A/N:

Here's a little story I came up with from Carlisle's POV. This story takes place in 1919, a year after he saved Edward. In this fic he's still a new father to the mind reading teenage vampire who is still figuring out his place in the world and is quite innocent. It's within the universe I created in "First Experience."

- I have Dyslexia and I am more than aware that my story - that is free to read - has spelling errors. I do my best to correct them but no matter how hard I try there are going to be a few. :))

- DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Twilight. If I did, I wouldn't be writing for free.

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Thunderstorm

Canada 1919

Dry lightning cracks across the sky in the distance. The loud sound of thunder rumbles, shaking the Earth beneath us from where my boy and I stand an acre away from our cabin in the woods.

"Is it time?" Edward eagerly questions, balancing on the balls of his feet. He tosses the baseball that he holds up into the air. Catches it with both hands, then tosses it up once more.

"Yes, Son. It's time." I answer with a smile.

The ball tumbles back down from the sky. I watch as he effortlessly catches it and tosses it in the bucket of baseballs that sits at my feet right by the four wooden baseball bats.

Thunder echoes off the mountains and lightning lights up the sky. It's time to play ball. He's been waiting for this all day, ever since the weatherman on the radio this morning announced that there would be a thunderstorm tonight. Which is the only time that vampires can play baseball.

He picks up the wooden bats that lay on the ground. "Let's go, Carlisle!"

With the cluster of bats clutched in his hand he runs across the grassy pasture. As fast as he is, in a blink of an eye he is gone. He no longer has the strength or speed of a newborn but he is still extremely fast. I reach down, grab the handle of the bucket of baseballs and follow him.

I keep an eye on my son as he runs, going North to our spot where we play ball on stormy nights. No longer do I worry so much when he runs ahead of me as I once did when he was brand new to this life. He is very intelligent, too intelligent to give into his predatory ways. Since he woke up to this life a year ago I have learned how eager he is to please me and follow directions. He never disappoints me about the paths I instruct him to take, to stay away from humans. As isolated as I keep him he has never had a slip up and therefore has never tasted human blood. Which, I never want him to experience.

Edward is a really good child. So pure and kind, smart, intelligent and eager to stick to our vegetarian ways. At times when his temper gets the better of him, resulting in the form of an adolescent tantrum, where furniture goes flying, when he doesn't get his way. I have to remind myself that he's only a child, despite his physical age of seventeen. His mind is still young and he hasn't learned to control his emotions.

Thunder roars and lighting flashes.

"Hurry!" Edward shouts, his voice has a happy childish edge to it.

"I'm right behind you." I call out to him in a clear voice.

The distance between us is approximately three miles, however he and I can hear and see each other perfectly. He can also read my mind at this distance. I know he's hearing everything I think. For that is his talent; mind reading. It sure is an interesting gift.

Only thirteen more yards to go before we enter the large open field we simply call the baseball field. It's a large open unleveled field with mostly rocks and dirt, a few bushes on the edges and small patches of wild grass growing randomly in various spots. No trees are around this part of the woods, well besides this one very mature tree that grows wild and free, its branches grow long and thick, some even touch the ground in all different directions. Edward likes to refer to it as the crazy tree. The name fits it and the crazy tree adds greenery to our convenient play place.

We reach our baseball field. With only two players - my son and I - there's no need for bases. Just a bucket of baseballs and a few bats since they get easily broken. He begins to run out, near the crazy tree. To the spot he stood last time when we played. I stand where I am, a good distance away to pitch to him. I set the bucket of baseballs down on the ground a foot away from me.

The wind blows through his messy reddish brown hair. So many times I've tried to smooth out his untidy hair. I've finally come to the conclusion, it stays unruly. It doesn't bother him one bit anyway, so there's no use fussing over it.

He turns around smiling his crooked smile at me. He doesn't have my smile, that doesn't bother me a bit. He has the shape of someone else's eyes. His irises that are a bright amber color for the moment, once were green and shall be gold soon enough - his eyes are big and childlike that I often see myself in.

The day we met was one of tragedy though Edward had no idea, in fact he has no memory from his time as a human. He was very ill and sleeping when his mother begged me with her last breath to save him, that was a month after I met them. Whether she was asking me as a healthcare professional to nurse him back to health, or she suspected I was of a supernatural force and could save him another way. I will never know. But as a healthcare professional with many years of experience behind me. I knew there was nothing I could do for him as a doctor, he was too far gone with the sickness. However, I knew I could save him by biting him and making him immortal.

I, of course, was skeptical about saving him. I had contemplated on creating a vampire companion before that moment, for a few years in fact. Though I wasn't sure about it. To damn a human to this life, just to fill the void of loneliness I endured for two centuries, would have been very selfish. However, the boy with the red hair and green eyes that laid in a hospital bed among the quarantine, was not going to make it. I knew that much. My many years of medical experience made it obvious, where other doctors were hopeful due to the boy's age, I already knew that sadly death was inevitable for him.

His age. Barely seventeen, was a big factor of why I was hesitant to save him - transform him into a vampire. No longer a little boy, not yet a man. However, he would need to be looked after, not able to go out on his own. That's just one of our unwritten laws in the vampire world. That underage creations must be looked after by their creators to make sure our secret is kept.

Edward's mother, Elizabeth died not long after she made her last plea to me. After his mother's remains were wheeled out on the bed she layed on, as a couple of nurses took her corpse to the morgue. I knew he would soon follow his mother if I didn't act soon. His father had already been deceased for two weeks, he didn't have any other family members left, no one to miss him. I was the night doctor in Chicago that nursed them all, well, I tried to.

Sometime after I made my rounds among the quarantine patients, checking their vital signs and heart rates. I found myself standing over Edward's bed as he slept - struggling to breathe - his heartbeat was weak and so was he. To anyone who saw me I appeared to be checking his IV, and badly bruised arm where the needle penetrated his skin, giving him the nutrition he needed. No one was aware that there was a war going on inside my head.

A war of right and wrong. I wasn't sure what to do. No. Not yet.

While deciding on my decision I thought about the law of vampire creations. The legal age is twenty one, which he was not and if I should turn him, he never reached that age, he would forever be frozen in every way as a seventeen year old. However, I knew he would never see any age beyond seventeen due to the illness that plagued his body. Even though the legal age to turn a vampire is twenty one, there is an exception to the law with creating a teenage vampire. The creator is forever their guardian, teaching them how to live inconspicuously among the human world. Which is a huge commitment that lasts forever.

I stood there holding his hand, looking at his young face and seeing his boyish features. I wasn't entirely sure if I was ready to be a guardian to a teenager. Over the years I've heard from numerous colleagues about how strong willed adolescence children can be. That part frightened me a bit. I was pledged with so much uncertainty. If I were human I would have been breaking out in a sweat from anxiety. I still was not sure if I was ready. I was unsure about a lot of different things in that one moment. Unsure if he would hate me - resent me for no longer being human, was top on my list. If he did, that wouldn't be a very healthy relationship between him and I. I then thought about the ways it could go right too. There was a possibility that we could have a companionship. That seemed nice.

Holding his cold and clammy hand, I began praying to God. Asking for a sign as well as strength and wisdom to know what to do in this unknown situation. When my silent prayer came to an end and my eyes opened. The boy, whose hand I still held remained asleep.

At the same time I let go of his hand. It happened. The sign I needed which also served as a diversion occurred at that very moment. Chaos and confusion unfolded around me, in the form of numerous nurses rushing around the room as patients, young and old suddenly stopped breathing. Everyone was rushing about, not paying attention to me as they wheeled the dead out of the large room and down to the morgue.

I took that as my sign.

Carefully removing the IV from the sleeping half grown child's arm. I followed suit, wheeling him out of the ward for the quarantine. But we weren't headed to the morgue. He was not going to follow the fate of his parents and perish.

Leaving his bed in a long empty hallway next to the window, I picked that big boy up, who felt feather lite in my arms. Cradling him in my arms like a small child, protectively I held him as we escaped out of the second-story window. Making our way on rooftops until we were out of the city. I took him to my house deep in the forest and laid him on the bed in my room once we entered the house.

I wasn't entirely sure how to create a vampire since I never done it before and had vague memories of how my own transformation occurred. I was aware that vampires usually are bitten on their neck. However, those vampires always feed in the traditional way, on human blood. I didn't want that for my boy. I ended up mimicking my own bites on my wrist and bicep. Biting him, hearing him cry out in pain and resisting his blood was difficult. But none compared to hearing him screaming for three agonizing days. Those three days I stayed by his side, comforting, holding and apologizing to him.

The day he awoke to his new life was the very day I knew I had some catching up to do as we instinctively fell into the role of father and son. The role we fell into, the love I felt for him and he returned came very unexpected. I never expected to be anyone's father, only creator. But I wouldn't trade it for the world. He's my son and that's my choice.

Edward; my son. Something I never assumed I would have. I look at him now. Out on the playing field, a bat in his hand and the crazy tree in the background where the rest of the bats lay on the ground. He swings the bat at the empty air. A picture perfect moment of the boy who's bigger than the plans I made. Who's teaching me to be a better man without even realizing it.

Thoughts of him flash across my memory of last year. The first year of his vampire life. How much he has learned and grew into the boy that I see before my eyes. Without any memories of his human life, whether that was from the illness that made him lethargic, or amnesia from the trauma of the bites that I inflicted on him, I can't say. Some things will remain a mystery. All I can say is that it was a bit of a challenge at first. Without him having the memories of what he learned when he was human makes him seem a bit younger than a teenager.

As a result of memory loss he had to go through the learning process all over again. Which puts him in a younger mindset for the time being. Though thankfully, he is able to mentally grow and mature with each day that passes. That's supposed to be impossible for our kind. But my theory is he will eventually reach the mindset of his physical age and mentally be frozen as the rest of us are.

A loud swishing sound is heard through the air as he swings the bat repeatedly at the empty space in front of him. For an unknown reason he crows like a rooster. Just being a silly kid as he warms up.

He makes me laugh at the things that he does. Memories from three months ago flash across my mind. On a stormy day, much like today I brought him out here to play ball for the first time. He wasn't quite sure how to hold the bat properly, with a little practice he learned. And by looking at him now, you would never know he had trouble in the beginning and second-guess himself.

"The trip down memory lane is great and all," Edward says, reading my thoughts. "But can we please play?"

Seeing his eager face as he swings the bat, warming up, I chuckle. He's not one for patience.

I grab a ball from the bucket. "Ready, Little Lion Man?" I playfully challenged him. Calling him by his nickname I gave him since he's as graceful as a lion when he hunts.

In an instant, he takes the stance of a baseball player. Holding the bat the way I taught him. Another round of thunder rings through the air as he puts his game face on.

"Ready, Dad." He replies.

"Alight." I grin.

Right on cue, thunder shatters the silence. Lighting illuminates the night sky and I throw the ball. The ball hurls in his direction, determined to hit it he watches it intently, swings at the right moment as it gets closer. Thunder crashes through the sky as the bat connects with the ball and the bat shatters into a million pieces. With a loud crash the ball soars through the air. I cheer him on as I grab another ball.

"Wow! Dad, that went far." His grin is a mile long. His eyes follow the ball. "Do you think we'll find it later?" He asks as he gets another bat.

The first time he called me "Dad", it hit me like a freight train. It was in the form of a short letter. We had been practicing penmanship then and he decided all on his own to write a little note to me about how sorry he was, for breaking a window and how much he appreciates me being his dad. He left it on my desk for me to see. It was heartwarming and couldn't have come at a better time. It was on a day when his newborn temperament was getting the best of him. It wasn't his thirst that was out of control that day. It was his temper. I had to calm him down on five different occasions that day. He kept going from being blissfully happy to being in the depths of despair in 2.5 seconds. It was a lot to handle.

That particular day was very stressful. By nightfall, I sent him to his room for a little while to read a book and wined down while I went outside to take a short walk and clear my head. I was wondering if I did the right thing, with creating him, I mean. At that moment - on that stressful day I had my doubts. I love him so much though I was sure his behavior was a result of him resenting me.

When I went back into the house that night and all was quiet. I checked on him, he was content as could be, reading a book. I took advantage of the peacefulness and ventured off to my office to do a little reading on child development. I pulled the book from the shelf and sat at my desk. That's when I saw that note and knew how he felt. He didn't harbor resentment towards me, but admired me - his dad.

My memories come to an end. My mind is now on the question he just asked me about finding the baseballs when we are done here. It is our habit of tossing the baseballs, knocking them out of our playing field and picking them up once we are done later.

'Of course. We always do.' I answered his question in my mind.

"True." He smiles, standing in his spot with a bat in his hand. "Last time we found them all."

"Yes we did." I nod in agreement.

Barely out of his newborn phase, he's learning to recognize scents and able to think more clearly now and focus on the many different interests he has. He's also learning to recognize that every object has its own scent. From books to jeans to shoes, even baseballs. The day he discovered that he was quite amazed. At that moment he seemed much more like a child than a teenager.

"I get it." He laughs. "I'm your son. Your little boy, as you strangely insist."

"Yes you are." I say, winding up my arm. "Batter up."

Wordlessly, Edward taps the end of the baseball bat on the dirt making a little thud that echoes around us. He does that three times. Looking very competitive he holds the bat up, ready to hit this ball out of our playing field, just as he did with the last one.

With his mind-reading ability he is able to guess the exact moment I will throw the ball. He gets ready for my pitch. I toss it and once again he swings and hits it, the ball flies across the sky. Right out of our playing field and into the forest. From where I stand I see a certain look in his amber eyes. A twinkle of curiosity. I don't need to possess his mind-reading ability to know what he wants.

"Would you like to run this time after you hit it?" I question, grabbing another ball from the bucket. 'You are more than welcome to. If that's what you wish.'

"Like a real ballplayer who just hit a home run?" He asks eagerly. "Just like the character from the book I've been reading?"

"Precisely." I nod my head.

"Yes!" He says a little too loudly.

Another round of thunder breaks through the quiet night. The sound is eerie and goes along with the lightning illuminating the darkness, making the atmosphere perfect four two vampires at play.

I launch the ball toward my son. He attempts to knock it out of our ball field. But, it sails past him, out of reach for the bat to hit it. He frowns.

"You didn't throw it right." Edward complains with a competitive edge to his voice.

"Let's try it again." I grab another ball.

He gets ready. Holding the bat just so. Eyes locked on the ball.

"Batter up!" I call and fire up another pitch.

Very eager and equally determined Edward swings the bat that hits the ball, making it fly through the night sky. Immediately he tosses the bat to the ground and runs around the field, his feet touching imaginary bases as he goes.

"Home run!" He announces as he stops, his hands up in the air.

"Alright!" I cheer him on by clapping my hands. 'You're a great ball player, Son.'

Hearing my internal praise he flashes his crooked smile.

"I'll be back. I wanna see if I can find the baseballs on my own." He says as he turns around and blots into the forest.

"Okay." I answer.

I watch my boy, who is not my biological son, run off into the forest. Though if he were I'd feel the same about him as I do now. I didn't know him for long when he was a human, I didn't get to see him take his first steps, hear his first words or see him off to his first day of Kindergarten. But I will never miss a chance to play baseball with him on stormy nights, read a book with him or play a game of Chess, his favorite board game. None of that will ever change. He will always be my son.

Edward's laughter - a happy sound - rings through the stormy night as he runs back carrying the baseballs he hit. He smiles triumphantly as he stands before me, dropping the balls in the bucket one by one.

"You found them?" It's more a guess than a question.

"Yup." Edward nods his head. He looks so proud of himself.

"That's great." I grin. 'I knew you would.'

He nods his head. "Your turn to hit." He points over to the bat. "My turn to pitch."

'Is that right?' I silently question with a smile.

"Yes." He answers happily.

Smiling, I muss up his hair. He lends into my gesture of affection. I run my hand through his hair once more before I drop my hand and go over to bat as I hear him grab a ball from the bucket.

THE END

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Thank you for reading.

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