two.

(Jacob)

The rows of chairs are filled with Harry Clearwater's loved ones. And where they cannot sit, they stand. They line the walls, the aisles, standing wherever they might be able to hear Old Quil's gravelly tones.

Jacob listens to every word. He doesn't remember much about his mom's funeral, but he will make damn sure he remembers Harry's.

He will remember arriving within minutes, if not seconds to spare. He was just in time to help carry the coffin into the hall, past the rows and rows of people, past Sue and Leah and the only empty chair in the hall which has been left for Seth.

(It had been a Really Bad Idea to go and see Bella this morning. Embry and Jared had tagged along with him in the Rabbit to make sure that he didn't do something he would end up regretting, to make sure that he came back to the tribe who need him today.)

He will remember Leah holding her mother up without her brother, just as he holds his father up without his sisters. Billy is insistent that he will stand for his best friend when there are old Quileute songs to be sung. And so Jacob helps him to his feet each time and keeps him upright for as long as his father needs.

He will remember Charlie crying quietly on the other side of him. He will remember putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder to comfort him, knowing that things were only going to be a thousand times worse for the older man when he went home to an empty house.

(Jacob had begged — begged — Bella to stay. For him, for Charlie. That part, he does not want to remember.)

He will remember lifting Harry up and then lowering him into the ground.

He will remember Sue being picked up and carried by Sam, away from her husband's graveside with the Pack trailing closely behind, all the way to the Clearwaters' house.

He will remember Leah, her head bowed, refusing to follow.

And, above all, Jacob will remember the exact moment his heart stopped beating for Bella Swan.

Two days prior, after leaving a shivering and already near-dead Bella to face her fate with the bloodsuckers (who had reappeared out of who-knows-fuckin'-where, probably to try and shatter the last piece of her heart which he had spent the last several months trying to save), Jacob had sworn to himself that he would let at least twenty-four hours pass before he went crawling back to her.

It was hell. But he'd suffered worse, and when he caught himself so much as looking in the direction of Forks he tried to remind himself over and over and over again that Bella had made her choice.

"There's a vampire in your house, and you want to go back?"

"Of course," she'd replied.

Of course.

So he'd left her, hating himself. But treaty or no treaty, right or wrong, she had wanted to be left even though she knew he wasn't able to stay with her. Instead, he had sprinted back to La Push and he'd let Sam know that the leeches were back. He'd told Sam that if Bella got bit then they all knew who to blame.

And then he'd called her.

(That did not count as crawling back to her, Jacob told himself, but he'd needed to know if they'd taken a good chunk out of her already. Because that meant he could finally take a chunk out of them.)

He half-wished she'd never answered. She sounded . . . different. Alive. More than she had in months, actually, and it had made Jacob feel so sick that he'd slammed the phone down and retched into the kitchen sink. He'd barely gotten out of the house in time before shedding his skin, barrelling into the shared pain and anguish of the Pack as they mourned Harry with their newest brother.

As if things hadn't been bad enough.

He'd spent that evening, and that whole night, unsuccessfully coaxing Seth out of the cave the kid had found solace in. Then, he went home and cleaned the garage from top to bottom — all before the sun rose. And when he was done with that, he yanked out the Rabbit's seven-week old timing belt just so that he could keep his hands busy by fixing it. And when he was done with that, Sam came looking for him. Jacob was almost surprised that it had taken the bastard as long as it had.

"I need to get back to Sue's," said Sam flatly. He was not at all sympathetic about the latest rejection Jacob had faced. Then again, the Alpha's patience had long since reached its limit when it came to Bella Swan and her love for the bloodsuckers. "You're back in charge of Seth."

Jacob simply stared at Sam as he tipped his toolbox upside down. He tried not to seem too pleased with himself when hundreds of nuts and bolts found their way into the deepest corners of the garage. It would take ages to tidy up.

"I'm busy."

Neither had he slept yet, and his eyes were burning.

"Unless you want to help Leah peel her mother off the floor, then you will look after her brother, Jacob. He is your brother now too, and he needs our help."

As Sam spoke, the hard tremor of the Alpha's voice slipped through the cracks. Levi Uley's great-grandson made a conscious effort to not challenge Ephraim Black's great-grandson if he could help it, and in turn, Ephraim Black's great-grandson tried very hard to not fight the authority he had refused to accept for himself. Anything else usually ended in bloodshed.

But, right then — while his brothers would have long since ducked their gaze — Jacob's heart was thundering with rage, misery, topped with a little bit of something else familiar, and he could not help but glare right back at his Alpha.

It was in his blood. Jacob's wolf reared at the challenge Sam presented every single day. And every single day he leashed that animal inside of him and refused to give in. He would never give in. He would never be Alpha.

That was what made him look away, in the end. That was what always made him look away.

(Once, a few days after his first phase when the Pack had all been adjusting to the new dynamic, Jacob had challenged Sam's authority without even thinking about what he was doing. It was an instinct he'd not known he had, and so Sam had beaten his ass into the next week until that new instinct had been all but extinguished. Until Jacob had yielded, and the rest of the Pack had breathed a sigh of relief.

It was still there, though. It would always be there.)

Jacob scowled and, hating himself for it, while hating Sam for everything else, he put down his toolbox before stomping out of the garage and back to Seth's stupid cave.

There aren't many people left at the Clearwater's place.

Old Quil excused himself early, taking his moody grandson with him. Although Quil is way more than simply moody to those in the know — he is fuming; he still believes his best friends have turned their back on him to join Sam, after all, so there's been a permanent scowl etched into his face all day. But he's also hot to the touch, so Jacob knows that his best friend's anger will not last for much longer.

It's not that Jacob wants Quil to phase, it's just things are going to be so much easier when he does. It's not as easy being hated by a loved one as Sam makes out it is.

Sam knows all about being hated. Still, he's here (which is more than can be said for Emily, who had fled as soon as the service had finished). His flank is closely guarded by Jared whilst Paul is out swapping Seth-sitting duties with Embry.

Charlie is still here, too. Jacob had very quickly and very quietly told Billy what was going on as he'd wheeled him away from the graveside, and they've both been trying to keep Charlie with them for as long as possible since. He'd never forgive them if he knew, but Billy and Jacob remember how Charlie had been the last time Bella skipped town.

It's only when the Pack are beginning to help tidy the house, clearing plates and glasses and boxing up the food that Leah finally comes home.

Jacob looks up, and his world just . . . shifts a little.

It's almost as if the earth has titled a fraction of a degree — not enough for anyone else to realise, but enough that Jacob is left feeling as if the wind has been knocked right out of him. He reaches out to hold onto the back of his father's chair so that his legs don't give way beneath him, holds so tightly that he's probably made a new shape out of the handlebars.

Leah's wet eyes blink at him from where she's appeared in the doorway. And after regaining her focus, she gives him a funny, tentative little smile. It doesn't look right on her pale, tired face; it's forced, a little bit mangled, and yet Jacob just knows what's she trying to say — what she really means. That twisted quirk of her lips tells him that she's not okay, but she's trying to be, because what else can she do?

He knows that look. It's one of his own.

When he doesn't smile back, Leah's face slowly falls back into a picture of exhaustion. He knows that look, too, and it's not even because the legends demand it must be so. It's because he and his sisters looked exactly the same when their mother died.

Another second passes, and Leah sticks out her bottom lip ever so slightly. She probably doesn't even know she's doing it. Then she sighs and walks away, further into the house, away from him and his thundering heart.

A shift. A fraction of a degree different.

And nobody's noticed a thing.

"Please, Bella. I'm begging."

"Jake, I have to—"

"You don't, though. You really don't. You could stay here with me. You could stay alive. For Charlie. For me."

Bella shook her head when the leech revved the engine. She pulled her arm free and he let her go.

"Don't die, Bella. Don't go. Don't."

Bella sobbed and threw herself at him, hugging his waist and pressing her tears into his burning chest. Jacob held the back of her head, keeping her close.

"Bye, Jake." She pulled away after only a moment, kissed his palm. She wouldn't — couldn't — meet his eyes. If she had, he thought, she might have stayed. Because he knew her better than anyone else, knew how to break that resolve of hers, that thinking-too-hard look. "Sorry," she said.

Jacob left before she did.

Leah's in the kitchen, gripping onto the edge of the old breakfast bar and breathing hard.

Her head snaps up at the same time as her defences, eyes hard and her brow set. It takes longer than it should — longer than he'd like it to take for his imprint to realise he's not a threat — but eventually, she closes her eyes again and drops her head, dismissing him. Her long, loose hair falls around her and hides everything else.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I thought they'd be gone by now," she says from underneath her dark shield.

Despite himself, despite this new . . . thing, Jacob is smart enough to keep his distance and stay near the door. No matter how sad she is, no matter how angry, no matter how much he wants to reach out. He likes to think that he'd have to check himself and his instincts to comfort her without having imprinted — his human instincts, not wolf — but he can't say for certain. And he hates that.

He's changed so much that he barely recognises himself lately. Changed so much, lost so much. And this one thing was the last bit he had of himself, the last shred of free will, but now he's surrendered that too. It's not just Sam who rules his life now.

He knows it's the imprint talking when he can't be mad about it. The imprint is quelling his resentment and masking it as something else entirely.

"Can you—" Leah takes a shaky breath. Somehow she seems to stoop a little lower to the floor despite holding onto the counter as if everything depends on it. "Can you ask them to—"

"Sure. Will you be—"

"I'll be fine. I just need him — them," she quickly corrects herself, but Jacob knows who she means. "I need them to go."

"I get it."

He really, really does. And he can do this. He can. He can walk away and do whatever she needs, even if it's only to go back and tell them all to hurry up. He'll clear up the last of the food himself, wash plates and pick up the rubbish so that it's one last thing she has to do right now. And if she asks him to leave too . . . Well, he'll try.

He can do this.

"Jacob."

His wolf sings, turning him back without a thought. "Yeah?"

"Are you . . . Do you . . ." Leah pushes herself away from the counter and waves a hand at him, looking a little ill. There are shadows in her brown eyes which he knows have no hope of being understood by someone who still has both parents. "Y'know. Are you the same as Seth?"

"Yeah."

"And Sam?"

Shit, Sam.

Sam's going to fucking kill him.

At one point or another, Sam has looked at Jacob and his brothers and wondered what he'd do if any of them imprinted on his ex-girlfriend. They'd all seen the underlying panic, had felt their Alpha's fear as if it had been their own.

(That's just the way things are now. Their pain, his pain. Their joy, his joy. Sometimes Jacob dreams of Emily on top of him, dreams of Kim holding his hand.)

Only when Jared imprinted did Sam's breathing seem to loosen slightly, that pressure easing. But it hadn't meant they'd forgotten being aware of how Sam had hated them when he'd looked at them, even if had been for just for a split second.

Yes, Sam's going to kill him. But Jacob steels himself and says, "I really think he should be the one to tell you that."

The words pain him to say, almost as much as it does to think about leaving her on her own for the rest of the night. He knows it's not really Sam's responsibility to divulge this secret — at least, not anymore. It's his, whether he likes that or not, except he's not really ready for Sam to rip his throat out just yet. Not today. Not ever.

"He tried," Leah admits quietly, pushing her curtain of hair back from her face. Her fingers are surprisingly steady compared to the rest of her body. "I think. I don't know. Lots of people have tried to do something, say something today, and I didn't really let them."

"I can ask him to—"

"No," she says too quickly. Her eyes flare with sudden life that dies just as quickly. "Not him. You. You tell me."

They stare at each other for a moment, which is all it takes for Jacob to relent. His shoulders drop. "Yeah. Sam's the same. Jared, Embry and Paul, too," he tells her, aware that he's only confirming everything she already knows, everything that she's probably already thought. It's just nobody has said it aloud to her yet.

Leah nods, but she doesn't look away. "No girls?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Jacob admits. It's not like he's not thought about it. He'd been scared for his sisters, but then they hadn't been home in forever so there was nothing to worry about, was there? And none of the other girls on the Rez seemed to be burning up or had to duck when they went through a door, so it wasn't likely.

"Not Emily?"

"She's . . ." God help him. "No. She's not."

Leah doesn't look like she believes him. She scoffs as she finally turns away, reaching for an empty glass on the draining board and turning the tap on with a bit more force than necessary. "Is my mom upstairs?"

He is about to tell her that Sam carried Sue all the way back here and put her to bed when, as if called, Sam himself appears. Jacob can feel his Alpha at his back, that disapproval which seems to radiate off him all the fucking time.

"Jacob," Sam says, voice hard. Of course, he's heard every word his Second and Leah have said to one another. "What do you think you are doing?"

Very slowly, very deliberately, Jacob turns round. He's exactly the same height as Sam, unlike the rest of their brothers who are all an inch or two shorter. Maybe if he were Alpha he would be taller, but since he refuses he's going to have to settle with being able to stare right into his brother's eyes rather than down into them.

Sam's frown deepens. There's that disapproval.

"Who are you to tell him what he can and can't do?" Leah demands from behind him, but neither Jacob nor Sam look at her. They hold each other's stare, and Jacob vaguely thinks that he needs to stop his hands from shaking, stop his whole body vibrating in response to the challenge Sam will always present. He won't phase, can't phase, because if he phases then Sam is going to know exactly what he's done.

It's that thought which makes him break first. He always breaks first. He ducks his head and steps to the side, allowing Sam to pass.

"Save it," Leah says in response to whatever she sees in Sam's face. She pushes past them both and disappears upstairs.

And, never one to waste any time, Sam instantly rounds on him.

"What have you done?"