Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the collective works of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight Saga

Uncle Petya

Miraculously, Louisa made it to her car with all of her blood intact, though she wasn't sure how. There was no way she could possibly outrun Jasper if that… vision… was to be believed. Which meant that Jasper must have let her go. But why? Was he toying with her, like a cat with a mouse? She didn't wait in the car park for long: the moment she made it to the Prius she locked the doors and started the car. She was speeding away from the school before she even had the time to put on her seat belt.

And then there was the matter of her vision. How did she see what she saw? It didn't make any sense. Perhaps it was a hallucination? What if it she was wrong, and Jasper was just a human, a very attractive, strong human, who now thought she was insane because of how she reacted? But no, that didn't feel right. Whatever Louisa had seen, she knew deep down that it was the truth. Jasper killed women in alleys and drank their blood and his family did too.

The only thing that Louisa couldn't get out of her mind, however, was his eyes. In the vision, they were blood red and had the same dead, empty quality of a shark's. The Jasper in the closet had gold eyes which had shown nothing but confusion when she had wrenched herself away. She knew that the Jasper in the vision was the Jasper in the closet, but her brain had trouble reconciling the two. Had her brain changed the colour of his eyes in the vision? Again, that didn't feel correct, and Louisa wasn't sure how she knew that it wasn't correct, but she was positive that her brain wasn't playing tricks on her.

She tried to push the terror out of her mind as she sped the familiar drive home when another thought occurred to her: if she went home, who was to say that Jasper wouldn't follow her there? Dottie could be at home, her father could be at home, when Jasper came to kill her, and who was to say that he wouldn't just kill her entire family? Louisa slammed on her brakes and spun the steering wheel as far as it would go. The tires of the Prius squealed loudly and she could smell the scent burning rubber as she turned the car around.

No, she couldn't go home, she decided as she took off the way she had come. It wasn't safe for her family. She needed to get out of town. She was doing eighty by the time she hit the highway. If she had been any less distressed, she would have been amazed that she hadn't been pulled over for speeding. But as it was, her hands were trembling and her teeth were chattering and her knees were shaking so violently that they kept hitting the steering column.

She took a few calming breaths and tried to clear her mind. She needed a plan. It was obvious that she couldn't go home, but where should she go? Where would she be safe from the Cullens? She wished that Pyotr was here to help her make sense of this; he was always so level-headed. Even when they had been in that warehouse in July, he hadn't cried, begged for his life, shook with fear.

Pyotr, of course. He would know what to do.

Louisa couldn't reach her phone; it was in her backpack, which had slid off the passenger seat when she had turned the car around. Besides, she didn't think she would even be able to dial her cell and drive at the same time. She would have to pull over briefly. She checked the gas level on her car only to see that it was half full. She calculated how far she could go without having to stop to fill up her car. Olympia, probably. Seattle if she was lucky.

But that was stupid. If she couldn't find a gas station before then, she could be stranded on an abandoned stretch of highway, a sitting duck for Jasper and his family. She would have to stop, if only for a few minutes, and hope that they wouldn't catch up in time. She could call Pyotr then.

She tried to relax after this, now that she had a plan. She turned on the radio, hoping that would help. She slowed down to a more reasonable speed, knowing that if she were pulled over the Cullens would have even more time to catch up. Still, she kept checking her rear-view mirror, looking for the silver Volvo she knew that they drove, or any other car that seemed to be following her. Time seemed to simultaneously fly by and drag on as she drove down highway 101, and every flash of silver had her accelerating the Prius just as fast as her heart rate accelerated.

An hour into her drive, she pulled into a gas station, lamenting the fact that it was empty and worrying if she was far enough away from town. While her car filled up, Louisa dug around in her backpack and pulled out her and considered what to say to her friend. She could hardly tell him that her classmates and the town doctor were demons, at least not over the phone. She would have to meet him in person. Her father wouldn't like it, but maybe she didn't have to tell him.

Pyotr answered after the second ring.

"I am fairly certain that we are not allowed to speak to each other," he said in lieu of a greeting.

"I need to see you," she replied, glancing over her shoulder towards the road. "I wouldn't call if it wasn't an emergency."

Pyotr was silent for a long time, and Louisa had to check her phone to make sure that the call hadn't been dropped. "When?"

"I'm driving towards Tacoma now," Louisa said.

"Nyet, do not come all the way here," Pyotr replied. "It is too far. We will meet in Olympia."

Relief flooded through Louisa and she nearly collapsed at his words. She would see him soon. He would be able to help, just like he always did. "Thank you," she whispered.

"We will see if you are still thanking me in an hour, no?" was all he said before hanging up.

Louisa was feeling less stressed now that she knew what she was doing. She could survive an hour. Well, that was unless the Cullens caught her. With this in mind, Louisa quickly finished filling her gas tank and sped off again.

No Stone Left Unturned

"You look unwell," was the first thing Pyotr said to her when she sat next to him on the picnic bench he had chosen. He had grown since the last time she saw him, nearly four months ago now, and he was taller than her. He had cut his black curls so they no longer covered his ears and Louisa found that it made him look older. His sharp cheekbones were more prominent, masculine. But there were still the undeniable signs of boyhood in his face: his face too thin for a man, the button nose he still had to grow out of, the faint spots of acne along his jaw.

"I feel unwell," Louisa replied truthfully. The two sat in companionable silence, a few watching Olympians walk briskly through Capital Lake Park. It appeared that most of the population of Olympia, Washington had enough common sense to stay inside on such a cold day, unlike the pair of teenagers. The trees had shed their leaves months ago, giving them a skeletal look, and in the light of the setting sun, they cast long shadows over the grass. "It's been an eventful day."

Pyotr unwound his scarf and offered it to her. "Tell dyadya Petya what troubles you."

Despite the situation, Louisa laughed and accepted his scarf. "Uncle Petya? Pyotr, we're the same age."

"I am offering to listen to your, what will most likely be, numerous problems. Be grateful."

Louisa smiled at her friend's bluntness. She had forgotten how much she had missed him and she wished that they were meeting under more ideal circumstances. She also wished she had been around to witness the changes he had gone through, subtle though they were. The thought filled her with a wistful sort of feeling, and she quietly lamented all that she missed. Somethings were still the same, of course; he still held onto the faintest hint of his accent, he still didn't understand the point of small talk, and he still preferred to get straight to the point. "You have big news," she replied instead.

Pyotr's dark brown eyes flicked over to her. "You are still observant, I see."

"Forks hasn't changed me that much," Louisa replied. "Before you listen to me, I want to hear about you."

Pyotr gave her one of his rare smiles. "I passed my paramedic training," he admitted. "I start next week."

Louisa threaded her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. It was no secret that Pyotr had dreams of being a doctor like his father had been. And with his level-headed demeanour, Louisa was positive that he would make a fantastic paramedic. "That's wonderful, Petya."

Pyotr nodded. "Papa is very pleased as well."

Louisa knew that this was especially exciting for him, as Pyotr's father was a difficult man to please. Andrey Yakovlev was a stoic man who, if rumours were to be believed, was part of the Russian mafia in Saint Petersburg back in the 90s. He had taken his young son to America at the request of his dying wife, hoping to give him a better life, one where Pyotr could grow up happily and away from violence. He had always pressured his son to be the best, to succeed in the new foreign country, so that he could live a life better than him.

Even so, the cultural adjustment had been significant and the language barrier immense. Parents refused to let their children interact with him and his classmates called him a communist. It was also hard to succeed when you knew very little of the language you were required to learn in. He had been placed in a separate class for children who didn't speak English as their first language, but the teachers didn't know Russian and practically everyone had written him off as too stupid to learn anything. He had spent his first years in the new country, a country that promised a better life but had only shown him isolation and intolerance. It was difficult to comprehend how Pyotr had grown into the companionate young man he was.

She could remember, clear as day, the first time she met Pyotr. It was a Friday and her mother had taken her to the library after school to pick up books for her to read over the weekend. She was ten years old and had was looking for a book on Neptune for a school project when she stumbled across Pyotr, had been struggling with his English homework. Louisa had watched as he tried to draw English letters, but somehow always managed to switch to Cyrillic before a sentence was completed. She had never seen Russian before and had demanded that he teach her. He had understood very little of what she was saying, but he had been so pleased that someone was willing to talk to him, he had agreed without a second thought. They had been inseparable ever since.

Pyotr reached over with his free hand to pat her arm. "Spasibo," he said. "But this is not why you have called me."

Louisa reminded silent as she tried to collect her thoughts, unsure of how to broach the subject. "Do you believe in monsters?" she asked.

Pyotr, for his part, didn't seem confused by her question. He stared off into the distance, his expression pensive. "When we first moved here, Papa would read me fairy tales from home. Proper Russian ones, so that I would not forget where I came from. There is this one, Baba Yaga, which always scared me. She was a powerful witch who lived in a hut in the forest. One day a brother and sister stumbled across her hut, and she set out tasks for them to complete. When they were finished, Baba Yaga told them that she would make them a meal, but the children had heard her singing while they worked: she was planning to eat them. The children pushed Baba Yaga into the oven and ran back home, always making sure to stay out of the forest after their experience."

"That sounds like the plot of Hansel and Gretel," Louisa replied.

Pyotr nodded. "I have always found it interesting how fairy tales are more or less the same from culture to culture."

"You could argue that the two cultures influenced each other's stories," Louisa pointed out.

"This is true," Pyotr agreed. "But even so, the idea of witches exists in many cultures. There is Medea in Ancient Greece, Chedipe in India. The Diné feared witches in wolf's clothing called Mai-cob. Adding to that, in Armenian lore, there are women who, in consequence of deadly sins, are condemned to spend seven years in wolf form, which causes her to acquire frightful cravings for human flesh soon after. Werewolves, you could call them. Similar to these, I suppose, is the selkies from Irish mythology, which live in the ocean as seals but can shed their skin to become human, and live on land. Another classic example of a monster would be a vampire, like in Dracula. But the Gullah people have a boo-hag and Filipino's have the aswang. It seems unlikely to me that cultures so far apart from each other have similar stories. So why do they?"

Louisa drew her knees up to her chest, partly to preserve her body heat in the rapidly darkening evening, and partly to give her something to do whilst she pondered her friend's words. "Fairy tales teach lessons, I suppose," she replied. "Don't go into the woods, or you might get eaten. Lying to people makes your nose grow."

"Perhaps some do. But what is the purpose of terrifying children with stories of monsters?" When Louisa was silent for too long, he continued. "To answer your question: yes. I do believe that monsters exist. That is why every culture across the world has these stories."

Louisa looked at her friend dubiously. "Pyotr, if werewolves and vampires existed, don't you think we would have noticed by now?"

Pyotr shook his head. "We see monsters every day, Lastochka. Monsters are very much real, and they walk amongst us. Maybe not in the way most would expect, but they do exist."

Louisa realised at once to what he was referring. "You mean Jason Lambe," she stated.

Pyotr's eyes had taken on an almost glassy quality. "I have read that 'No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself.' This is sometimes our biggest mistake. We cannot see monsters because we like to think that nobody would be capable of cruelty. This, I think, is a reason for fairy tales. To remind us that evil does exist in the world, though not always in ways we expect."

"And what is the other point?"

He remained quiet for a long time before turning his head to look down at her. "What your favourite fairy tale?"

"Rumpelstiltskin," Louisa replied without hesitation. If she focused hard enough, she could remember her mother reading it to her and her siblings, Laurie growing frustrated when he was unable to say it properly because of his lisp.

"And how does it end?"

"The queen reveals his name, and he loses their bargain," She said. "She gets to keep her child and Rumpelstiltskin runs away and never returns."

Pyotr nodded thoughtfully. "Good triumphs over evil," he said. "The lesson we can learn is that while monsters exist, they can be defeated. We tell these stories to remind us that evil does not have to win, as long as something good is there to beat it."

The two lapsed into silence once more, Louisa considering Pyotr's words, while he was simply comfortable to sit quietly as she did so. The sun had nearly set, and nearby lamps had begun to turn on. Aside from a man walking his dog, the two were totally alone.

"These stories," Louisa began at last. "What if they don't tell us how we can beat the monster?"

Pyotr turned his dark eyes to her and regarded her thoughtfully. "Then perhaps you should ask yourself if what you are dealing with is truly a monster."

Louisa's reaction was to scream that yes, she was dealing with a monster. Not even a metaphorical one, but an actual, blood-drinking monster who could bite into a woman's neck as easily as biting into a sandwich. It even had red eyes.

But if Jasper is a monster, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, then why did he spend time with her, make sure she was eating properly, and overall concerned for her wellbeing? Would a monster really do that?

She recalled Jason Lambe once more. His eyes weren't red. His eyes were a pale blue. Those eyes that had haunted her nightmares for weeks, even though she was safe in her house, and not in a warehouse, choking on the scent of blood and gasoline and smoke and burning flesh. His blue eyes were of a crazed madman.

"Why do you ask this, Lastochka?" Petya asked, reaching over and taking her hand. "What bothers you?"

She felt her eyes being to sting, but she couldn't be bothered to tame the oncoming tears. This was Petya. Still, she wasn't sure how to voice what was bothering her. How could she say that she was having terrifying visions of strangers that she had never seen murdered, and worse still, it felt like she was the victim, like she was being murdered? "I think I'm going crazy."

Petya turned so that he could fully face her and pulled her into a hug. He let her cry into his shoulder, stroking her hair, rubbing circles on her back. "You are the opposite of crazy, Louisa. Why do you say this?"

"I'm hearing voices. I heard a woman laughing today, and nobody else could hear it." My sort-of-kind-of boyfriend is a blood-drinking demon, she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat. Jasper's golden eyes, warm, inviting, understanding eyes, flashed in her mind. Jasper who held open doors for her and offered to hide her from his siblings. Jasper who offered her handkerchiefs when she nose started bleeding. Jasper, who trusted her enough to tell her that his father taught him how to ride horses. Jasper, the kind, quiet, gentle boy who everyone seemed to be afraid of, who didn't trust people easily and rarely talked to strangers.

She knew in that instant she couldn't betray him. Not like this. Because whatever he was in that vision (if she could really call it that) wasn't who he was. Yes, Jasper might be a blood-sucking demon, or a boo-hag, or an aswang, or who the fuck knew what else. But he was also her friend, and she would do anything for him. "Dottie is convinced that our house is haunted, and I'm starting to think she's right," she finally settled on.

"While the haunted house seems like a fascinating story, let us discuss these hallucinations."

Louisa nodded and began to explain her bizarre day, hearing the disembodied laughter, and the intense terror that often followed it. She also admitted that she was having nightmares of being murdered, and how she wasn't sure what was causing it. Pyotr listened, as he always did, still holding her close and rubbing comforting circles on her back while she spoke into his coat.

"You probably have PTSD," he replied once she had finished speaking. "When was the last time you spoke with a psychologist?" When Louisa tried to object, saying that, no, she didn't have PTSD, and no, she wasn't crazy, but he stopped her. "You watched a deranged man burn a woman alive and then nearly met the same fate yourself. Yes, Louisa, you probably do."

"You were there too," Louisa challenged.

"I did not see what you saw, Louisa," he replied evenly. "I have seen the psychologist many times about my experiences. When was the last time you did the same?"

Louisa knew what happened in June had no correlation to what was happening now, but she still paused at his words. Her father had tried to get her to see a therapist after the incident, but she had refused it, saying that she was fine. The doctors had even backed her up on it, and her father had been too busy to push the matter further, though he sometimes mentioned that he thought refusing help had been a mistake on her part. Had he been right?

Pyotr stood and helped her off then picnic table. "You should call your papa, Louisa. Let him know what has happened so that he does not worry."

Louisa nodded and pulled out her cell phone, shocked to see how late it had gotten. Her father was probably already at home. The drive took nearly two hours, and though she didn't have school the next day, her father would not be happy that she was out so late. She sent him a text, giving a slightly edited version of the story. She couldn't tell Dad about the Cullen family, of course, but he would buy her story about PTSD. It probably wasn't even that far from the truth. She considered not telling him that she had met up with Pyotr but knew he would find out eventually. It might even raise his position in her father's eyes, once he learned how her friend had helped her.

Her friend led her back towards the car park and helped her into the Prius before waving and getting in his own car and driving away. Her father called while she was sitting and staring blankly out of the windscreen, wondering when life had become so confusing. She had predicted correctly that he wasn't thrilled about the evening's events but after making sure that she was okay, he instructed her to drive carefully and they would talk about it when she got home.

After hanging up, she still sat in her locked car, unsure of what to do. Should she call Jasper? That seemed appropriate given how she had taken off like a bat out of hell. But what would she say? That she knew that he was a monster, but she was sort of okay with it? Was she even okay with it? Either way, she knew that it was a conversation she would have to have with him in person, not over the phone or through text messages. She lifted her phone back up, ready to send him a text asking to meet up with him when someone knocked on her passenger side window.

Louisa jumped in surprise. It was a tall man, but she couldn't see his face from where she was sitting, just his hand, which was raised in a fist and rapping gently on the glass. She knew those hands. When she unlocked the car, the passenger door slid open, and the man slid in, filling the small space with his light, sweet scent. He seemed content to sit in silence, but eventually, Louisa couldn't take it anymore.

"How did you get here?"

"I ran."

"How did you find me?"

"Alice told me," he replied as if this answered her question adequately.

"What are you doing here?" She asked finally, her voice tired and filled with resignation.

Jasper slowly turned his head, his light gold eyes shining even in the dark car. "I think we need to talk."

"No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is to suppose that they are like himself." -John Steinbeck

(A/N: thoughts? I've been so excited to write this chapter that I did it all in one day. Of course, it snowed and I was trapped inside, but at least I was productive, right? What did you think of Petya?

A list of words that Petya uses:

Nyet: no

Dyadya Petya: Uncle Petya

Spasibo: thank you

Lastochka: a pet name meaning 'little swallow'

Leave me a comment, I love to hear from you! -CheckAlexa)