a/n - Thanks again to all the great people who support this story. Tiffanyanne3 and Batgirl8968, my boo-tiful betas, and the awesome twitterfolk readers who have become my good friends. You guys make this all go 'round. Add me if you like, realimaginary.

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Song for this chapter is Dreams by the Cranberries

Little Slugger - 7 - Stay

Before he was fully awake, Edward realized he was moving. A rattling, jostling sort of movement, completely inconducive to sleep. He slowly opened his eyes, feeling cloudy and confused as he took in the small space around him. The single large window showed darkness. Night. The grog in his skull was so thick, it took him the better part of a minute to register that he was on a train.

One side of his head ached dully from being wedged against the side of the bench he was sitting on. There were only a few dim yellow lights in the cabin; one above his head, and a series studded across the carpeted floor beneath his feet. As his brain and eyes adjusted, he saw an empty seat across from him, upholstered in a lush vintage stripe pattern of earthy greens and golds and reds. Above the empty seat was a luggage shelf, his guitar case atop it, secured with knots of hemp twine. He noted that he would need scissors to turn it loose.

The sounds of the train jangled in a rhythmic pattern like the undone sounds of a one man band. Edward wished for a moment his guitar was accessible so he could strum along to it.

He suddenly realized that he couldn't remember getting on this train. In fact, he'd never even seen one like it before. It was old-fashioned, paneled in grand dark wood, with curved lines and impractical details. He glanced across the aisle, finding a bench similar to the one he sat in, but empty.

He scooted through the narrow opening at the base of his bench and finally was able to get a view of the entire roving space. Seats just like the one he'd awoken in were fixed in a regular pattern down the length of the car. The ceiling of the car was paneled in the same dark wood, with matching, ornately carved crown molding squaring it off. The carpet below him was a rich crimson color with gold floral embellishments, and tiny lights were aglow across it every few feet. Even with the cadence of the giant rolling machine, the room felt silent, absent. Directly behind him was a rattling double door, also paneled in wood, presumably leading to the next car and to the back of the train.

Slowly, he took a step forward, uneasy about his dirty old boots trekking on the seemingly brand new carpet. He curiously made his way down the aisle, carefully checking each seat, in search of someone who might have some information. Someone who might know where this train was going.

Every seat was empty.

The shuddering, clanking doors to the car ahead lay before him. He looked back to the identical set of doors at the other end of the car, unsure of which way to go.

Tentatively, he reached out for the handle on the door nearest him, leading to the front of the train. The door was stuck, and he had to jerk it with force to unlatch it from its twin. When he did, the sounds of the train amplified threefold as the cold hard ground and dark tracks whizzed quickly beneath, openly revealed between this and the next car. Edward gasped, startled, and on a reflex, slammed the doors closed again. He glanced again at the other doors at the back of the car, but quickly decided that forward is where he was likely to find answers, and turned back with a deep breath.

The second time he opened the door with more ease, knowing what to expect when the screeching hiss of air assaulted his ears. The coupler between the two cars bounced unpredictably and would not make a reliable step to the platform leading to the next car. The gap was less than two feet, but the ground rushing past beneath him made it feel impassable.

He scowled down at the dangerous moving chasm. What choice did he have? Was he supposed to just sit there all alone and wait for some unknown truth to become apparent? If he was going to be prisoner to this speeding vessel, he at least wanted to know what direction he was moving in.

So Edward did what Edward rarely does. He got brave.

He took his eyes off of the gap and set his sights for the small platform on the other side, his landing strip. He muttered the briefest of prayers under his breath and jumped, landing awkwardly on the metal step, grasping hold of a steel bar above it with stretched, white knuckles. He spied a wedge of starlit sky in the space between the two rail cars. They were far from the city. From this spot, through the window across, he could also see the bench where he'd awoken.

Craving security, he tore open the next set of doors, but closed them gently behind him. The car was identical to the one in which he'd awoken. He walked tenderly down the aisle, craning his neck at each seat, anticipating some sign of someone, something.

But no. No suitcases, no books, no voices, no crumbs. Nothing. No one.

He jumped again to the next car, and the next, and the next after that, and after that still, finding nothing but the same varnished wood accents and elaborate textiles. His frustration was mounting, and just as he was about to turn around and renavigate towards the caboose, he spotted something through two panes of oval glass. A light. A beacon. He passed between, quickly now with practice, and saw at the end of the car, a sign.

In bright white lights, displayed above the doors, was one fateful word: CHICAGO.

Chicago. His heart sunk and stomach clenched. And yet some tiny piece of him danced with anxious excitement. Home.

His scattered thoughts were disrupted by the unexpected sound of doors opening directly behind him. He spun around, suddenly face-to-face with a man wearing a black conductor's uniform, again, not of this era. The man was familiar, though Edward couldn't immediately place his face.

The man's eyes were surprised as he looked down at Edward. "Mister Masen! What are you doing here already?" He snatched a pocket watch from its sheath and glared at it disapprovingly.

"This train is going to Chicago?" he asked evenly, with authority.

"Why yes, Sir, but not until..."

"How did I get on this train? I don't remember getting on this train," he demanded, impatient.

"I...I don't really understand your question, Mister Masen, but i do think you should be getting back to your seat before..."

At that point, two things happened simultaneously; Edward realized where he knew the conductor from, and he heard a small feminine voice whimpering unintelligibly behind him.

The man was Felix, the security guard from work. He was now leering at Edward, shaking his head in disappointment and throwing his hands out in front of him in an act of exasperated surrender. Edward had absolutely no idea what the guy was so worked up about. Felix turned around without another word and went back through the doors he'd just come through, towards the back of the train.

Edward hardly took notice of his strange departure, though, because he was already halfway down the aisle, seeking out the source of that lovely, tiny sound from a moment ago. As he approached the head of the car, just below the looming CHICAGO, he saw her.

He spied the modern rubber heel of her boot first, poking over the edge of the bench, and predictably, the heel led to the rest of her, curled up like a periwinkle on the old wooden bench, fast asleep.

What was she doing here? Why was this infuriatingly cute, good-natured woman so difficult to get away from? Why, when he should've been running in the other direction as quickly as possible, was he instead inspired to kneel beside her and brush aside that wayward strand of flossy dark hair from her smooth, ivory...

She vocalized; her soft, sleepy voice seemed urgent and concerned.

"Stay," she murmured with a frown. Her brow and hands twitched in unison.

Horrified, he turned to run back the other way. Then her lips moved again.

"Edward...stay..."

His blood ran cold for a moment, sure that she'd awoken and seen him, but when he turned back to her, her eyes remained closed. She was dreaming. About him.

Edward's breath caught in his throat and he grabbed his entire bottom lip with his teeth. Again with his goddamned name.

He wasn't sure which urge was stronger, the one to get the hell out off the train or the one to reach out and touch her, tell her that yes, yes, he was right there, and yes, he would stay. For once, he would. If she really wanted him to, he would stay with her. He could stay with her.

A moment later when she began to stir and her eyes opened halfway, the mighty flight urge proved victorious, and he ran. He ran as fast as he could, feeling the train quaking with the power of his steps, and ignoring the surge of noise and cold and fear that came with each gap between train cars.

He ran until he came to his seat. He only knew he'd arrived because his guitar was still there, trapped atop the luggage shelf. He paused only a moment, catching his breath before setting off again, barrelling through the unexplored cars. He didn't even know how many he'd gone through when he finally stepped into the last car.

And if he'd thought that the company at the front of the train had been terrifying, it was cookies and carousel horses compared to what awaited him at the back.

For there, sitting very still with his back straight and legs apart, holding a large weathered photo album on his lap, a dirty old Cubs hat housing his bronze-colored hair, and a dead-eyed, open-mouthed stare, was Edward's father.

The air outside was moist and cool, filling Bella's senses with rich, organic smells as the soft crunch of long orange pine needles sounded beneath her feet. She stepped between two giant wild ferns, greener than anything she'd ever seen before, and into a naturally formed forest clearing. A single ray of sunshine beamed down into the clearing, in a shape so distinctly cylindrical, she thought she might beam up to space if she dared to step inside it.

Above her, huge ancient trees sprang at all angles, curving up into the sky and shrouded in green moss that reminded Bella of the hideous sweater that her grandmother had knitted her as a Christmas gift when she was twelve. Either that, or a swamp bride. Beyond them, the sky was bright and blue, but difficult to see through the canopy of carpeted treetops.

Was she dead? Was this heaven? Could heaven look this much like Washington? No, it couldn't possibly.

She took slow, deliberate steps into the clearing, noticing suddenly that the forest was silent. And not just quiet, but completely devoid of all noise, as if the green squishy stuff had soaked up all the sound and stolen it from her delicate ears. It didn't alarm her, but instead gave her the sense that something was about to unfold. If this was the calm, then should she be preparing for a storm?

As if on cue, the air in the forest shifted, her hair fluttering across her shoulders. She turned around in a slow, purposeful circle in the clearing, seeking the purpose for the disruption, and at once she saw a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Then another. And then, finally, a sound broke through the silence, and many others quickly followed.

The rustling of leaves, sticks snapping in two, the insulated thumping of heavy feet hitting the soft, marshmallow textured forest floor.

And yet again, against all odds, she did not feel frightened. She felt strong. She turned to face the direction the sounds were coming from, rounded her shoulders back and raised her chin high against it, whatever it was.

Far ahead in the forest, she saw something moving. And it was moving quickly. And in her direction. She stared in awe as it moved closer to her, traveling so fast it was nothing but a blur of silver and brown and red, streaking through the empty wilderness. Closer and closer it came, the earlier sounds increased in volume and intensity, echoing around the mossy forest around her.

Still, she stood tall.

The movement...the blur...the creature...whatever the hell it was, was quickly approaching the clearing where Bella stood. She didn't move a muscle. Instead, she waited, her eyes hard and daring. Whatever it was, she was ready for it.

It moved into the clearing, a whir of fur and teeth and claws. Pounding the ground with its padded feet. It moved around her as a unit in anticipation of her standing there, splitting itself in two and rushing past her on both sides as if she were a tiny lone island in the midst of rushing springtime waters.

It took her a moment to realize that it was not it at all. It was many its. Wolves. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, she couldn't even tell, they were dashing past at such great speed her eyes couldn't even adjust to the shape of them as they raced by, creating a current of air so strong around her, it made the strands of hanging moss in the trees above wave about like laundry hung to dry.

And still, she stood tall. Waiting.

As the pack moved through, it began to thin, and then they were scattered, following behind the rest. She had adjusted to their movements at this point, and was able to get a better sense of their speed and size. Fast and big.

Suddenly, she realized that the last of them had moved past her. Looking ahead in the forest, she saw nothing. So she turned in the direction that the wolves had run.

A lone wolf was standing in the clearing, still and silent, and not more than ten feet away from her. He was huge, on four legs standing almost as tall as she was, his long, tawny fur was wild and shaggy, and his semi-bared canines shone sharp in the muted daylight, but his eyes were dull and kind. She looked directly into them.

After a moment, he turned and trotted back in the direction the others had gone, pacing a hundred yards before stopping again and turning to look at her. She stood tall.

He lurched his giant head once, urging her to follow, and this time, she did. She stepped slowly towards him, still unafraid. The wolf, seemingly satisfied, turned as well and continued into the forest, padding along at a gentle pace that was easy for her to keep up with. They walked like this, with at least twenty yards between them, for several minutes. At some point, she noted that the forest was mute again. And aside from the rustled pine needles beneath her feet, there was no sign at all of the massive pack of dogs that had moved through earlier.

The large red wolf led her silently through the dense awning of trees, only occasionally looking back to assure she was still following. And she always was.

Bella noted a light ahead, a few hundred yards away. A clearing. The wolf stopped at the entrance of it and stood waiting for her. She took wide, deliberate steps and was soon at its side, glancing around it and peeking into the sunny meadow that lay beyond the natural marquee of crooked trees and moss-covered boulders. She looked down at the wolf and smiled at his adoring gaze, stretching out her hand to pet him firmly, him firmly behind the ear and under his chin. His fur was soft but rugged, somehow not what she had expected. His eyes narrowed in bliss at the gesture, but when she took her hand away, without pause, he quickly turned around and disappeared into a dark corridor of the forest.

Bella felt startled by his departure for a moment, and perhaps a bit sad, insulted. But then she heard it. The sound of an acoustic guitar, quietly strumming.

She turned around and walked into the clearing, towards the sound, unafraid and knowing exactly what she was going to find there. She smiled again, broader this time, as she stepped into the unnaturally circular meadow, fully furnished with late season weeds and colorful wildflowers reaching to her thighs.

And there, sitting Indian style in the middle of the meadow, with his unkempt hair, worn Converse All-Stars, and a curiously placed expression of careless joy, was Edward.

She thought about walking towards him, not startling him, engaging him, talking quietly...but instead, she ran, parting a sea of green grass beneath her feet.

He didn't look up as she approached, although she hadn't been the least bit stealthy. He continued to play and hum softly along, tilting his face up to the sun with his eyes closed and the strangest smile on his face.

She reached for him; she couldn't help it. She had never, ever, seen anyone look so happy, so...content, and it was sort of the most glorious thing ever, and despite all of her internal alarms telling her to do otherwise, her fingertips reached down towards him and grazed the skin of his angular jaw...

click..."like an accident in the midtown tunnel has things tied up just outside of Queens, police are urging motorists to find another way in this morning."

"Sounds like a mess out there, Phil. Thanks for the report."

"No problem. I'll be back in thirty."

"This is WRXP, New York, goooooood morning, everyone..."

a/n - Oh, aren't I a stinker.

So...have any good dreams lately?