Old Habits
Ok, once I made a comment in one of the Twilight recaps, and pastiche_cain sent me a monster plot bunny. This is the result of that plot bunny winning out over my other commitments. I haven't actually finished the story, but I don't think it's going to be particularly long.
Fandom: Supernatural and Twilight
Rating: Pssh... um, probably not for littlies, though the likelihood of any reading this is smaller than they are.
Timeline: Just after Bella's met up with Charlie in Breaking Dawn after being vamped, and lets just assume that for SPN everything has happened happily. (Note: Being Australian and channel 10 being a pain in the neck, Supernatural season 6 hasn't been released over here, ergo I don't know what happens. My knowledge stops at season 5. Just sayin')
Disclaimer: I own nothing that is seen here, Twilight and Supernatural belong to their respective owners. This is for entertainment purposes only and I make no money from this venture.
A/N: Well, what more can I say that hasn't been said?
The strangest part, Charlie reflected as he nursed a glass of whiskey after leaving the Cullens, was her eyes. The brown had faded, almost dissolved into a deep crimson that surely couldn’t be natural. In fact, he thought, mind stirring as depths that hadn’t been plunged in a long time began to shift, it wasn’t natural.
He put the glass of whiskey down and went into the hall, staring up at the indented square in the roof that led to the attic. He stared at it for a few minutes before walking down the hall into the laundry to fetch a broom. When he returned to the hall he used the broom to prod open the square.
He hesitated as the stairs unfolded; staring up into the dark, but his mind conjured the image of his daughter’s eyes once more and he mounted the stairs, climbing into the attic.
Half a minute later he climbed back down and fetched a torch.
The attic was cobwebbed and dusty, and Charlie sneezed several times as he peered around, nearly tripping over Bella’s first rocking horse and then hitting his head on a roof beam as he stood up.
Cursing vehemently, head throbbing and eyes watering, he flashed the torch around, shadows leaping up behind cardboard boxes and unused chairs. The only not-dusty box in the room was illuminated by the beam for a second and Charlie scowled. His mother’s jewellery - he’d brought it out for Bella to wear at her wedding, but she had refused, saying it wouldn’t match the dress and preferring to wear jewellery from Edward’s mother.
The beam of the torch moved on and Charlie began to take cautious steps as he swept it over the collected items. It would be right at the back corner, he recalled, and in Renee’s glory box…
Bingo.
He pulled it out from behind the box labelled ‘Misc. Crockery’ (that probably held Bella’s baby clothes) and shifted the broken lamp off the lid of the flat chest. A small, vindictive part of his mind crowed happily at the thought of Renee’s face should she ever find out what he kept in here, but he quashed it unhappily. The hunting had lost him his marriage, despite the fact that he had stopped after marrying her - there was no way he was exposing the people he loved to that side of the world - and now his daughter was up to her eyeballs in it. Irony?
A few silver knifes clattered to the floor as he lifted the lid of the chest, shaken out of the loose fastenings he’d made for them all those years ago when he stuffed this thing back up here, and he grimaced. The chest was a complete mess, everything having been thrown in it helter-skelter the last time he’d opened it, and Charlie had to sort through several layers to find the old binder where he kept all the information he needed.
Dragging the chest over to the ladder, binder clutched tightly under his arm, he had an awkward fifteen minutes getting it down into the main house and dragging it into the infinitely better lit living room. Flipping open the binder and sitting back down to a heavily diluted whiskey Charlie began to go over the papers, looking for the sheet of contact numbers. It took him a few minutes, and when he did find it several names were crossed out, leaving very few.
Pausing for a minute, Charlie got up and fetched the notebook by his bed, thumbing back a few pages to the deceased reports that he had noted down as important and crossed out a few more names on the list.
Picking up his phone, he dialled the number circled twice that remained uncrossed. It rang a few times before it was picked up, and when it was, he wasn’t disappointed.
“Hey Bobby, ‘s Charlie Swan here, from up by Forks, long time, no chat. I think I might have a… problem.”