Oof… Y'all, it's been a hot minute, huh? Sorry about that. Quite frankly, I've just been avoiding turning my laptop on. Its been a long summer, but I'm coming up on the end of my course, so hopefully when I'm done I'll be less exhausted and more likely to try to write. We'll see, I guess. In my defence, I've been thinking about this series a lot! I've just mainly been dwelling on the future sequels and making an in-depth playlist… Oops. I might drop the playlist one of these days, as an apology for my months-long gaps between posting.

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Honey woke up with a start, eyes flying open to stare up at his ceiling. Already, the details of his dream were beginning to fade away, but his nerves seemed to throb with the memory of searing, heart-stopping agony. Overheard, he could hear the heavy patter of heavy rain against the roof, and the world outside his window was dark. He ran a trembling hand through his sweat-damp curls, wincing with his fingers snagged on several snarled tangles. Not for the first time, he cursed his weird dreams. Couldn't he just have wish-fulfillment dreams involving hot celebrities, like a normal person? He supposed it could be counted as a small mercy that this particular dream hadn't lingered in his memory for long at all. He had a feeling that there hadn't been much to enjoy about whatever scene he had been acting as voyeur to.

Sitting up and pushing his blanket off, Honey glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 7:30pm. Not that bad, all things considered. He'd been worried that he had slept later into the night and accidentally fucked up his sleep schedule more than it already was. Rubbing at his eyes, he stumbled off his bed and over to his dresser. He grabbed a pair of threadbare fleece pajama pants and an old t-shirt out of his top drawer, pulling them on with stiff and clumsy limbs. On second thought, maybe a nap hadn't been such a good idea after all. He hated the way his body felt after short sleeps, like he was 60 instead of 16. Didn't stop him from taking naps whenever he had the opportunity, though. What could he say? He liked sleep, sleep just didn't like him. When he felt his stomach growl plaintively, Honey decided to venture downstairs in search of something to eat. Even if there weren't any leftovers from dinner, he would just make himself something quick and easy. He knew some foster parents could be weird about the kids making their own meals. Helena and Wendall didn't seem the type, but better safe than sorry, he figured. Exiting his room, he padded down the hall, heading downstairs.

When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Helena and Wendall there, seemingly in the middle of making dinner. Or well, Helena was in the middle of making dinner. Wnedall seemed to be dividing his time between helping and pestering his wife. Helena thankfully seemed to find it amusing, a fondly exasperated expression on her face as she smacked his hand away from the cheese she was grating. Honey had to admit that it made the older man seem a little less intimidating, watching the pair interact. Helena noticed his presence first, nodding at him.

"Morning, sleepyhead. I came up to say hello when I got home, but you were snoring away in your room," Helena said, grating the last of the chunk of marble cheese in her hand.

Cheeks heating a bit in embarrassment, Honey gave an apologetic little shrug. "Sorry, I must have been more tired than I thought."

"Ahh, don't you mind Helly. A growing boy needs lots of rest. I would'a slept 20 hours a day if I could when I was your age," Wendall said, not quite laughing, but definitely making an amused sound.

"Of course, dear. Now that you're up though, would you mind getting the garlic bread ready? That's what this cheese is for." Helena requested, gesturing toward the loaf of Italian bread on the cutting board.

Never one to pass up the opportunity for cheesy garlic bread, Honey let out a hum of agreement. He found the butter and garlic powder thankfully already on the counter, so he didn't have to worry about hunting through the cupboards for them. After he washed his hands, he retrieved the bread knife from the drawer, slicing about half of the loaf, buttering each slice before laying them out on a baking tray. He sprinkled the garlic powder and cheese on top, popping the tray into the open below the lasagna that looked like it was almost done. Honey felt his stomach growl in anticipation. While he wasn't the biggest fan of pasta in general, he had a special place in his heart for lasagna. Probably because it was so filling, and pretty damn hard to screw it up. Honey noticed that Wendall and Helena both seemed preoccupied with cleaning up, so he made himself useful, setting the table with knives, forks, and glasses, as well as a glass for everyone. It was instinct at this point, drilled into him by countless foster families over the years. He still felt a little warm when Helena gave him a genuine thank you at she finished wiping down the counter.

Once the lasagna and garlic bread had been taken from the oven and they'd all sat down to eat, Honey found his mind wandering back to the Cullens in general, and Emmett in particular. He found himself curious about how people other than M.L and their family viewed the Cullens. After a moment or two of debating whether he really wanted to bring it up, he decided to just bite the bullet and ask.

"Do you guys know the, uh, Cullen family?" he asked, wincing at how awkwardly that question had come out. Wendall furrowed his brow as if he had to think about it, but Helena nodded right away.

"Esme Cullen is on a lot of the same volunteer committees that I am. A very lovely woman, outside and in," Helena answered. Wendall smacked the table with his palm, seeming to remember something.

"Right! She's the one that made those fancy cupcakes for the bake sale in August. Seems like a mighty fine woman."

"Of course that's what would jog your memory, old man. I swear, all you think about is food," Helena laughed, shaking her head at her husband, before turning her attention back to Honey. "Her husband, Dr. Cullen, patched Wendall up after a nail gun accident, too. Why do you ask?"

Honey shrugged one shoulder, attempting to look casual. "No real reason, I guess. The kids go to school with me, and they just seemed interesting"

"Well I can't say I've had much interaction with the kids, but they seem to be nice enough. They're certainly a very beautiful family, that's for certain. Has one of them caught your eye?" Helena asked, which- No. It didn't matter how nice and kind his new foster parents seemed, he was not going there with them.

"No! No, nothing like that. I was just talking with my friend M.L about them, and they said that the Cullens are sorta weird, so-"

Helena interrupted, looking actually angry for the first time since Honey had met her. "Don't you listen to that kind of talk, Honey. People around here are so set in their 'right' way of doing things, they think anyone who deviates is weird and wrong. Hell, folks thought Wendall and I were strange when we decided to start fostering, didn't they?"

"Sure did, Helly," Wendall agreed, nodding along with his wife. "I think that Dr. and Mrs. Cullen are admirable, adopting and fostering four teens at once, and at such a young age themselves."

"No, no, I don't think M.L meant it like that," Honey interjected, feeling the need to defend his new friend. He didn't want his new foster parents to think he was hanging around with some close-minded idiot. "I mean, they know I'm a foster kid, and they aren't weird about it, so."

"Hmm, alright then," Helena nodded, looking somewhat appeased. "In any case, don't let other people's assessments skew your own. They aren't perfect, nobody is, but from what I can tell they're good people, they don't cause any sort of trouble. Beyond that, there's not much else I can say on the matter."

Honey nodded, letting the conversation go. Before long, talk turned to other things, Helena and Wendall recounting their days and encouraging Honey to do the same. As the evening wore on into the night, Honey found the Cullens slipping right out of his mind, at least for now.

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When Honey glanced out the window during breakfast the next morning, he was disgusted to find that the rain from the night before had frozen overnight, leaving the ground treacherous and icy. For a few moments he very seriously contemplated saying fuck it and going back to bed, but he doubted that his foster parents would be very supportive of that decision, so he decided to suck it up and deal with it.

After he had rinsed his plate, Helena handed him his lunch, frowning out the window. "I'm going to drive you into school today, I don't want you walking to the bus stop with the ground like that."

"It's fine, I don't mind taking the bus," Honey tried to protest. He didn't want to inconvenience her, or give her something to potentially hang over his head.

"Well, I mind. You'll slip and break your neck if I send you down to the bus," Helena said, tone allowing for zero argument. "Besides, I can bring Georgia back her dishes from the last community center potluck while I'm there."

Deciding that there was little use in trying to talk the woman out of her decision now that her mind was made up, Honey shrugged. "Okay. Uhm, thank you."

"No need to thank me," Helena waved him off, crouching down in front of the lower cupboards, seemingly hunting for something. "Wendall already salted the walkway before he left this morning, would you mind going out and starting the car for me? The keys are hanging up by the door."

Honey let out a hum of acknowledgement, exiting the kitchen. He slipped his sneakers on by the front door, frowning at the lack of tread. He would need to get new winter boots soon, if this kind of weather was par for the course in this shitty little town. He shrugged on his coat and flung his school bag over his shoulder before he grabbed the car keys off of their hook beside the front door, opening the door and braving the chilly outdoors. A blast of icy wind seemed to cut straight through his thin jacket, causing him to shiver violently. As quickly as possible without slipping and cracking his head open, Honey scurried off the porch and over to the car. He felt the same prickling sensation of being watched that he had the morning before, but he brushed it off, focusing on not dying. Once he had unlocked the car, he cracked open the drivers side door for long enough to start the car and grab the ice scraper from the back seat and deposit his backpack before closing the door. He set about removing the ice from all the windows and mirrors, cursing his lack of gloves as he did so. There, now he and Helena were even, he didn't owe her anything for the drive to school.

Helena came out just as Honey was finishing up the final window, a cloth bag hanging from her elbow and two travel mugs in her hands. She looked surprised, but smiled nonetheless. "You didn't have to do that, but thank you very much, sweetheart."

"No problem, I was out here doing nothing anyway," Honey said, giving a little self deprecating shrug. Helena made her way down the porch steps and over to the car, handing over one of the travel mugs. Honey was grateful for the subtle warmth that the mug provided.

Helena seemed to notice his lack of gloves just then, and shook her head. "I didn't even think to grab you any winter gear from the bin, I'm sorry. There's a pair of gloves in the dash though, you can wear them for today."

"Thanks," Honey said, making his way around the car and getting in the passenger seat. He slid the travel mug into the cup holder, put on his seatbelt, and opened up the glove box. Sure enough, there was a pair of nondescript black gloves sitting their, which he gratefully pulled over his stiff and chilly hands.

Helena opened the driver's side door, climbing inside. After a moment of getting herself situated, she put the car in reverse, carefully backing out of the driveway before heading down the street. Honey shifted, trying to get comfortable. Honestly, he had always felt kind of awkward riding in peoples' cars, like there was some secret passenger etiquette that no one had ever bothered letting him in on. He felt that as about a lot of things, now that he thought about it- a lot more than he was comfortable admitting out loud.

He lifted his mug out of the cup holder, taking a tentative sip. It was surprisingly good, the taste of chocolate and cinnamon spreading over his tongue. "This is delicious, Helena, thanks."

"Thanks, but it's nothing groundbreaking," Helena said, waving him off with a little smile. "It's just hot chocolate mix, a splash of hazelnut coffee, and cinnamon. I used to work at a little sandwich shop when I was in school, so I did a lot of experimenting during lulls."

"Well, I'd chalk this one up as a success," Honey murmured, prompting a small laugh from Helena.

After that, the pair lapsed into silence. It wasn't uncomfortable, really. They simply didn't have anything more to say to each other. Honey appreciated that his foster mother didn't try to push for more conversation. He still felt a bit off kilter from his unremembered dream the night before, and he wasn't really up to the task of carrying on small talk right now. Instead, he gazed out the window, finding himself endlessly relieved that he hadn't had to brave to treacherous ice all the way to the bus stop. He wasn't quite ready to die today, thank you. When they passed the bus stop, it was empty. M.L's parents must have had the same thought process as Helena, thank god.

The ride was relatively quick, despite the need for a reduced pace. Instead of dropping him off at the door, Helena pulled into the parking lot, near the back. Once they were stopped, she unbuckled her seatbelt. "I've got to run in to drop off those dishes."

Honey paused. As much as he sort of liked his new foster mom, he didn't really want to walk into school with her. His already low social status couldn't take that kind of critical hit right now. He waited until Helena had gathered her bag and climbed out before unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out on his side. Whether picking up on his reluctance or just in a hurry, Helena didn't linger to wait for him.

"I'll see you after school, have a good day, sweetheart."

"Yeah, you too," Honey returned, opening the back door to grab his bag out. As he did so, he heard the thunderous roar of an engine, the kind designed to grab someone's attention as obnoxiously as possible. He glanced up, and found himself looking at a huge white Jeep tearing through the parking lot. A very familiar Jeep…

It took a few seconds, but when it clicked, Honey remembered just where he had seen that Jeep before- speeding past him as it drenched him in filthy puddle water. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the vehicle to come to a stop. He was definitely going to give the driver a piece of his mind. What kind of asshole drove like that, so recklessly? Even now, they couldn't possibly doing the speed limit. He watched as the Jeep pulled into a spot at the opposite end of the row. The driver's side door was flung open, a large, hulking form jumping with surprising grace to the icy blacktop below without the slightest bit of thought for the slippery ice. Honey felt an exasperating flutter in his stomach as he caught sight of Emmett Cullen's infuriatingly handsome boyish grin.

Fuck his life. Of course the asshole who had made him walk home in soggy shoes on his first day in Charlotte was the same asshole who made him absolutely certain of his status as a total homo. Still, Honey squared his shoulders. Greek god in human form or not, Honey was still on a mission to tear him a new one.

"Hey, Cullen!" He shouted, beginning to walk as a slow but determined pace. Emmett glanced up at the sound of his voice. At first he looked happy, and then confused. Then, when his gaze flickered over Honey's shoulder, his expression morphed into one of horror.

They say that in moments of extreme, life threatening danger, everything seems to happen in slow motion. Honey could say from experience that this was complete and utter bullshit. When you were in danger, everything moved so much quicker, information processed all at once. For example, in that moment, Honey was aware of several things; Firstly, Emmett was on the other side of the parking lot, a good 15 or 20 cars away from Honey's position; secondly, a boxy blue van had lost control, slipping on black ice and careening at a high speed toward Honey; Thirdly, and finally, Honey had absolutely no chance of getting out of the way before the van turned him into a grease smear. He dropped to the ground, making himself small and covering his head in what he knew would be a futile protection effort as the van bore down on him.

There was the panicked honking of a horn, the squeal of tires. Something hard collided with his back and knocking him to the ground. He struck his head, not hard enough to be overly concerned, but enough for a pounding headache to form immediately. Finally, there was an ear splitting crash. Honey felt the pelt of glass raining down on him, but thankfully his skin was protected by his layers of clothing. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the agony to hit… But it never did. After a moment of hesitation, his eyes opened, confusion echoing through his aching skull.

Emmett cullen kneeled above him, back hunched over to shield Honey's form. To his shock and disbelief, Honey saw that the van was on Emmett's back, the larger boy seeming to easily bear over two tonnes of metal and machinery on his back. His expression showed no strain, only concern for the boy beneath him

"H-how are you…" Honey stuttered, eyes wide and searching as they flicked between Emmett and the van. Seeming to notice Honey's distress, Emmett hastily rolled his shoulders back, shrugging the van off his back and causing all four wheels to settle of the pavement with a loud groan and pop.

"Shit, shit…" Emmett cursed, before suddenly reaching out and cupping Honey's face in two strong, ice cold hands. A bit hysterically, Honey noticed that Emmett's hands almost comically dwarved his face, almost covering it completely. "You can't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"You're hurting me," Honey murmured, trying to squirm away from Emmett's unintentionally rough grip.

Emmett snatched his hands away from his face, looking as if he had been burned. His expression was one of horror and panic. "Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Please, don't tell anyone. I'm sorry."

Before Honey could even begin to formulate a response, Emmett quickly maneuvered his way past him. He tried to watch him leave, but the other boy was already gone by the time he managed to turn his head in his direction. His cheeks throbbed dully where Emmett had gripped them, adding to the already splitting pain in his head.

It was around then that he began to process the screaming.

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Well, that seems like as good a place to stop as any, before this chapter gets too long. I wouldn't want my lovely readers to start getting spoiled by lengthy chapters, after all. I'm actually really happy with how much I got done with this one, and I'm hoping to get an update out soon, since I know where we're going from here instead of floundering around without a clue. Don't forget to read and review, it feeds the beast that is my ego.

PS: Helena's special hot chocolate brew is something I do at my work all the time. It's delicious.