Across lifetimes Bibliophile_Anya

Summary:

Our love isn't restricted by age or eras. It reaches across lives and times- Eamon Mason to Leora Clearwater. SI/OC as Edwards GrandUncle. Telepath. Military partner of Jasper Whitlock. Vampire. Cullen Coven including Peter and Charlotte. SI/OC as Older albino sister of Leah Clearwater. Empath. Shapeshifter. Sibling bond with Bella Swan. Different Edward Cullen, different Bella Swan. Character development! Sort of AU.

Notes:

I have a love hate relationship with the Twilight fandom. 'nough said...

Prologue

"Hey, if death really isn't the end, then that may not have been the very first time we met. Maybe we've been linked together for a lot longer. I think that once a bond is formed, it never disappears.

-Ichigo to Rukia. Fade to Black movie(Bleach)

Eamon Masen

I died. Honestly it was a long time coming. I wasn't particularly happy despite being a successful Paediatrician. I know I looked good, was healthy and fit, I had girls and boys alike fawning over me, a good family. But they didn't need me, both of my siblings were married and had kids and a life excluding their jobs. So did I. I mean I had friends, I loved the little brats that I treated. Though it was heartache inducing treating kids with congenital heart anomalies, as that's what I specialised in.

How did I die? Oh an automobile accident. My last thought? Her, of course. Both very cliche, I realise. Our tale? It really wasn't a tale and that thought is wistful and not bitter, or perhaps just a smidge bitter. I was admitted in the same hospital we worked in. Barely holding on. I had hoped the last I would see was her or perhaps muster enough strength for her. I was hooked up to machines trying to keep me alive after multiple surgeries and then came in the man that I loathed and envied.

Who? Her almost divorced husband. His eyes looked as broken as I felt and what he told me shattered me completely, making me break worse than my body.

She had finally given up on living. She had committed suicide. Apparently my friends didn't want to tell me so that I could focus on myself. The last I saw was his panicked and dare I say longing face, the beeping of heart monitor and the numbness and the crushing of the remains of my willpower, then nothing.

As I drifted in the void my thoughts were active, though my emotions weren't. The worlds irony or perhaps it was fate, destiny? Because the time she ended her own life was the same time I was in the accident. Was that the worlds way to reunite us both? Or perhaps she should have survived and I could have mustered enough willpower to live. For her I would have become the medical miracle, afterall I held on till the news of her death reached me.

I had always been strong mentally. My mind was always very sharp in all the different ways it could be. Predicting the glimpses of their thought processes. She was always very strong emotionally. Able to understand people and their feelings with minor cues. She had to be for all she suffered. She lasted very long I think. I wasn't really that surprised with her ending her own life. I knew her the best. She was so strong but she loved so fiercely. I was glad to get an ounce of her love despite always being greedy for more.

The first we met? I was her student. The age difference always smarted her. She already had a husband and she was nothing if not faithful. And after their almost divorce... Oh I am sure she loved me but, I think she got tired of holding on. It wasn't enough. I remember her telling me that perhaps in another life we would be together forever. I replied that we will be but now, always and forever more.

Pipe dreams.

That was all I remembered musing on and then I was brought into the world. Let me tell you that's the most uncomfortable experience ever; and I have died before!

My new name? I was reborn as Eamon Masen in 1842 in Chicago.

Living in a different era. In a different country. The country was fine but the era? And my mind seemed even sharper. So much that I could recall a lot of moments of my last life, of her, of them.
I was listless. Antisocial. I barely talked or emoted. I didn't want to I didn't. My parents were a loss with what to do with me. And it isn't as if this era was developed medically. They believed I would die off soon. But the fact is I was weak emotionally my mind and body were healthier than ever. I got involved in physical activities. There was nothing mentally stimulating enough.

Few years later I had a younger brother named Edmund Masen. The 'E's ran strong in this family I thought humourlessly. I loved him instantly, how could I not? I had always loved kids, that's what made me choose being a Pediatrician and I took care of him, adapting to my own hygiene and caring methods for kids, whenever I could from my era. My parents were finally happy. But the thing is he wasn't enough.
Just like I wasn't enough for her.

I enlisted in the military, early. Age restrictions well they could be faked. I remember glancing into his teary eyes and encouraging him to live and be successful nodding to this body's parents and I was off.

I got promoted quickly, reaching up the ranks in ease. My tactical mind and my physical prowess was taken note of and as the American Civil War started in 1861, I got promoted to Major. That's when I met Jasper Whitlock.

He was assigned to me because of his prodigious skill. That's what my superiors told me, after all who best to train another prodigy than one, assumed one maybe was my harsh thought remark. But to be honest I was. I was pretty smart in my old life too. Always the best academically and no slouch in sports either. Here it seems everything was amplified. Or perhaps it was the experience of a lifetime.

The army wasn't restricted to a particular area and shuffled around. Cities, areas, encampments, according to the caliber of the soldier, the readiness of sacrifice, the amount of compromise they were ready to undertake, everything mattered and here we were.

The name Jasper Whitlock tingled something in the back of my mind but I didn't focus on it. Like I said I was barely living. Day in day out pushing myself. I couldn't end my own life, so I would do the next best thing die in the service. At least there I would get a modicum of respect for my death, unlike her, I thought bitterly.

I turned 21 in 1863 and Jasper turned 19. We were fast friends. He was very intuitive with my feelings. That made alarm bells ring in my head. I thought it was because I was reminded of her and ignored it.

He looked up to me like a younger brother looking up to an older brother. I told him that I was a very shitty brother. My younger brother could attest to that. To which he replied harshly that the letters didn't say that. I remembered feeling quite intensely during that time, after a long while. I was furious and I stormed out of the tent we were in. He came running, stubborn enough in his belief, to not apologise despite peeking into my private letters. He said softly that he loved and respected me like the older brother he never had, like the parent he never had and how he was sure that my younger brother felt the same. The rest as we say was history.

We were together almost always after that. The communication lines were not good in this era and I missed a lot of conveniences that I took for granted in my last life. But after that the sparse letters that I sent back became quite elaborate with the insistence of Jasper. And I made him write too. And as I read I could feel the happiness drifting off the letters of my parents and brother. That's who I wrote the most to, my brother. But the most here meant every week. And I got letters back every month. It depended on where I was posted. At first he seemed jealous and Jasper awkward but making them write to each other was a balm on my soul. And I could tell it made Jasper happier. He didn't have anybody to write back to...

It was 1863 and Jasper became the youngest Major in Texas following my achievement in 1861 of Chicago. There were talks of my promotion even further. We both sent a letter to my brother who was turning 17 this year, eager to join the army despite my anxious parents.

The war turned worse. We evacuated women and children and were on our way back to Galveston. Tired beyond belief. We had just run off supplies yesterday but were still going strong. Or at least pretending to. But I knew that despite being weakened and sick we would make it back. Or that's what I thought.

As we were going across the dessert we saw three women crossing their way towards us. The muted ringing of alarms that came with Jasper turned blaring loudly in my head. Because those women were beautiful, beyond humane comparison. And I, who was only 'her' sexual, noted that instead of being indifferent was equivalent to sirens noise at full throttle. Before I could stop Jasper, he had dropped off his horse and was approaching them.

Seeing no choice I followed suit. Clasping a hand on his shoulder, I asked for a polite introduction. I could see the glee in their burnt red eyes. My grasp on Jaspers shoulder tightened to the extent that it must have been painful, looking at his grimace from the corner of my eyes, but he had stiffened up sensing my weariness. And as one of the others whispered, "Maria you need to change them, I wouldn't be able to control myself." I felt a throbbing migraine encapsulating, the tingling, the alarm bells, the uneasiness I felt the entire way back.

I brought out my gun but I was too late, Maria had Jasper in an intimate embrace and he started screaming.

My heart thundered as Maria seemingly appeared in front of me in an instant with red blood dripping through her lips, red eyes not rusty but bright and before I could react I felt intense pain around my carotid and scorching like no other filled me. My accident, my death was less painful. I was burning from inside out. I don't remember anything after that until I awakened my eyes to a different world, as a different being entirely.

Leora Clearwater

Was this punishment of me killing myself in my last life? Yes, what else could it be? I was ungrateful for my life and maybe some higher being took offence. But what else could I do?

I had lost my will to live. Shall I try again?

I was born as an albino with a multitude of health issues that follow. In normal albinism there are mostly minor health issues which mostly consist of photosensitivity and sensitivity to sunrays. That in laymans term. Years of clinical terminology though is still ingrained in my brain. It's as normal as breathing. But isn't this brain different? A point of contemplative research. But I am getting sidetracked.

In the past two years I have seen and felt a myriad of health issues. Which aren't seen normally. Getting infected again and again in infancy. Poor response to multiple medical treatments. Watching my own lungs struggle to breath. I wanted to laugh at the cruel, bittersweet agony. Because there are only two possibilities that I have concluded, either Chédiak–Higashi syndrome or Griscelli syndrome. I don't remember the sub types in depth, you can't expect me to.

Both types of albinism extremely rare, autosomal recessive disorders. Both with extreme morbidity in the first decade of life. If I last that long, I felt myself laugh harshly amongst the bloody coughs as my now mother tried her best to keep my airways open and support me. Is that what- NO!I am not going to go in that line of thinking. I cannot; it will break whatever sanity I managed to muster.

I was born to Native American parents. My last two years consisted of raised voices, accusations of cheating or superstitions spoken out loud and reluctant visits to the hospital on my fathers part.

Then came a moustached man with a police uniform and another native man with long black hair when one day the arguing got to screaming and what was I doing? Coughing my lungs out. Let me die, again, I begged. Please don't let me undergo this taunting agony. Stop making fun of me. They rushed in and saw me and I was immediately hustled into an ambulance and to the hospital in nearest city.

I woke up to cries of my now mother as she slapped my now father hard on his face and the moustached police officer and long haired male looked away. I don't understand; I am not supposed to see this clearly if I really have what I think I do.

I was in the hospital for a long time. I think it was more than a month. Time was relative. A hospital was both my place of comfort and my most loathed place. A walking talking contradiction that's what I am.

I saw those two males once again before I was taken home the very same day. Looking at this body's parents I assumed they were told of a similar diagnosis. The woman always crept in at night, holding me tenderly, close to her body. It hurt worst than death. I hated this cruel destiny, this irony. To exchange places- stop. I was even more attuned to emotions than before. I felt I could see the desperate love this woman held for me, like a type of particularly weird sound colour synaesthesia or maybe feel colour sound? Just as same I felt the hatred and suspicion of the male. What an idiot, apparently an uneducated bigoted one at that.

The male was out doing who knows what, the lady thats what I called her in my thoughts, because I respected her but she would never be my mother; in the house doing chores and I was let out in the front porch that consisted of a garden and a small stream that held my childlike brain's attention.

My entire mood turned contemplative. The irony of this life was not lost on me. My condition especially. I was numb watching the clear water run down the thin stream. My third birthday was celebrated today by the couple. Those two males nor anyone else was invited. Perhaps they told that they wanted to spend it as family. Or maybe no more attachment to an unnatural child who wouldn't last a decade. It was that comment made by the male that made the woman snap and shriek his name in unholy rage, "Harry Clearwater! Get out! How dare you?"

"What else I would say but the truth? She doesn't belong to the Quilette tribe, she never will! I am going out Sue." He snapped back and that was the last I saw him since the morning.

If I would have been able to, I might have made some sort of sarcastic remark on a wonderful start of a third birthday.

Harry and Sue Clearwater. Native Americans. Moustached police officer, long haired native male. Quilette tribe.

The numbness disappeared as the instant realisation set in. It wasn't gradual, I felt as if somebody flipped a switch. I heard the click of the door as the lady headed to another room. How could I hear her that clearly?

My body was quivering, shaking harshly. I could feel my bones grinding and creaking. It was an excruciating pain. Not that I have been any stranger to it. Emotional in last life, physical here now the both have reached their zenith. No more I cannot handle anymore.

Stop making a fool of me! Whatever entity this was! After everything I have suffered. Is this a game, a poor prank? A rose coloured paged romance cliche book, with sparkly broody control freak stoic male vampire and woe is me, shitty submissive damsel and an affront to females everywhere female teen?

The shuddering got worse and I felt I would blow up in those intense emotions. I felt a shift of something.

And then I tumbled ass over teakettle in the stream. Moving my head I saw the red dress I was wearing floating away hooked to a branch over it. Something flopped on the sides of my head. What I saw in the reflection was, in a purely objective point of view, a most adorable sight.

A pale pink eyed small puppy. Sitting with two paws in between the hind last. Platinum smooth white fur covered the entirety of its small body. Large light pink eyes blown wide in what was closest to incredulity I would have assumed on an animals face. And two huge pointed ears that were shaped differently than dogs the only hint to the wolf heritage.

What emotional pain and physical pain? All I could feel was pure incredulity, disbelief. I tried to stand up and forgot of my current body structure. And plopped down making a small splash with all paws stretched out.

'Yes Dorothy; we are not in Kansas anymore.' I woofed a hysterical laugh or was it bark?

Notes:

This plot bunny would not leave my mind since last week. I have been trying to focus on my other fics but let's just say I would call it my insistent baby. Scars on our Souls next chapter is half written I will try to publish it tomorrow, if not in a day or two and after that I swear I am going to work on my existing, previous works that are yet to be updated instead of those yet to be published.

Happy Women's Day!

Cross posted on ao3.

-Anya.