Disclaimer: In attempt to keep characters and backstories laughably canon (if you ignore the obvious), there are some unmarked direct line lifts from New Moon and Eclipse. Not mine, obviously.

five.

(Leah)

Knowing that Seth is upstairs, finally home, safe and sleeping, has put Leah's world into focus a bit. She pulls eggs and milk and orange juice from the fridge with new fervour, and silently begs that this new resolve of hers will last long enough to get her through the morning. She needs answers. There are things she still doesn't understand, other parts that she doesn't even know about — yet — and she'll be damned if she's not going to learn so she can help her little brother through this.

She hadn't pushed for answers with Sam. She'd asked a few times, of course — where he'd been, why he was gone all night, how could he be so exhausted all the time? — but he'd gotten so angry with her that she'd shut her mouth and let him be. It had been the wrong thing to do, all things considered, but she's not going to make the same mistake again. By the time Seth wakes up, she is going to be ready.

She steels herself before looking over her shoulder at Jacob. "Drink?"

He shrugs his indifference from the archway, his hulking frame seemingly taking up every inch of it. He might be as big as Sam, but his huge presence is . . . different, somehow.

Maybe it's because, unlike Sam (though he could have been . . .) Jacob is family. Maybe it's because she doesn't hate and love every inch of him at the same time. She's grown up with Jacob, after all, and whilst they might not have spent as much time with each other in the last few years he's always been around in one way or another. His sisters used to be her closest friends (so much so that she used to pretend they were her sisters); their moms were best friends and their fathers were brothers in all but blood. They've spent Christmases and birthdays and spring breaks together, spent days and days running across the reservation. And when they were much younger, Sarah used to look after them all while everyone else went to work.

Or perhaps it's something else, yet she can't think what exactly. Not when his eyes are on her like that, burning holes into her. Even after she turns back to the fridge she can feel him watching her every move, staring as her hands skirt around all the wrapped dishes of casserole and lasagne and stews in the fridge which seem to have appeared overnight.

"You and Billy can have some of this, because if you think I'm eating that for a month . . ." She pulls a face he can't see and shuts the white door. It all makes a poor substitute for her dad's fish fry, but maybe when her mom returns to some semblance of living she'll try and perfect the recipe . . . Maybe. "I hate casserole."

Jacob doesn't answer, doesn't move.

"Lasagne is okay, I guess," she babbles on, "but I'm gonna have to drain the stew to freeze it and it'll be a real pain in my ass. So . . ." She sets two glasses on the breakfast bar and shrugs at him. "You might as well just take it."

They hold each other's gaze. Hers searching, his burning. She doesn't know this Jacob. He looks like a stranger these days: awfully short hair, no shirt, bare feet, fierce features, dark circles under his weary eyes. Is the kid she used to shove into ditches and dare to eat worms still in there? She hopes. Will she feel the same about Seth? Is he the same person or—

No. She can't, won't think about it. Sam is gone, her dad is dead, and the Jacob she knows from years ago has all but disappeared. She will not be able to stomach losing Seth, too.

Leah nods towards a chair, trying to swerve off that dark road of thoughts. She will not lose Seth. Ever. "You can sit down, you know. Before you fall down."

Jacob blinks. His face seems to clear a little bit and he squares his shoulders, looking almost like he's walking to his execution as he forces himself to move and takes a seat in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. She might have smiled if he didn't look as bone-tired as she feels or as miserable with the world as she is, sagging in the chair like that.

"You look like shit," she tells him.

His laugh is quiet, barely there. "Thanks," he mutters, and rubs his hand over his face as if to clear the shadows lingering there. "I'd ask for coffee, but it wouldn't have any effect."

Good, she thinks as she wordlessly pours a glass of juice and sets it in front of him, because she doesn't have any.

Jacob's hands immediately reach for it, his long fingers brushing each other against the cool glass as he studies it intently for a minute. Two.

He breaks the silence first.

"You have questions," he says. She thinks that he almost sounds resigned about the interrogation which is undoubtedly about to follow, as if he knew all along what she was really asking before she got to her feet on the landing.

"Only a few." It's a lie; she feels like she'll burst if she has to spend another day not understanding the whispers around the Rez. The secrets which Sam knows and won't tell her. "If you don't mind."

Jacob keeps his eyes on the glass and carefully asks, "What do you want to know?"

All of it. Every detail. The whole story.

"The truth," she says at once. "I want — I need to know everything."

He looks unhappy about it, but nods.

"Do you swear? No bullshit, or no breakfast."

It takes longer than she likes, but eventually Jacob mimes crossing his heart and flicks three fingers up in a mock salute, as solemn as can be despite it. "Scout's honour," he promises, at which Leah rolls her eyes. She can't help the distrust she knows is plastered all over her face, even as a wan smile crosses his. "I swear."

It's as good as she's going to get, she supposes, but still she's dubious and it shows.

"Honest," he adds.

Fine. "Okay. How long have you been a . . ." She waves a hand as she turns her back, only slightly mollified. "You know."

"Werewolf?" Jacob snorts from behind. "You can say it."

"Fine. Werewolf." She directs her scowl at the egg shells. "The legends always said 'shifter', but if that's what you prefer," she replies haughtily.

"Think I prefer their version, actually," he mutters. "Hollywood didn't get any of it right. Nobody did. It sucks." The sigh which leaves him is long, a drawn-out and frustrated sound for emphasis before he changes the subject. "What are you making?"

"Uh." Leah stares downward at the mess she's already made. She's cracked five eggs without reason. "Omelette, I guess. A really big omelette. Or I can do pancakes instead if you'd like."

"Whatever you want."

"Pancakes," she says without thinking. She cranes her head round. "What do you want?"

The question seems to stun him something stupid, and it doesn't sit well with her. All he does is stare at her again, clearly struggling to find his words.

"Or does Sam make those decisions for you too?"

Jacob doesn't answer so she waits, her eyebrows raised in a silent question until he finally relents with a huff and looks back down at his hands. "Pancakes are fine."

Leah doesn't believe him — since when did it become so hard for him to choose for himself? — but opens a cupboard and reaches for the flour anyway. "So. Why does it suck? You seem to be pretty good at it. Seth likes you."

Of course, Seth likes everybody. But she'd heard them on the landing. The sound of Seth's heartache had almost had her throwing her door open. She's still unsure why she stopped herself. And then in his bedroom . . .

"I didn't want to upset him. It gets ugly if we get too angry and lose our temper."

Leah chances another look over her shoulder. "Does that happen a lot?"

Jacob scowls, unhappy again. "Too much. I've only been at this for what, like a month now? Billy keeps threatening that the next pair of shorts I lose will be my last and that I'll have to go around butt naked."

Leah thinks about the shreds of fabric from Seth's clothes which she'd picked up after getting home from the hospital. "Please don't."

"I can't help it. It's a little better now, I suppose," Jake allows, albeit begrudgingly, "but it's still hard. It probably always will be."

Leah frowns at that. Before he'd . . . exploded, Seth had been more snappy than usual. Just like Sam, she thinks. It's easier to see now, to realise how similar things had been with her boyfriend and then her brother, but she's never thought to compare the two of them before. To think that Seth is going to be worse, and she's going to have to be as careful with him as she was with Sam . . . It's going to drive her insane.

"The first time it happened to me . . ." Jacob's voice dips. "We haven't exactly been kept in the dark, you know? I mean — you know the legends as well as I do. We've grown up with them. And Billy had been dropping hints for such a long time . . . Honestly, I thought I was going to have him committed."

"How did he know?"

"Same way we should have noticed Seth was close. But he's too young — nobody expected him to phase, and we weren't watching. We've been waiting for . . . Anyway, I guess everyone just assumed Seth was hormonal or whatever, having a growth spurt and being a teenager."

"We're teenagers," she reminds him, even though she had thought that.

Jacob laughs, bitter and cold over the sound of the whisk. "Right."

"We are. I mean, sure, you don't look like one. You're all . . ." She gestures limply with her free hand. "You know. It's not like someone's going to card you or anything."

"Right," he says again, but at least there's less bite to his tone this time. There's even the dimmest light of humour in his eyes. "I'm not driving out to Forks and getting you a bottle of vodka, if that's what you're asking."

"Nope." She tries not to sound too smug. "I don't get carded. Tried it a few weeks ago."

Not without effort — she'd had to dress up for the occasion, show some skin, bat her thickly covered eyelashes an obscene amount of times. But it had worked. The bottle of tequila and pack of smokes are still underneath her bed, stashed with the too-short skirt she has only ever worn to prove a point.

"Huh." Jacob has that weird look again, the one that's a little close for comfort, one that she's not used to coming from someone other than Sam. But Leah stares right back, a challenge and a question in her eyes as his rove over her body, down her neck and along her hips. It's half a minute before Jacob meets her gaze and, seemingly remembering himself, quickly averts his eyes.

"Anyway," he says after another moment, his voice rough and unapologetic. "Age isn't the issue. Won't be for a long time, I guess, not until I figure out how to quit."

It's Leah's turn to give him her look, then, the one that she's quickly perfected in recent days and says, Explain, even though it's never worked.

But it has more of an effect on Jacob than it's had on Sam, and he tells her about not ageing. About looking twenty-five-or-something for the rest of his life unless he can gain enough control to stop phasing. And he really, really wants to be able to stop, because longevity is nine kinds of wrong and doesn't wanting it make him no better than the bloodsuckers?

Fork deep in batter, Leah purses her lips. "It sounds kind of nice, I suppose," she says eventually as evenly, as carefully as she can, even though she can think of nothing worse. "Not having to face your own mortality."

"If you can get over outliving your family, friends," he counters in a similar tone. Careful. Leah doesn't have to guess why. It feels like everyone is being overly wary about acknowledging death since her dad's heart gave out.

She refocuses on breakfast and says, "You'd have long enough to see the world. Really see it and—"

"Nobody to see it with."

"—you'd be able to go back when it changes, to see it all over again . . ."

"Sounds really boring." Jacob sighs. "I like — I liked my life, Leah. All of it. Even the crap stuff like school. I never thought I'd say it but I miss going to school. I wanted to go to college so I could open up a garage and sell cars, or just forget college and do it anyway. I know that I could have. I would have been really good at it."

"And you can't now because . . . ?"

"Because — I just can't now. I'm in this for life."

"Well, that's just the kind of bullshit I was talking about." She refuses to believe that this is Seth's life now, too. There is no way that he is not graduating, absolutely no way that she will let him drop out. "If you can work out how to stop, then why can't you do everything else?"

"Just because I want to stop doesn't mean that I can. And even if I quit . . . What's the point?" His laugh is mirthless, twisted and wrong. "There's always going to be bloodsuckers. I mean, the Cullens have come back twice now . . ."

As the pancakes brown, Leah learns about the Cullens and Charlie's daughter who Leah thinks has always thought was boring and mopey and a bit wet, really, but then she finds out the girl actually wants to be like them. Bella wants to be a vampire, is probably becoming one of them right now for all they know, Jacob says.

"That breaks the treaty though," Leah replies, remembering that particular story, "right?" And Jacob only nods, because there's not a damn thing he can do about it even though it's obvious he really wants to. Just about everyone knows he's got a major crush on Charlie's daughter. "So what happens then?"

"Sam says we'll have to fight. I don't really think they'd come back if they bite . . ." Jacob swallows thickly. "If they make her one of them and come back, we'll have to kill them."

Leah almost drops the plate she's about to slide in front of him, arms feeling slightly leaden. "And when — when you say we . . ."

"All of us," Jacob says, and he looks sorry about it too. For good reason. "The whole pack."

She's never going to let Seth out of the house ever again, she thinks as she sets Jacob's plate down before him. "That's not happening," she announces resolutely. No way.

"Leah—"

"No. Sam's just going to have to rethink that plan." Her voice is dripping with her own type of venom. "Only over my dead body is Seth going to be part of that. Sam or no, treaty or no, there's not a fucking chance in hell that I'm going to—"

"It doesn't really work like that. If fighting is what Sam decides he wants to do, then we all have—"

"Why Sam?" she demands, throwing her hands up. "Why does it have to be what Sam wants or Sam says?"

"He's in charge."

"Why?"

"Sam's Alpha, Leah. What he says goes." Jake stabs at his food, jaw clenching. "If he gives the order, then you can't refuse."

"Alpha?" She's nearly spitting, storming back and forth in front of the breakfast bar. "What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea? No — don't tell me, I don't care. He's not in charge — not of me. And he can't stop me keeping Seth out of this bullshit. This is insane, Jacob, he's just a kid and I'm not—"

"You can't do anything. Sam . . . He phased first. He . . ." Jacob pulls another face at his pancakes, grip tight around his fork. "I really think he should be the one to tell you all this, Leah."

She points her finger at him. "Don't do that. Don't decide what I should and shouldn't be told—"

"I'm not, I'm really not. I'm not trying to get out of it, I just — I told you yesterday. I really think you should hear it from him. It won't be easy to hear, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Have you been living under a rock?" she asks in disbelief. "What makes you think it'll be easier hearing it from him?"

"He didn't mean to hurt you, believe me . . . but he did, I know, I know," he says automatically underneath her glare. "I've seen it all. It's like I was there."

"How could you have been? That all happened months ago. And you said so yourself that it's only been about a month for you."

Jacob gives up with his pancakes and pushes the plate away, taking a deep breath. "We . . . hear each other. When we're phased. We can talk to each other, coordinate. It's helpful, but everything is laid out for everyone else to see. More than thoughts. We can . . . feel each other, see each other's memories."

"That's . . . That's the most disgusting I've ever heard." But it draws her up short, and she finds herself perching on the edge of the seat opposite him. "Everything?"

Jake nods, his lips set in a thin, grim line.

"Private things? Things like . . ."

He pushes his barely-touched plate towards her. "You eat, I'll talk."

Only when she grudgingly picks up his fork and starts picking at the food does he start.

"I'm just learning, but Sam . . . When Sam changed — the first time — he had no help with any of this. Not like me, not like Seth. It's horrible, Leah. It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me. But we weren't alone — for me, Jared and Embry and Sam and Paul were already there, helping me, talking to me. In my head. And then when Seth phased a few days ago, I was there too. But Sam had no help. He had it so much harder than the rest of us. He was the first, and he was alone, and he didn't have anyone to tell him what was happening. He thought he'd gone insane. It took him two weeks to calm down enough to change back."

Two weeks and three days. She remembers.

"Well, you know what happened after that," Jake continues. She nods. "Old Quil found him soon after, and then with your dad and Billy, they explained everything. Your dad — Harry, Billy and Mr. Ateara had all seen their grandfathers make the change. They were the only ones who remembered.

"And it was easier when he understood — when he wasn't alone anymore," Jake carries on. "They knew he wouldn't be the only one affected by the Cullens' return, but no one else was old enough. So Sam waited for the rest of us to join him. But he couldn't tell you." Jacob looks helplessly at her as she tilts dangerously on the edge of her seat still. "We're not supposed to tell anyone who doesn't have to know that it's all true — the legends. And it wasn't really safe for him to be around you, but he managed. You managed."

"And then we didn't. And then he left me," she tries to say as matter-of-fact as she can, though she's pretty certain she's about to find out why. She stops eating.

"He didn't have a choice about that. He—"

And . . . there it is. Pain. Everything starts hurting, right on cue, and it erupts from every inch of her.

"He didn't have a choice?!"

Jacob flinches and has to take a few deep breaths. "Wait — let me explain. In some of the stories . . . Did you ever—" he swallows harshly "—did you ever hear about imprinting?"

Oh, she feels sick. So, so sick. But Jacob doesn't wait for an answer, and his words which follow come out in a rush, pleading and apologetic — not because he's sorry that it happened, but sorry that he's the one who has to say it.

"That's what happened to him. That day, in your backyard . . . Sam imprinted. And when he . . . when he saw Emily, nothing mattered anymore. Because sometimes . . . we don't know why exactly . . . we find our mates that way. That's why he left. He freaked."

"Oh, please," Leah manages to bark around the sudden sickness, leaping out of her seat. "I've heard just about everything now."

"It's true. It happened to Jared, too, and . . . Well, trust me. I've felt—" Jacob all but chokes. "I've seen it. You just know."

"Nope, I changed my mind. That, right there — that is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. Mates?" She'd scoff if she didn't think it would make her hurl pancakes back up. "So much for no bullshit, Jacob Black. What do you mean? Like animals? For breeding?"

He looks uncomfortable, painfully so, but she's so furious she's sure there's red creeping in at the edges of her vision. There's no room for anything else. Not Jacob's guilt, his unease. Only her rage.

"Well?" she demands, voice rising. "What is it? How can you just know? I don't understand!"

Jacob shrugs. "Nobody understands. Nobody from Ephraim's generation imprinted — there's nothing in the journals, nothing except from the pack before his and they're . . . cryptic at best. When they're translated, they could be interpreted in loads of different ways."

"So Sam could have gotten it wrong."

"No." Jacob shakes his head. "Not wrong. He might have gotten the whys wrong, maybe. Everyone thinks differently. But he didn't get the imprint wrong. Nobody gets a choice about that part."

"No shit! You're telling me that I lost Sam to some — some mystical higher power? That he had no choice? Of course he had a choice, Jacob! Everyone gets a choice!"

His face darkens. "Not everyone. The one who gets imprinted on, maybe. The wolf will be anything, do anything she wants. It's not exactly tested, but . . . who can resist that level of commitment? Nobody's been told to just be a friend before."

Even worse. Emily could have refused. The bitch could have told Sam to get gone as soon as she'd understood what was going on. That way Emily would still be family — her friend, her sister. If only she'd told Sam to be her friend . . . or nothing at all.

Leah is never going to forgive them. If there had been any doubt about that before, any idea that someday maybe she would have been able to push past this . . . hatred . . . No. Never.

Her limit reached, angry, vicious tears prick at Leah's eyes, her stomach rolling, and she barely makes it to the kitchen sink in time to empty her stomach. She heaves until there is nothing left, and several times after that, over and over and over again.

Jacob is there. He's everywhere. He stays even when she feebly tries to push him away, one hand scooping her loose hair up and the other rubbing her back. She vaguely thinks his hands are trembling, but maybe it's her — throat raw, cheeks wet, she's shaking so bad that she's not sure she'll ever be able to stop.

"I'm sorry," he whispers several times, the words barely legible. "Jeez, it actually hurts to hurt you."

"Get out," she gasps when she finds her wits, though still she's hunched over the sink. Her fingers hurt from grabbing the edges of the counter so hard, the tips of them white and stretched to breaking point. "Go — get out, get out, get out!"

"Sorry," Jacob says again, his voice still strained, but in spite of it he sounds like he genuinely means it. "No can do. Not like this. I think you're the one person who can't order me away. Especially not now."

Leah swears colourfully at him as he spews his nonsense. She throws out every nasty word she can think of now she's found her voice, every ounce of fury she can throw at him, but it's not enough because Jacob doesn't leave and he doesn't fight with her. But he does take advantage when her voice eventually dies and her hands slip from the counter. He eases her away, mumbling something about cleaning up, whispering the apologies she's still not taking in as he leads her out of the kitchen.

It's only when he's about to steer her into the living room does she really put up a fight, and maybe he sees the shredded carpet she's not gotten rid of yet or maybe she digs her nails in too deep when her knees finally give out, but he at least seems to understand.

Not there. She's not been in there since the night after—

"Okay, not there. Calm down, it's alright. I'm sorry."

Instead of forcing her in, he scoops her up in one swift movement and takes her upstairs.

Her struggles are feeble. Jacob probably barely notices; he carries her like she's nothing against his solid weight, and she knows this situation should infuriate her something stupid but she can barely see straight. This is like nothing else. Nobody and nothing is the same. How can it be? Sam was taken. By Emily. And Sam let her. And — and —

In her room there's nothing left except tears. No sickness, no anger, just grief. Different from what she'd felt with Harry, what she feels about Harry, and yet familiar nonetheless.

Jacob strokes her back throughout, his broad hands rubbing up and down her spine, along her hair. He pushes the wet strands away from her cheeks and behind her ears, speaking so low to her in Quileute all the while. She still doesn't catch any of the words. She doesn't even try to; she's heard nothing at all yet it feels like it's enough. But somehow he soothes her all the same as he waits for her to get her breath back, for it to even out and her face to dry.

It doesn't. Not for a long time.