made Paul decide to remain where he was, ignoring his brother for the time being. It wasn't like him to cling to physical touch, but fuck if Bella didn't sake his whole like structure without trying.

Jared shifted a moment later, "Paul!"

Ana released him, although she made no further move. "Jared, what happened?"

Speaking of Bella... "What are you doing here? You are supposed to be with Bella."

"Are you shitting me? You thought I wouldn't come after that?" he asked, incredulous. "I arranged for Embry to stay with her."

"That what?" Ana fished for a response, looking back and forth between them.

"Nothing," Paul assured, focusing on calming her down to prevent himself from focusing on his brother's little speech. He didn't do amotion, not even for Jared. "I shifted earlier."

"Nothing? Paul, don't-"

"I'm fine-," he tried to pretend, even though his brother proximity — and his unspoken promise of action — was enough to send a rush of adrenaline through his entire body. Like an addict seeing their favorite drug being held in front of them, he could hardly control his impulses. Paul wasn't nearly done with his need for violence.

"I see," Ana interrupted them both, finally stepping away. She was always too damn perceptive for her own good. "I'll go make us some early breakfast — you boys do your thing. Nothing too hard, alright? Just... Keep it light."

That was code for no broken bones — or at least not broken enough to call her attention. It was perfect, exactly the response he needed to hear, and not for the first time Paul looked at her with gratitude, wondering what she thought of him for beating up her son on a regular basis and asking him to hit him just as hard in return. It couldn't be easy for her to see them both so bloody on so many occasions - surely she had her preferences in regards to the physical integrity of Jared, at least.

And yet, as he stared into her eyes, stupidly searching for any flash of anger or annoyance or disappointment, Paul saw nothing other than a sincere concern tingled with understanding. Which, in turn, made him feel like even more of a jackass for thinking Ana would judge him when he was hurting right in front of her. It had been his MO in the first few years after she adopted him: do shit and wait for the regret to settle into her face. He tested her, constantly, although he hadn't seen it for what it was for many years. He had believed himself over that phase, over the feeling of an impostor waiting to be discovered, and to be confronted with it all over again was just another blow to his already bruised emotional.

Shit. Fuck.

"Don't go doing anything stupid, will you?" Ana finally requested, giving him one last soft look before turning back into the house without a backward glance.

Jared didn't even hesitate, bless him, already going for the button of his shorts.

"Don't shift," Paul cut off, serious. The last thing he needed was to have others inside his mind again, but if Jared shifted in front of him while they were getting ready to fight, it would be inevitable. The tremors were difficult to hide as it was.

His brother halted his moves, obviously surprised by Paul blatant attempt at hiding all the shit running through his mind, before giving him a look that told in, in no uncertain terms, he would not escape that conversation for long.

It irked Paul — just another layer of hot anger settling in. He didn't want to fucking talk about shit, what use would it be? He just needed an outlet for the aggression, and he would be good. That's all he needed. "What? You lost your fucking ability to punch?"

"Living with you? I don't think that's possible. I can punch just fine, thank you. Have you lost your ability to bite?"

It was a jab, clearly. He was trying to annoy Paul into answering — the fucker. Too bad it was working. "Don't need no ability to kick your skinny ass."

"Is that so? Why not then?"

"Shut up, Jared. Shut the fuck up. You're doing this or not?"

"I shouldn't." It was a statement, even though it lacked any believable sign that he intended to follow his own advice. Instead, he took a step forward. "We shouldn't."

It was all the invitation he needed. Paul launched himself at Jared with a punch to the face — no preamble, no foreplay. He was burning with adrenaline, and his brother was clearly there, offering all he needed, even as his words tried to contradict his actions. Instead of the satisfying feel of impact Paul had been waiting, however, he only felt the resistance of air against his fist as his brother dodged to the side, easily avoiding the blow.

Paul felt a predator grin settle on his face as he went for a dirty kick at Jared's knee. It was never funny when the prey didn't try to fight back a little first. The chase preceding the victory had always been the best part for him — the motive, really. He fought for the thrill, the excitement, the rush, and nothing else. He could end it with a few carefully positioned hits, but what would be the fun in that?

Jared saw an opening, and pain exploded in his left side, even as he contracted the muscles. A good punch to his ribs. An amateur mistake to leave his sides open. Paul sent his elbow into Jared's face, aiming for the nose, and, after that, it was all a haze.

Jared refused to play the victim, and Paul refused to lose. That's how it was supposed to be, he revaluated, as Jared slammed his shoulder into his: two people who refused to yield until the end.

And yet… his legs were being swept away from the ground, and Jared's fist was connecting with his jaw, sending him into the ground, hard and messy. He was on his back, and his brother was mounting him, punch after punch coming for his head. Pain and confusion settled in as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He tried to shift his hip, hoping to dislodge Jared but was quickly refuted as Jared met his move with one of his own, forcing his body down and sitting on his stomach.

There was something wrong. He was… losing? His face was burning, his ribs on fire.

"Fight back, dammit!" Jared snarled, baring his teeth.

What? Paul was fighting back. He was fucking fighting with all he had, so why wasn't it working?

"What? You're just going to slap me like a bitch?" Another snarl, another lie. What was happening?

Something was too wrong. Wrong.

More punches, more pain. His nose was broken; his jaw was cracked.

"Hit me, you son of a bitch! Fucking hit me!"

"I am! Shut up!" There, he said it.

"Or what? You'll keep letting me wreck you? You're pathetic, god!" Jared spat, head above his. "You're not even trying."

Lies. Of course Paul was trying. Who laid down and accepted punches to the face without fighting back?

Jared suddenly grabbed Paul's right wrist, waving it in front of Paul's face — a teasing. "Is this all I get from the great Muay Thai teacher?"

That couldn't be right. "I—I—"

"I'm sure Bella will be impressed," he mocked, face twisted into a scorn mask.

He growled — all sharp teeth and fury. "She's mine."

"Yeah? Who said so?"

And, like a switch, the man's mind overrode the wolf's, and Paul sagged under Jared's weight, incredulous at his situation. Like a wave, the feeling of lost threatened to overwhelm him.

Suddenly, Paul realized that what truly killed him wasn't that Bella was still in love with a bloodsucker, or that she felt nothing towards him, or that she used him. The realization that was digging at his insides was that Bella didn't even notice how the depression was slowly eating her will to live. "She's suicidal," he whispered to Jared, whose face no longer seemed to mock him. Instead, in its place, was a look of pain.

"Bella—"

"Wants to die. Doesn't care if she lives." It was too much. Just too fucking much to know his sanity was balanced on the life of a girl who couldn't give a fuck whether she lived or died anymore. "Jared… I don't think I can do this."

"You don't have a choice." The words seemed to cause his brother actual pain. "We don't get a choice, Paul. She's young and hurt. She needs help. We'll do whatever it takes," he promised, squeezing his shoulder and resting his forehead against Paul's. "Whatever it takes."

With a last broken breath, Paul succumbed to the tears pooling in his eyes. They burned as they made their way down his cheeks. For the first time in more than ten years, he cried, holding his brother like a child as he tried to keep himself together for himself and for his imprint.

Bella.

Always Bella.