CHAPTER 6: TENTATIVE TRUCE
POV: Peter
Morning came with weakness.
Peter woke in his tent—now inside the partially completed cabin, which was progress—and immediately hated his human body with a violence that should've alarmed him. His senses were dull, his strength pathetic, his awareness of the world reduced to a narrow cone of perception that felt like wearing blinders.
"I was tracking supernatural signatures across an entire city twelve hours ago," he thought bitterly. "Now I can barely see ten feet in the fog."
His phone showed a text from Esme: "Come for breakfast. Real food, not prop food. I insist. -E"
Peter smiled despite his mood. Esme's maternal persistence was starting to wear down his defenses, and he wasn't sure if that was good or dangerous. Getting attached to people in a world he wasn't supposed to be part of felt like asking for heartbreak.
But his stomach was growling, and the alternative was another protein bar from his dwindling supplies.
Twenty minutes later, Peter stood on the Cullens' porch, his human body aching from the walk. The door opened before he could knock, and Esme's warm smile greeted him.
"Sweetheart," she said, pulling him into a hug that smelled of vanilla and something floral. "You look exhausted. Come in, sit down. I made pancakes."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." Esme guided him toward the kitchen, her hand gentle on his back. "You're human today, which means you need actual sustenance. And I haven't gotten to cook for someone in years. Humor me."
The kitchen was sun-filled and pristine, all granite countertops and stainless steel appliances that looked like they'd never been used. But now there was a plate of pancakes on the island, along with bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh fruit.
Peter's mouth watered. "This is too much."
"Nonsense. Eat." Esme poured him orange juice, then perched on a stool across from him, watching with satisfaction as he dug in.
The food was incredible—fluffy, buttery, exactly what his human body needed. Peter ate in silence, and Esme didn't push for conversation, just let him exist in her space without demands.
Carlisle appeared in the doorway, dressed in what looked like doctor's scrubs. "Good morning, Peter. How was Seattle?"
Peter swallowed. "Productive. I found a vampire with enhanced supernatural tracking. Copied her ability, learned some things about nomad politics."
"Enhanced tracking?" Carlisle's interest sharpened. "That's a useful ability. Did you encounter any trouble?"
"A little. Two nomads tried to confront us. I used compulsion to send them away."
Carlisle exchanged a look with Esme. "Compulsion on vampires is difficult. Most have strong mental resistance."
"Yeah, I noticed. But it worked." Peter pushed his eggs around his plate. "The System warned me I'm overusing compulsion though. Said I'm approaching a concerning threshold."
"How many times have you used it?"
"Seven in three days. Maybe eight if you count the nomads as two separate uses."
"That's... significant." Carlisle sat on the stool next to Esme. "Peter, I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest. Do you understand why compulsion is dangerous?"
"Because it violates people's free will," Peter said automatically.
"Yes, but more than that. It's dangerous because it's easy." Carlisle's golden eyes were serious. "You have permanent compulsion, which means you'll never lose access to it. That kind of power, always available, becomes a first resort rather than a last resort. You start using it to solve every problem, smooth over every inconvenience. And eventually, you forget how to interact with people honestly."
Peter set down his fork, appetite fading. "I'm trying to be better about it. I enrolled in school without compulsion. Just regular conversation."
"That's excellent," Esme said warmly. "See? You can function without it."
"But it's harder," Peter admitted. "Everything's harder as a human. Weaker, slower, more vulnerable. The compulsion's the only advantage I have when I'm not transformed."
"That's not true," Carlisle said. "You have intelligence, creativity, the ability to plan and strategize. Those are significant advantages."
"They don't stop vampires from ripping me apart."
"No, but they might prevent situations where vampires want to rip you apart in the first place." Carlisle leaned forward. "Peter, you're thinking like prey. Constantly focused on strength and power because you feel vulnerable. But you're not prey. You're something new. Something that can bridge the gap between human and supernatural. That's your real advantage."
Peter wanted to argue, wanted to point out that "something new" sounded suspiciously like "experiment" or "target." But Carlisle's expression was earnest, and Esme was nodding along, and the warmth of their kitchen was making it hard to maintain his defensive walls.
"I don't know how to be what you're describing," Peter said quietly. "I barely know how to survive day to day."
"Then let us teach you," Carlisle said. "Not just about vampires and supernatural politics. About building a life that's sustainable. About finding purpose beyond power collection."
"The System won't let me stop collecting powers. Every ten abilities, I get a permanent unlock. That's the only way I become less vulnerable."
"Then we'll help you collect them safely." Carlisle stood. "But in exchange, you have to promise to use compulsion sparingly. Only when absolutely necessary. Can you do that?"
Peter looked between them—Carlisle's quiet authority, Esme's hopeful expression—and felt something in his chest crack open.
"I'll try," he said. "I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I'll try."
"That's all we ask." Esme reached across the island and squeezed his hand. "Now finish your breakfast. You're going to need your strength."
"Why?"
Carlisle smiled. "Because Emmett wants to teach you hand-to-hand combat, and he's not known for his gentle teaching methods."
The clearing behind the Cullen house was ringed by ancient trees and carpeted in moss. Emmett stood at its center, grinning like
Continue
a kid on Christmas morning.
"Alright, newbie," Emmett called as Peter approached. "Time to learn how to fight."
Peter stopped at the clearing's edge. "I'm human. You're a vampire. How is this supposed to work without you accidentally killing me?"
"Very carefully." Emmett's grin didn't fade. "Look, you can't rely on being transformed all the time. Sometimes you're going to be human when shit hits the fan. You need to know how to defend yourself."
"Against vampires?"
"Against anything." Emmett gestured him forward. "Come on. I'll go slow. Mostly."
Peter entered the clearing, hyperaware of how fragile his human body was compared to Emmett's marble strength. One wrong move and the vampire could break him like a twig.
"First lesson," Emmett said, circling him slowly. "You're smaller and weaker than pretty much everything supernatural. That means you can't fight fair. You have to be smarter, faster in your thinking if not your body, and willing to fight dirty."
"Dirty how?"
"Eyes, throat, joints—anywhere that hurts regardless of strength." Emmett stopped in front of him. "And you use your environment. Vampires are strong, but we're not immune to physics. Trip us, use our momentum against us, make us work harder than you do."
"This sounds theoretical," Peter said. "Are we actually going to practice?"
"Oh, we're practicing." Emmett's movement was a blur—one second standing still, the next rushing forward at vampire speed.
Peter's human reflexes were useless. Emmett's hand closed around his wrist, not hard enough to break but firm enough to immobilize, and suddenly Peter was on his back in the moss, Emmett looming over him.
"Dead," Emmett announced cheerfully. "Want to try again?"
Peter's pride stung more than his back. "That wasn't fair. You used vampire speed."
"Vampires don't fight fair. That's the point." Emmett helped him up. "Again. This time, don't try to match my speed. Predict where I'm going and move first."
They went again. And again. And again.
Each time, Emmett moved with that impossible vampire speed. Each time, Peter ended up on his back in the moss. But slowly, incrementally, he started to see patterns. The way Emmett shifted his weight before moving. The tells in his expression. The predictability of always going for the same grab.
On the seventh attempt, Peter didn't try to dodge. Instead, he stepped into Emmett's charge, inside the arc of the vampire's reach, and drove his elbow toward where he hoped Emmett's solar plexus would be.
His elbow hit marble and pain exploded up his arm. Peter yelped and staggered back, cradling his arm.
Emmett burst out laughing. "Dude! You actually landed a hit!"
"I think I fractured my elbow," Peter gasped.
"Nah, just bruised. You'll be fine." Emmett was still grinning. "But seriously, good instinct. You went for the move I wasn't expecting. That's exactly right."
Carlisle appeared at the clearing's edge, medical bag in hand. "I heard a yelp. Everyone still intact?"
"Peter tried to punch me," Emmett said proudly. "It was adorable."
"I was aiming for your stomach," Peter muttered as Carlisle examined his arm with gentle, clinical precision.
"No fracture," Carlisle confirmed. "But you'll have a spectacular bruise. Ice it when you get home." He looked at Emmett. "Perhaps we should use padding for training?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"The fun is in Peter not breaking all his bones before he learns anything useful." Carlisle's tone was mild but firm. "Slow down. Make this sustainable."
Emmett sighed dramatically but nodded. "Fine. We'll do boring safe training. But only because you asked nicely."
They spent another hour working through basics—how to fall without injury, how to use momentum, how to identify escape routes. Peter's human body protested every movement, but he forced himself to keep going. This was necessary. Essential. He couldn't rely on transformation forever.
"But I want to," the thought whispered. "I want to be strong all the time. Want to never feel this weak again."
[OBSERVATION: Host demonstrates concerning psychological patterns. Recommendation: Address underlying trauma regarding perceived weakness. Note: Human vulnerability is not inherent flaw but rather catalyst for strategic thinking.]
"Easy for you to say," Peter muttered during a water break. "You don't have a body."
Emmett, sprawled in the moss nearby, raised an eyebrow. "Talking to your head-voice again?"
"It has opinions about my training."
"Does it think I'm going too easy on you? Because I can fix that."
"No!" Peter said quickly. "This is plenty hard, thanks."
Alice appeared at the clearing's edge, her pixie features bright with excitement. "Peter! You have to come inside. I want to test something."
"Test what?"
"My visions around you. I've been thinking about it, and I have a theory." She bounced on her toes. "Please? It'll be quick."
Peter looked at Emmett, who shrugged. "Go ahead. I need a break anyway. Pretending to be gentle is exhausting."
Inside, Alice led Peter to the living room where Edward sat reading. The mind-reader looked up as they entered, his expression guarded.
"Alice wants to test her visions," Peter said by way of explanation.
"I heard." Edward closed his book. "This should be interesting."
Alice positioned Peter on the couch, then sat across from him, her eyes already losing focus as she peered into possible futures. Peter waited, uncomfortable under Edward's scrutiny.
"I still can't see you clearly," Alice said after a moment. "But I can see around you. Like... I can see the room's future, the house's future, even our futures. But where you are, there's just fog."
"The mental protection blocks precognition," Peter said. "I've told you that."
"Yes, but that's not what I find interesting." Alice's eyes focused on him again. "I can see Edward's future when he's planning to interact with you. I can see Emmett's future during your training. I can see everyone's futures around you. It's only your specific decisions and actions that are blocked."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I can track you indirectly," Alice said, excitement building. "If I focus on, say, Emmett's future, and he's planning to spend time with you, I can see that interaction. I just can't see your specific choices within it."
Edward leaned forward. "That's actually significant. It means Alice can still provide some protection, some foresight, even with Peter's shields."
"Protection from what?" Peter asked.
Alice's expression shifted, something darker crossing her features. "From the things I'm starting to see. Danger coming. Not clear yet, but building. And you're going to be right in the middle of it."
A chill ran down Peter's spine. "What kind of danger?"
"I don't know yet. The visions are fragmented. But there are red eyes in them. Nomads, I think. Coming to Forks." Alice's voice was strained. "And there's... there's blood. So much blood."
James, Peter thought immediately. The tracker. He comes during baseball, catches Bella's scent, and everything goes to hell.
But that was months away. Bella hadn't even arrived yet.
"When?" Peter asked.
"I can't tell. Could be weeks, could be months. But it's coming." Alice looked at Edward. "We should tell Carlisle."
"Tell me what?" Carlisle's voice came from the doorway. He entered with Esme, both of them picking up on the tension immediately.
Alice explained her vision—the nomads, the blood, the sense of impending violence. Carlisle listened with growing concern, while Esme's hand found his, squeezing tight.
"We've dealt with nomads before," Carlisle said finally. "We'll be prepared. Increase patrols, monitor for unfamiliar scents. Peter, you should stay close to the house when you're human. At least until we know more."
"I can't," Peter said. "I start school Monday. I need to maintain my cover."
"School can wait if your life is in danger."
"My life's always in danger. That's just my reality now." Peter stood. "Look, I appreciate the concern, but I can't hide every time there might be a threat. I need to learn to function in this world, and that means taking risks."
"Calculated risks," Carlisle corrected. "Not reckless ones."
"I know the difference." Peter moved toward the door. "Thank you for breakfast, Esme. And for the training, Emmett. I should get back to my cabin."
He left before anyone could argue further, stepping out into the gray afternoon. The walk back to his land felt longer than usual, Alice's words echoing in his mind.
Danger coming. Red eyes. Blood.
Peter knew the broad strokes of the Twilight story. Knew that nomads would arrive eventually, that James would hunt Bella, that everything would spiral toward violence. But Alice's vision felt more immediate, more personal.
"Am I changing things just by being here?" he wondered. "Is my presence disrupting the timeline, pulling events forward?"
[NOTIFICATION: Timeline alterations detected. Host presence has created divergence from baseline narrative. Probability of accelerated threat encounters: 67%. Recommendation: Prepare for increased danger.]
"Sixty-seven percent," Peter said aloud. "That's not comforting."
[CLARIFICATION: Comfort not a System function. Information provided for strategic planning purposes only.]
"Right. Because you're so helpful." Peter reached his cabin and surveyed the progress. Four walls, most of a roof, windows that actually closed. It was coming together, slowly but surely.
He spent the rest of the afternoon working on interior details—sanding the floor, installing shelves Esme had brought over, trying to make the space feel like home. Physical labor helped quiet his mind, gave him something to focus on besides visions of blood and danger.
By evening, his arms ached and his back protested every movement. Human weakness, made worse by Emmett's training. But the cabin looked more livable, and that was progress.
Peter was debating whether to hunt for dinner or just collapse in his sleeping bag when he heard footsteps approaching. His human hearing couldn't identify who it was until Jasper stepped into view, his scarred features neutral.
"Evening," the empath said. "Mind if I come in?"
"It's your property," Peter said. "Technically."
"It's yours now. You've built it, lived in it. That makes it yours." Jasper stepped inside, his eyes scanning the space with military precision. "Not bad for human construction."
"Thanks, I think."
Jasper's gaze settled on him, and Peter felt that familiar wave of calm—gentler than usual, almost tentative. "I wanted to check on you. Emmett said training got intense."
"I'm fine. Just sore."
"I don't mean physically." Jasper sat on the floor with his back against the wall, gesturing for Peter to do the same. "I mean emotionally. I can feel your state, Peter. The loneliness, the fear, the desperate hunger for strength. It's... concerning."
Peter's jaw tightened. "I'm handling it."
"Are you?" Jasper's voice was gentle, not accusing. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're drowning. You're forcing yourself to function when what you really need is to process what's happened to you."
"I died. I transmigrated. I got magic powers. What's there to process?"
"The trauma of dying. The grief of losing your old life. The terror of existing in a world where you're prey." Jasper's eyes were old despite his youthful face. "Peter, I've lived through war. I've commanded newborn armies, watched them tear each other apart because they couldn't control their emotions. You're not a newborn, but you're exhibiting the same patterns—aggression, fear, power-seeking behavior."
"I need power to survive."
"You need stability to survive," Jasper corrected. "Power helps, but if you're not stable mentally, all the power in the world won't save you. You'll make mistakes, take stupid risks, get yourself killed."
Peter wanted to argue, but the words stuck in his throat. Because Jasper was right. He was drowning. Every day was a struggle to keep his head above water, to maintain the facade of competence when inside he was screaming.
"I don't know how to stop," Peter admitted quietly. "The System keeps pushing me forward. Collect more abilities, get stronger, survive the next threat. There's no time to process or heal or whatever. There's just the next transformation, the next hunt, the next disaster."
"Then make time," Jasper said. "Take a day off. Don't hunt, don't transform, don't do anything except exist as human. Let yourself be weak for a day. It won't kill you."
"It might."
"Then I'll protect you." Jasper's voice was firm. "Tomorrow. Stay human, stay on your land, and I'll keep watch. No one will touch you. And you can spend the day just... being. No performance, no survival mode. Just existing."
The offer was tempting. Terrifying, but tempting.
"Why do you care?" Peter asked.
Jasper was quiet for a moment. "Because I see myself in you. The desperation to be strong enough, controlled enough, good enough. I spent decades trying to be someone I wasn't, trying to manage everyone else's emotions while ignoring my own. It nearly destroyed me." He met Peter's eyes. "I don't want to watch you make the same mistakes."
Peter's throat tightened. "I don't know if I can stop."
"You don't have to stop permanently. Just pause. One day. Can you do that?"
Peter thought about it—a full day as human, no transformations, no hunts. Just existing in his cabin, safe and weak and utterly vulnerable.
"It sounds horrible," part of him whispered. "It sounds like giving up."
But another part—smaller, quieter, buried under layers of survival instinct—whispered something else.
"It sounds like rest."
"Okay," Peter said finally. "Tomorrow. One day of being human."
Jasper smiled, and it transformed his scarred features into something almost gentle. "Good. I'll be nearby if you need me. And Peter? Thank you for trusting me."
The empath left, and Peter was alone again with his thoughts and the System's ever-present hum.
[NOTIFICATION: Extended human baseline period detected. Warning: One day without transformation may result in withdrawal symptoms and psychological distress. Recommendation: Monitor mental state closely.]
"Withdrawal symptoms," Peter echoed. "Like an addict."
[CLARIFICATION: Dependency on transformed states exhibits patterns similar to substance addiction. Denial: Noted. Complaint: Pre-logged.]
Peter laughed, the sound bitter. Even his supernatural guide thought he had a problem.
He lay down in his sleeping bag, staring at the cabin's unfinished ceiling, and tried to imagine a full day without the hunger for power consuming him.
It should've been easy.
It should've been a relief.
Instead, it felt like sentencing himself to prison.
But he'd made a promise to Jasper. And maybe—just maybe—that was the first step toward something that looked like healing.
Tomorrow would tell.