Carlisle was the prey. He was screwed enough to know it and humble enough to admit it. So when the five massive wolves charged at him, he did what every prey in the world does. He ran.
The wolves came for him directly. All five of them. Massive creatures who bulled through the weak line of defense created by Jasper and one of Jacob's pack. He saw his son being tossed aside by a powerful shake of Sam's head. He saw one of the flanking wolves crash into the younger wolf, almost running the poor boy over. They moved in a straight line, their target fixed. Him.
Carlisle ignored the younger wolf whining at his feet. He ignored another one that had taken shelter in the forest, crying while it recovered enough to rejoin the battle. His feet carried him towards his enemies. Away from his enemies.
He ran towards the younger wolves as the older pack charged at him. Lesser of the two evils.
His knees bent of their own accord and he pushed into the ground as hard as he could, launching himself off the gravel and into the air. His desperate trajectory took him sailing over the enemies in front of him and he caught hold of a branch near the very top of a tall tree.
The tree shook, nearly uprooting as Sam crashed into it. Carlisle slipped a few branches down but managed to catch himself while he was still high enough to be out of the wolves' range.
Height. That was his only advantage.
Fleeting and feeble.
If either of the vampires came, they could easily knock him out and onto the ground. If he stayed on one tree for too long, Sam could bring it crashing down with one or two powerful thrusts. That seemed to be the current course of action.
Carlisle jumped onto the neighboring tree. The one he had just vacated tilted sideways, falling onto the one behind it. He looked down, at the battlefield his family and allies currently occupied. All five of the bigger brutes had made a beeline for him. And he could not be happier.
It had taken them barely seconds to get through their perimeter. He was glad their puppeteer had marked him as the sole target for these creatures. He could not imagine his children, his Esme fighting them. No, none of them would last. Not alone. And their enemies were in large enough a number that they could not afford to band together.
His grip tightened over the branch he was holding as the sudden impact against the tree made his footing precarious. All five were huddled near the base of the trunk. From his perch, he saw one of the wolves turning back. Towards Jasper.
He let go and felt himself fall freely through the air, the branches knocked away under the impact. Halfway through, he caught hold of a branch and swung himself up onto it. Angry snarls filled the air and Carlisle's foot erupted in searing pain. He crouched low, examining the outer edge of his lower calf where the wolf's teeth had managed to graze him.
An angry gash, barely a few inches long. But a hundred times more painful than the claw marks on his hand. He had pulled himself up just in time, before whichever wolf had jumped up and snapped at him could clamp its jaw shut around his leg and pull him down. He was injured but the wound was healing soon.
Carlisle jumped up another branch. The five older wolves were trying to jump high enough to dislodge him from his perch. He barely had minutes before one of them would manage to catch hold of him limbs or clothing. It was a dangerous thing he just did. And stupid. But it served its purpose. The older pack's attention was back on him. Jasper had been left alone.
His instinct, his body was telling him to run. A prey indeed. His venom had dried out. Not the time to fight. It was time for flight. But that was not what Carlisle planned to do.
He took in a deep breath, ignoring the most prominent scents in the air. The destroyed foliage around him. The wolves. His family. Instead, he focused inside the house. He focused on his guests. The humans.
Controlled that he may be, he was still a vampire. He allowed his imagination to run a little wild as the scent of blood filled his senses. His throat felt a little parched and his body reacted in anticipation of a meal. Venom pooled under his tongue.
That was enough for Carlisle. He spat out the liquid onto his hand and smeared it all over the injury to his leg. The pain intensified eliciting an agonized hiss from him. But he felt his sinews, his skin seal shut.
Once the injury was dealt with, Carlisle looked down at the death pool below him. He could not stray too low or he risked getting yapped out by one of the wolves. He could not climb so far up that they gave up on him and turned to his children. He had to keep them occupied.
Carlisle clamped the trunk tightly in his grip and jumped a couple of branches lower. The snapping teeth came within inches of where he stood.
Dear Lord, protect us, he thought as he took a step off the branch and using it as a vault, swung out with his leg as forcefully as he could. His feet caught one of the wolves right below the jaw. The tremors traveled all the way up Carlisle's calves but he heard a satisfying crunch under his feet too. As the wolf howled out in pain, Carlisle vaulted a full hundred and eighty degrees and landed back on the branch just out of reach of the wolves.
A part of him felt cowardly. For not being in the thick of the battle. For not being the protector a leader should be. No, he was flat out a coward, driven by his instinct to survive. His children were fighting. Practical babies were fighting. Alice, his tiny, tiny daughter who barely reached her husband's chest was fighting. Bravely.
And Carlisle was hiding in the branches.
He rarely considered himself a protector. But in that moment, he did not even consider himself a man.
An angry growl escaped his throat and he swung down from the branch. Even as he fell, he pulled his arm as far back as he could and let it thrust forward.
He did not know which wolf he took down. But he did send it scampering away with a painful yowl. He knew it wasn't just the wolf's snout he had destroyed. Half of its face was crushed and it had trouble even howling. Carlisle did not smell the characteristic smell that brain had but he did smell cerebrospinal fluid along with blood. No permanent brain damage but this wolf would certainly need time to recover. He had a fraction of second to celebrate as his feet landed on the ground and the wolf staggered away from him.
A pitifully short fraction of second.
A powerful paw sent him hurtling back against the tree he had just descended and his back collided against the trunk. Splinters flew everywhere. Before he could even flex to climb back up the tree, his visions nearly turned blank. The transition between the dull, gray, glow of the evening and the pitch black of the midnight was stark and abrupt.
Hot wind blew into his face and the black gave way, first to white and then to pink.
It was not night. It was Sam.
Carlisle used all his might, both his arm thrust against the massive wolf's neck to stop the powerful jaws from ripping his face off. Sam's teeth snapped at him. His heavy paw ripped at Carlisle's arm but the patriarch gritted through the pain of the claws. Out of the agonizing claws or the death-inducing jaw, he would choose the former.
He ducked his head below Sam's mouth and used the force from his leg to shoot upwards, his head colliding with the underside of the alpha wolf. It was the momentary distraction Carlisle needed.
He could hear angry snapping on either side of him but none of the four wolves who had accompanied Sam seemed to get to him. In the brief moment of respite, Carlisle jumped back up onto the tree, climbing branches just high enough to stay out of their reach but low enough to pounce and attack at any opportunity he got.
As his field of vision increased, he understood the reason why Sam's flanks hadn't been able to get to him from the side. Jasper had attacked one of the wolves and Jacob was engaged in an angry fight with another one. Alice had landed a more debilitating blow on the wolf Carlisle had already knocked down to ensure it stayed out of the fight. Quil, one of the larger wolves from Jacob's pack had the smallest one of Sam's pinned down.
The younger pack, though mostly contained now, were recovering quick. Rosalie and the remaining of Jacob's pack had them under control.
But Sam was free now.
The wolf crouched low, a few feet away from the tree and snarled. Carlisle thought of scrambling up, higher. But that would be futile. With the ferocity Sam was about to hurl himself, Carlisle knew he not only had to jump up to a significantly higher branch, he also had to leave this tree entirely. It would not survive the impact.
"SAM!"
The voice rang out, freezing the wolf to the spot.
"Sam, please!" Emily cried out again, running towards the gigantic wolf.
"Emily come back!" one of the women in the house hissed at her. But the frantic girl paid no heed.
Tear streaming down her face, almost ironically traveling down one of her three scars, she almost hurled herself at the wolf before her. Sam pulled out of his crouch and turned around to face the intruder. He straightened up, pulling himself to his full height.
"Sammy, please, listen to me," Emily sobbed out, standing barely a feet away from Sam's looming form.
It was an odd sight for Carlisle.
He could see the weeping girl. He could see the unnaturally still wolf. He could see the carnage and fight around them.
Those two seemed oblivious to everything except themselves though.
"Come back, please," Emily whispered, half raising one hand as the other clutched at her heart. She would have stroked him if she could. But the wolf towered over her so much, she had to tilt her head all the way back to even look at him.
Sam was not breathing. At all. He stood still. It was almost as if he could hear her.
A feeble spark of hope shone in Carlisle's heart.
Perhaps she could reach into the depths of his mind. Perhaps she could pull him out of the cage he was held within. It was a strange sort of moment.
Sam whined.
He shook his head, as if getting rid of an annoying pest.
He looked at Emily again.
Carlisle could not see Sam's face. He could see Emily's though. Through her tears, she smiled. A small, tentative smile. But a smile nonetheless. From the corner of his eyes, he saw a…vehicle?
His heart soared with hope. For just a moment.
A chilling snarl filled the clearing and Carlisle's head snapped towards Sam again. Carlisle was off his perch before his mind fully realized what was happening. He launched himself at the back of the wolf, his arms outstretched to pull him to the side. Below him, he could see Seth also launch himself at Sam.
Neither were quick enough.
With an angry pounce, Sam knocked Emily over. Her head crashed against the gravel just as Sam's jaw closed around her throat, his large teeth sinking into her flesh. Blood shot out as her major vessels were punctured. Carlisle reached then. He collided against the rough, black fur and the wall of muscles. The combined momentum of Carlisle's speed and Seth's weight hurled Sam to the side. The three crashed through the ground, gravel and dirt flying all around.
Sam's jaw clamped shut over his forearm and Carlisle screamed out in pain. He felt the skin break, the muscles tear, the bones crush. Each structure tearing felt like a thousand papercuts drenched in alcohol all at once.
He could not lose his hand.
Running on pure instinct, Carlisle used his second hand to punch the side of Sam's face. He did not know where exactly the relevant nerve would be in a wolf, but his guess seemed to be right. The punch caused a reflex opening of Sam's lower jaw, giving Carlisle precious but fleeting moments to pull his hand out of his mouth.
His eyes still stung with unshed tears at the agony.
He could not cry. So instead, he gritted his teeth and lurched away from Sam. His hand cradled in his good one, he flashed away just when Jasper and Rosalie launched themselves at Sam, using their and Seth's combined strength to hold him down.
Carlisle ignored his own pain and rushed away. In half a second, he was leaning down beside Emily.
The girl lay on the ground, the gravel beneath her darkened with her blood.
It was a lot. He used his good arm and the upper part of his injured one to scoop the girl up and rush inside the house. He almost dropped her onto the bed and the cream mattress started turning red.
"Emily!"
Horrified gasps filled the room and through the pain Carlisle was startled to see Leah awake.
He ignored her and pressed down on the torn vessels of Emily's neck. The girl was gurgling now, gasping for breath and blood. The scent of her blood hit Carlisle like a ton of bricks and his mouth flooded. His frantic eyes looked for Esme.
She appeared beside him, her chest still and a bowl and rag in her hand.
"Do something!" someone yelled at him. Probably Rachel or Kim. It was a hysterical feminine voice.
"Go back," a calmer voice spoke and Carlisle looked up to meet Sue's sad eyes. Even in the heat of everything, Carlisle was surprised to see the woman keep her calm.
"What no! He has to do something!" One of the boys yelled out, rushing in dangerously close to Carlisle. "You've got to save her!"
Sue gave only a slight downturn of her lip as an acknowledgment to the boy. Instead, her eyes remained focused on Carlisle. "Can you?" she asked him, her voice following a shuddering breath. He could see the effort it took her to keep up the facade of calm.
Carlisle looked down.
His pale hand was now red. Even with the pressure he was applying, he could not stem the flow. Blood squirted out with every tiny movement of his hand. Her trachea was broken. He could feel the exhaled air against his wrist. It was getting lesser with each passing breath. Both her carotid arteries had been ruptured and Carlisle kept a steady pressure on them. He was keeping the blood inside her body, but he was not letting it reach her brain. He could even see bits and pieces of her larynx, thyroid and small part of her oesophagus with naked eyes.
Her throat was completely damaged.
Could he save her?
If he had a ready team, an OT and provisions far beyond what he had at home? Probably. There was a slim chance then.
As he saw the girl's tear wash down a path of russet through the screen of red down the side of her face, Carlisle shook his head. He could stay here. Keep pressure over the arteries and let her die of lack of oxygen to the brain. He could let her run out of breaths. He could let her bleed to death.
It was all a choice of the easiest death he could provide her. Life was no longer in Carlisle's hand. Even a damned life was out of question. She would not live long enough for that either.
He was startled when Emily grasped his hand with a startling amount of strength. Her eyes widened and she coughed up a small spray of blood that splattered all over Carlisle's face. She was trying to say something. But the structures that would let her do that were ravaged. But the single syllable command was not impossible to understand.
Go.
She was asking him to leave. Carlisle knew why.
These people hiding in his house hadn't been attacked yet. Not because their defensive perimeter was impregnable. But rather because their attackers had no reason to be in here. He was their target and their enemies would go wherever he was.
He had to leave. Soon.
Otherwise the fight would come to him.
Carlisle took Sue's shaking hands in his blood covered ones and gently arranged her fingers, applying tentative pressure over her hand so that she would know where to clamp down and how much. Her hand turned into a gruesome splatter of red, covered in his fingerprints and Emily's oozing blood.
Rachel snatched the bowl from Esme and sat near Emily's head, using the wet rag to clean up the blood.
Carlisle moved out of the way as her family converged around her. Emily was their cousin. Their niece. And to those she was not related by blood, she was their sister. Their mother-figure.
This was her last moment and Carlisle would not intrude upon it. He pulled himself away and out of their way, staggering towards the door.
Strong arms gripped him and helped him walk.
Once again, he found himself standing at the threshold of their house with his wife. She picked up his injured forearms, her lips turning down when an involuntary hiss escaped him. Esme was not immune to the huge amount of blood in the air either. She leaned down and in a rather uncharacteristic way for her lady-like self, spat over his injuries.
The pain increased but Carlisle watched with an almost strange intrigue as the effect of venom became instantaneous and he watched the structures repair itself before his very eyes. Esme used her hand to spread the clear liquid all over his injuries, flipping his hand over to help the other side heal too.
"Promise me you will take me away from all of it as soon as this is over," Esme demanded, her voice broken.
"Isle Esme," Carlisle promised. "We'll leave for Rio directly. The children can shift houses on their own one time."
Her grip on his arm tightened for a moment before she let go and stepped back.
"Go," she commanded. "They will need you."
Helpless to her wishes, Carlisle dipped his head and bolted out of the house. The grief and fear of the house turned into the rage and fight of the battlefield.
Carlisle was attacked almost as soon as he stepped out. The older wolves were still being restrained. It was the younger ones who were recovering and re-attacking.
Carlisle snarled. And he fought with more disregard, more anger than ever before. A part of it probably stemmed from his son who was still locked in a deadly dance with Sam. Rosalie and Seth too. Three against one. And neither side seemed to be winning.
But a huge part of this rage was his own.
Emily was the first casualty of the day.
Empathy would add a second. A third.
His dead heart frozen, Carlisle fought with a vigor he did not know he possessed. The younger wolves were in larger numbers. And right now, it seemed like it was just him against all ten. Rest all were engaged with the older pack.
He felt burns, all over his body as scratches continued to find its way onto his skin. There were too many.
And this time, they seemed to have understood the edge their teeth gave them.
Yet Carlisle fought, not like a father or a doctor. He fought like the three hundred and sixty year old vampire that he was. Hurting puppies was horrible.
But it was so terribly, so unfairly, easy.
Carlisle knew where to hit them. And he used the full might of his kind to do so.
For every three to four scratches he received, he knocked one wolf out.
The going became a little slow when one of the wolves clamped down on the shoulder that had been reattached just a day prior. He received some massive claw marks on his front when he lifted both his hands to detach the young wolf from his shoulder and chuck it across the clearing.
Six.
He punched one on the back, snapping the spine.
Five.
He punched another on the hind legs, shattering the hips and legs once again.
Four.
He jabbed against the jaw, breaking it along with the front leg.
Three.
He tossed two away. They would be back soon.
One.
With both his hands on each of the wolf's jaws, Carlisle pulled, one hand up, one hand down, ripping its face apart. He stopped quickly though. Before he could reach any major structure of the neck.
Emily's mangled throat flashed before his eyes. He let go of the lower jaw and holding the upper one in place brought the heel of his palm down, once again breaking the wolf's snout.
It scampered away.
A car came to a rumbling halt and Carlisle looked up.
One of the wolves from Sam's pack detached itself from its attackers and lunged towards Carlisle but it was immediately brought down again by Quil.
An unfamiliar car. But far too familiar a face.
Arthur stepped out of the passenger seat, towering over all those who stood around him. Behind him, a short, almost demure female vampire stood. The cause of their problems. Her eyes shone with a glistening darkness as her head turned towards the source of wafting smell of blood.
"Carlisle," Arthur greeted. Almost pleasantly.
The Olympic patriarch gave no response. Instead he looked at the two humans who had also exited the car and now stood a couple of feet away from the vehicle. The short ginger in pink high school musical shirt. A dark haired man in black shirt.
They looked ordinary. A little sick perhaps but who wouldn't, standing in the midst of a fight between vampires and shape-shifters.
"Get her!" someone shouted. A wolf jumped at the she-vampire. One of the younger wolves jumped in and intercepted the attack.
"Carlisle, get the woman. We can't keep on going like this. The fight won't end until she dies!" Rosalie's scream was frantic as she twisted Sam's leg back, to keep him from swatting at Jasper.
Arthur chuckled. The woman looked incredulous, her focus back on Carlisle. The humans outright laughed.
Carlisle took one single step towards them and his muscles almost froze with inexplicable fear.
Jasper must have been a little distracted.
"You think it's her?" The shorter human asked, his head tilted to the side in amusement.
The last of the day light faded. The sky overhead deepened into a darker blue.
The humans shook with suppressed giggles.
"Don't flatter me," the woman spoke, her voice deep and hoarse, as if she had just spent a lot of time screaming. "It's not me. It's them."
She jerked her head towards the two men standing on the other side of the car.
Carlisle looked on them with confusion. Their giggles stopped but their shaking didn't. At that moment, the heavy, dreary clouds parted. The moon Esme had drawn a night before, the moon on her page before she erased a sliver of it off, glistened in the night sky over head. The clearing was filled with the brilliant, silvery glow of the full moon.
Carlisle realized it before it happened. His heart became heavy as a lead and sank to the deepest pit of his stomach.
The moon made its first appearance of the night and the humans howled.