The deafening silence of the room was broken by the shuddering breath Carlisle let out. It was a small sound. Soft. Yet it had the effect of a cracking whip. His frozen family spun into action. An unusually strong hand clamped over his arm, its force increasing until Carlisle was forced to peel his gaze away from the morbid site before him.

He looked into Esme's worried eyes.

"Carlisle…" she trailed off, and for the first time in over eight decades, he could not figure out what she wanted to say. Perhaps she did not know either. His eyes felt restless, his hands felt restless. With one arm enclosed in Esme's protective care, he placed the other one flat on his stomach, pressing in his abdomen hard. For once his body protested its inability to retch. He tried to dissuade the tightness that seemed to be developing in his chest with deep breaths but the habit that had grown almost unconscious for him over the years now needed careful, deliberate commands.

Move the chest up and out.

Inhale to pull the air in.

Hold for a couple of seconds.

Bring the chest down and in.

Force the air out.

Five simple steps and Carlisle faltered at each. He gasped for air, instead of inhaling. He held it in for too long, the expansion of his lungs increasing the pain in his chest to the point he forgot the next step of the futile action. His exhale was shuddering and incomplete, needing more than one attempt.

He managed to do it twice. And then gave up.

His father was dead and Carlisle had no idea why he was so upset. His father had been dead for over three centuries and Carlisle had spent considerable time praying for his father's soul. He put in significant effort in tipping the scale favorably when it came to balancing his father's ill thought-out manslaughters with his piousness in the eyes of the Lord.

He brought both his hands together, interlacing the fingers in a tight grip, each digit holding its neighbor in place despite the small, ceaseless tremors. He kept Esme's arm looped through his own, trapping it in place by the side of his chest. Broken words took shape in his head and after multiple attempts, each interluded with his father's agonized face branded into his mind, he recited a short prayer. He invoked the lord and exalted his father's piety, begged for mercy for his actions, spoke of the kindness the man showed his congregation, the devotion he instilled in his son and his follower's heart. He prayed for a place in heaven for the man that brought him to this world.

And once he was done, all energy left his body and he leaned heavily into his wife's arms.

It was not the fact of his father's death that elicited such a strange response in Carlisle. Rather, it was the nature of said death. And the fact that his father was tortured to death because of his actions.

"Carlisle, you can't think like that," Edward's admonishment was sad and prompted Carlisle to look up at his oldest son.

He looked like he was about to continue speaking, but Emmett interrupted his words.

"There's a phone here," he said. His brows furrowed in confusion and he tore the already ripped cardboard box further to retrieve the small flip phone from inside it.

Esme held her hand out and Emmett placed the phone in her palm. Without untangling her arm from his, Esme hid it away in the grasp of her hand and her tentative fingers forced his face down, to look at her.

"Come walk with me," she spoke softly as if she was speaking to a small, gentle woodland creature and the tiniest increase in decibel would spook it away.

She gave a gentle tug on the front of his sweater and Carlisle, pliant under her capable fingers, was helpless to follow her out of the study, away from the damned painting.

Whispered and hissed conversation erupted in the wake of their departure but Esme shook her head once. Too dazed to care, he followed her out of the house, tuning his children's voice out.

They walked along the stream, the gentle rush of water and the soft breeze a welcome distraction from his mind's endeavor of conjuring harrowing audio to go with the gruesome visual of his father's last moments.

"Carlisle look at me," his wife's word was a command. He obeyed.

His eyes found her worried face and he hungrily drank in the familiar features. Without a conscious command from his brain, his fingers lifted to her face. He tried to wipe off the lines of worry, the frown off her forehead. He did not like that.

His thumb trailed down, touching the corner of her down turned lips. He frowned.

No, this was all wrong.

Carlisle wasn't sure what he was meant to feel. Should he grieve? He had already grieved his father. Should he feel guilty? He certainly had reasons to. Should he repent? How was he to go about with that?

No, he did not know what he was meant to feel.

But he did know, this worry was not something Esme and children should be dealing with right now. This was his past. And his family had protected him from it once. It was time he stepped up.

Fathers were meant to protect. Not be protected.

Fathers were supposed to alleviate their children's worry. Not be a cause of it.

Fathers solved their family's problems. Not invite their own troubles to their doorstep.

His family already had too much to worry about. Too many people already in need of their protection.

He reached out and gently pried each of Esme's finger out of the tough grasp she had on the phone. He looked at her, silently begging her to trust him. Eventually, she relented and Carlisle found the small phone in his own hand.

Once his fingers were wrapped around it, Carlisle took a step back. His mind still bombarded him, with an onslaught of terrible emotions and a painful numbness that blocked it all. While the two alternative reactions warred in his mind to bring forth either of the two reactions in Carlisle, he steeled his heart. He whispered a soft prayer, begging the Lord for protection against both.

He would grieve. Once again. He would let guilt take over. He would let the heart wrenching numbness win.

But all in due time.

Right now, he had work to do.

He took another step away from his wife before he broke into a run back home. He appeared before his guests as an apparition and felt a twinge of guilt when their hearts were startled into a race.

"Were any of you able to get in touch with Charlie?" he asked the five humans before him.

They were all still busy with the phones, some even mid conversation. But the general answer was the same. They had encountered varying degree of success. Billy had relayed the information to Old Quil. Kim had asked one of her friends who lived just down the described location to get there and speak to Charlie. Rachel and Emily had asked a few of their friends to do the same. They had also asked anyone in-the-know to watch out for the wolves and ask them to get to Charlie. Edward was also done speaking to all of Carlisle's contacts who could be useful in moments like these.

Carlisle did not know who finally managed to catch hold of the overworked Chief-of-police. But he felt the smallest sliver of relief when Alice announced from his study, "He will call Bella in one minute thirty seconds."

Bella rushed up to the third floor for her phone in the flash of a second and Carlisle turned back to their guests. His children were about to take action, whether with his blessing or without. He might as well do all he could to prevent the situation from turning ugly.

"Billy, Sue?" he said, his voice a little hoarse. Two pairs of eyes looked up at him expectantly. "Jacob and Sam are not present here. So, as the tribe elders, I must put the burden of this decision on you."

He could see they knew what he was about to ask. He continued speaking nevertheless. "Charlie is unsafe. Whether he lingers around La Push or he decides to heed Bella's warning and return, he is in grave danger and is not likely to make it back here without running into…unfavorable company of our kind."

Billy's lips were pressed thin into an unhappy line. Sue's grip on her daughter's leg had tightened considerably.

"As much as I do not wish to split my family up for anything at this moment, I would like your permission to make an exception to the treaty to allow three members of my family to go down to where Charlie is and bring him back to the safety of the house."

There was a few seconds of endless silence as his request was considered. Billy was looking at the three young girls before him, at Leah safely asleep under her mother's watchful gaze, wandering towards the ceiling where four other boys slept.

The treaty was already in violation, far too heavily.

Carlisle wasn't certain whether it was this fact, his concern for Charlie, or both of it when he finally looked at Sue, silently seeking confirmation from his fellow elder before he gave his answer.

When the decision was made, Billy and Sue nodded and Carlisle heard one of his children release a breath they had been holding.

"Edward?" he called and his son appeared beside him instantly. Already Carlisle could hear Bella speaking on the phone to her father. He could give all further instructions mentally but he spoke out loud for the benefit of those around them. "Go with Bella to bring Charlie back here. Use whatever story he is willing to buy. And take Emmett with you."

The sudden and debilitating wave of fear he felt the moment the words left his mouth almost knocked him off his feet. His hands started shaking due to the phantom adrenaline rush and he felt his face pounding as his body protested the separation of his family.

"Carlisle?" Edward lurched forward in alarm when Carlisle staggered and two pairs of strong arms gripped him, holding him upright as Jasper rushed down with Alice.

The fear ebbed a little when Jasper held one open palm directly against Carlisle's cheeks, using the full force of his gift to assuage the worry away. Carlisle straightened up and nodded a thank you in his son's direction. Jasper switched from touching his cheeks, removing his hand only to take hold of Carlisle's hand. As unusual as it may be for Carlisle to stand or walk around hand-in-hand with Jasper, he appreciated the help his son provided in keeping his mind clear in the hour of the need.

He turned back towards his guests and continued.

"I understand the danger you would be in," he said. "But I must insist that one of you accompany my family. It will help dissipate any misunderstanding that may otherwise arise."

As Carlisle had hoped, Billy volunteered. As did the three girls but Carlisle accepted Billy's offer. Out of the five humans here, no one hated vampires more than Billy. His presence with his family would certainly make any wolf think before they made any rash decisions.

Edward bolted off upstairs to find Bella who was trying to make Charlie understand the situation without giving anything away. Carlisle and Jasper made to leave as well, to speak to Emmett. His son would not be happy about leaving Rosalie and the family behind when they were under the threat of an imminent attack.

"Why three?" Kim's voice stopped his feet. He looked at her with a questioning gaze and she elaborated. "Why are three of you going there? To bring back one person?"

Carlisle smiled. It was a valid question indeed and he had expected Billy to ask this himself. But the old man knew Bella. Newborn or not, Bella was a restless person who would not sit back and let fate take its course. She was going to go get Charlie, irrespective of Carlisle or Billy's assent. Carlisle knew better than to underestimate her love for her father. And he also knew Edward. His son would not let Bella walk towards danger alone. Given that Charlie was as headstrong as his daughter, Jasper would have made the perfect third person to accompany them. But Carlisle did not wish to put Jasper through the discomfort of wandering into an area with confirmed human injuries. Rosalie would have been the safest person in that regard. But while his daughter's control over blood lust was never in question, her control over her rage certainly was. Emmett it was then.

He could not explain all of it to Kim. Nor could he explain why not Esme or Alice. So he answered her with the most practical of reasons for this.

"Because there are two of them."

With one problem out of the way, Carlisle and Jasper made their way upstairs. Emmett was waiting on the first floor landing for him, hands folded over his chest. He had been ready to argue, that was certain. But he had also heard Carlisle's reply to Kim and his own protest had been nullified.

There had to be three people.

And Emmett was smart enough to figure out on his own why it needed to be him.

"Take a phone and stay on call with Alice the entire time," Carlisle told him. "If any decision is made regarding Charlie, she will let you know instantly."

He nodded and disappeared down the stairs to take a phone from the box Esme had placed near the humans.

Carlisle could hear Rosalie sitting with Renesmee already and he knew she would not be leaving her side until Bella, Edward and Emmett returned. That was one task he would not have to ask of his family.

It would not be long, he told himself. They would be back with Charlie soon and his family could get back on the defensive plan they had formed.

He entered his study, carefully avoiding the painting that glared at him no matter where he stood in the room. His hand almost warmed from the intensity with which Jasper was now using his gift and Carlisle was scared to let go. But he had to and Jasper knew. His son stepped back, leaning against the door frame, looking at the painting directly opposite him.

Carlisle reached towards the side table where he kept his medical bag and retrieved the vial and the syringe. Within seconds, he had prepared three sedatives ready to be used. He carefully capped each and kept them on the side table for Edward to take with him, hoping they wouldn't need to use it. Charlie would be very cross.

He took in a deep breath, balking when the scent of varnish wavered his determination to not think about the painting. Compartmentalizing away two very strong emotions was a difficult task but Carlisle was practiced at keeping a clear head. He pushed back against the fear and the grief, and with Jasper's unwavering help, managed to keep a mental tally of things he still needed to do.

Next, checking on his patients. He stood up and made his way to the door.

"I think of you as a father, Carlisle."

Jasper's words brought him to a jarring halt and he looked up at his usually stoic son occupying most of the doorway.

For a moment, Carlisle was at loss for word. But that was fine because Jasper was not done speaking.

"I don't remember my human father," he admitted. "But I remember Maria."

Jasper looked at Carlisle, forcing the patriarch's gaze on himself. "I had a very different…relationship with her. She was a good leader, brutal but effective for the world we lived in and in her own way, cared about me greatly. I saw many other leaders too Carlisle. Creators of the covens I helped massacre. And in the brief moments that I knew them, I felt what they felt."

He took a breath and Carlisle held his.

"This instinct, that you have been feeling since yesterday, I know it. It's a survival instinct that rarely surfaces in our kind. As you have already guessed, Victoria's gift was a much more advanced and refined form of this. It's meant to warn us of danger and help us do what's necessary to survive. When I was with Maria, we felt it as a dull, constant presence in our subconscious. You feel it a lot more acutely and differently than just fear because with your mild nature, you have befriended most vampires you met and rarely encountered a situation that was truly life-threatening. And will I be right in assuming that you have seldom, if ever, felt it since you met Edward? That this time it's stronger than ever before, almost to the point of being debilitating?"

Carlisle nodded. He was unsure where Jasper was going with this but he listened nevertheless.

He had expected Carlisle's answer and smiled to himself when he saw whatever theory he had being proved right. His faced sobered up just as quickly though. "Carlisle, you are the first person I have met who feels it this way. And that's because, somehow, you feel it, not just for yourself but for all of us. It's almost as if even in your deepest, barest sense you see this entire coven as one being and not separate individuals. As a family. Even Alice and I."

A frown marred Carlisle's brow at the almost wondering tone Jasper's voice took. He was still processing everything Jasper said and he wished to talk about it with him more. It was certainly a topic that had once again caught his interest and Jasper seemed familiar with it. But like most things today, Carlisle pushed that to the back of his mind and addressed the thing that concerned him more.

"Of course I see Alice and you as a part of this family," he said. "You both are-"

"You did not create us Carlisle," Jasper interrupted and Carlisle's frown deepened.

"That hardly matters, Jasper. You both are my children, just as much as Edward, or Rose or Emmett or Bella is. Who created you does not make any difference to my affection towards you. You have been my son since the day you and Alice walked into our life."

Carlisle's voice was firm but once he trailed off, he felt small wisps of nervous energy caress his peripheral consciousness. There was something about Jasper's face…He wasn't smiling but his face looked like that of a predator whose prized prey had walked right where he wanted it to be. In that moment, Carlisle knew he had lost a fight he did not even know he was fighting.

"You're right," Jasper agreed. "I don't have much affection for Maria. Because after seeing everything I saw once I left her side, I realized that I clung to her because she fulfilled some ideals I had created in my head. A role whose fulfillment was incomplete without her. A relationship I thought was paramount for my life. I was wrong. And so are you."

"What do you mean?" Carlisle's voice was a hoarse whisper. His throat protested the escape of his words because deep down, Carlisle knew he did not wish to hear the answer. But it was too late now.

"You see your creator as a father-figure," Jasper stated, his words so certain Carlisle knew better than to deny it. "You have wanted to find him for decades now. You have wanted to build a relationship with him like the one Edward has with you. You want a father just as much as you want to be a father to us."

Jasper looked over Carlisle's shoulder. At the painting that tested Carlisle's perseverance with each passing second he avoided looking at it. But he did not have to look at it to see it. The horrors contained within the golden frame was already emblazoned onto his mind.

"This is where you are wrong Carlisle." His son's eyes flitted back to him and his voice was imploring him to understand. "We do not have any inherent affection or connection to our creators. Not by virtue of the transformation or the venom. Any relationship that you have seen between a sire and the sired did not exist. It was built. You are not this family's father because you created most of us. We see- I see you as my father, Carlisle, because every single day you work to be so. You learn and unlearn things for our benefit. You love and care about us enough that you don't even see yourself separate from us. You provide for us and in your own insane way, protect us."

As a heavy silence descended upon them, Carlisle took in a greedy gulp of air that refused to leave once it had served its unnecessary purpose. He felt his throat closing up and his eyes almost stung. His body reacted. To what, he was unsure. In an endeavor to keep grief and fear at bay, Carlisle had created a wall against all emotions.

His body did not cooperate. His voice abandoned him. His tears refused to make an appearance.

And despite everything, the proud young man understood what Carlisle felt. He understood it all, perhaps better than even Carlisle did. The veteran avoided his father's gaze.

This was the longest Jasper had spoken to him on a topic like this. For an empath, the young boy rarely expressed his feelings through words. And amidst everything that had been going on since the day before, Carlisle felt a strange sense of gratitude towards him.

Jasper had forced him to acknowledge what he had been denying all this time.

He had unwittingly assigned his creator the role of his father. And he did not wish to see that fantasy broken. He did not want to kill his creator because his creator was his only chance at having a father himself.

The feeling, however, was not mutual. He had wronged this unknown man, Carlisle admitted that. And seeking forgiveness through dialog was something he wished to do, in a way to alleviate his own guilt. He would not be receiving any forgiveness. He would not be making peace.

The man was there to kill him. Period.

And that left Carlisle with only two options. To kill or be killed.

"You should call him," Jasper said softly, gesturing at the phone in his pocket.

Carlisle did not move. "I have to go check on-"

"I will check on them," Rosalie's voice floated as she descended down the stairs and went to his patients.

"Bella and Edward-" Carlisle tried again.

Alice answered him from near the foyer. "Are loading Billy up in the car and will be gone in a few minutes."

Some trepidation left his body and Carlisle looked at his son receiving a pointed look in return.

Carlisle pulled out the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. The logs were empty save for one single number. His fingers hovered over the dial button, uncertain.

To kill or be killed.

The painting came to the forefront of his mind. His father's end. His creator's promise.

He pressed the button and made his choice. He had lived for three and a half centuries without a father. His children would not.

A/N:

This is the absolute longest I have gone without updating and I apologize for the delay. The story pace picks up from the next chapter and hopefully my update schedule will reset to the earlier one.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Your reviews are highly appreciated and I look forward to each one of them!

-ZQ