Chapter 1: Forks, Redux
"Fiction prepares you for disappointment. But nobody warned me that living in it would require decent boots and a tolerance for rain."
The sky over Phoenix was cloudless, blue, and utterly indifferent to my existential crisis.
"Call me when you land," Renee said for the third time, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet like she was the one about to board a plane.
"I will," I promised, shifting the strap of my carry-on and trying not to look as out of place as I felt. Which was hard, considering I had just transmigrated into the body of Bella Swan. Canon Bella Swan. Full native Bella and plot knowledge included, no opt-out feature.
Beside her, Phil stood awkwardly with his hands in his back pockets, already wearing his travel team polo and a half-apologetic smile. I didn't blame him — being married to Renee probably required that expression on a loop.
"Sorry I can't stay, Bells," he said. "Season's just starting."
"It's okay." I gave him a shrug and a polite smile. "Chase the dream."
Renee looked misty-eyed like I was heading off to war, not to my dad's rainy hometown. Then she pulled me into a sudden hug — tight, fierce, and slightly damp from the eyes.
"You're sure you'll be okay?" she whispered into my shoulder.
Was I sure? No. But this was a supernatural YA universe and I had read enough fanfiction to know indecision got you killed by chapter five.
"Yeah, Mom. I'll be okay."
She kissed my forehead, and Phil handed me a protein bar like that counted as parenting. I waved, turned, and walked into the terminal like I wasn't stepping into the set of a slow-burn vampire drama with a moody musical score.
Let's do this, Forks.
The flight was fine. If you've been on one plane, you've been on them all — recycled air, screaming toddlers, and the vague sense you're in a flying sardine can held together by hope and duct tape.
But landing in Port Angeles? That was different. It was like walking out of color and into grayscale. The air was damp, the trees were tall, and everything smelled like pine and the ghosts of wet dogs.
I walked into baggage claim and immediately spotted him.
Charlie Swan stood in his usual brown jacket, mustache trimmed, holding a laminated sign that read:
"BELLA (in all caps, just in case)"
I snorted.
"Nice sign, Dad."
He looked up, grinned a little. "Figured it'd be faster than describing you to security."
I dropped my duffel and hugged him. Really hugged him — full arms, cheek pressed to his shoulder, no half-hearted teenage flinch. He stiffened for half a second before his arms wrapped around me. Tight. Like maybe he needed it, too.
"Hey, Bells."
"Hey, Dad."
The cruiser was still the same. Same pine-scented air freshener hanging from the rearview, same faint coffee stain on the passenger seat. Charlie didn't talk much, but that was okay. The silence wasn't awkward — just quiet.
Peaceful, even.
"Still listen to classic rock?" he asked after ten minutes.
"Please. If you'd put on country I'd have filed for emancipation."
That earned a grunt. "Still got good taste, then."
I picked through the glove box and found his battered Springsteen cassette, slotting it into the tape deck like a ritual. He let me play it without comment.
We passed forests, logging trucks, that I made Charlie drive next to not behind, the occasional roadhouse with questionable parking lots. It was like driving through a postcard that someone spilled water on.
"That's where the Thrifty's used to be," Charlie said, pointing at a vape shop.
"Forks, keeping it rustic and rebellious," I muttered.
He chuckled low in his throat. "Still remember the diner?"
"Where I spilled ketchup on your pants when I was six? Iconic."
He actually smiled at that. It made his whole face soften. I liked that smile.
The house was exactly like I remembered it from the books — two stories, blue-gray, front porch that creaked when you stepped on the second board. The kind of place that didn't change unless it was forced to.
It smelled like coffee, old flannel, and floor polish. And maybe a little bit like dad.
"Room's already set up," Charlie said, scratching the back of his neck like the house might eat me. "Still got that desk you used for puzzles."
I carried my bag upstairs and turned in a slow circle. Same faded curtains. Same muted quilt. Same floorboard that creaked near the closet.
The room was familiar in the way old photos were. Like it knew me, even if I didn't know myself yet.
I dropped my bag with a satisfying thud, stretched my arms, and called down, "This place could use a lava lamp!"
Charlie snorted from the kitchen. "Only if you want to sleep with a fire hazard."
"I always do. Keeps life spicy."
Dinner was frozen pizza and root beer. High cuisine.
We sat at the kitchen table while the rain started up again outside, tapping the windows like nature's own ASMR. Charlie ate in silence, occasionally watching me out of the corner of his eye like I might disappear if he blinked.
"School starts Monday," he said. "You nervous?"
"About a high school full of hormonal teenagers and secret vampires? Not at all."
He blinked.
I grinned. "Kidding. Just… regular teenage terror."
"You'll be fine." He hesitated. "You've grown up a lot."
"You noticed that, huh?"
He scratched his mustache, then looked down at his plate. "I missed some stuff. Not proud of that."
"You were doing your best." I shrugged. "Renee wasn't exactly homecoming queen of parenting either."
His eyes snapped up to meet mine — surprised but maybe a little relieved, too. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"You're a good dad, Charlie."
He looked like he didn't know what to do with that. Which meant it mattered.
By eight, a pair of headlights lit up the living room.
"That'll be Billy and Jake," Charlie said, already heading for the door.
I followed him out and watched as the battered red pickup chugged into the driveway like a war vet. Jacob jumped out of the passenger seat, all limbs and unshakable optimism.
"Bella!" he shouted, racing toward me.
"Hey, Jake." I smiled — genuine, this time. He was familiar in the way your favorite hoodie is familiar.
Billy Black gave me a wide, warm grin as Charlie helped him down from the driver's seat.
"We brought her," Billy said, pointing proudly.
There she was.
Cherry red, slightly rusted and beautiful.
"Oh my god," I whispered. "She's perfect."
Jacob beamed like he built her from scratch. "Dad said she still runs great. I tuned the engine."
I placed a hand on the hood like it was a sacred object. "She's got personality. I'm naming her Clementine."
Billy barked a laugh. "She's yours now, kiddo."
"Do I have to sign a pact in oil and rust?" I asked.
Jacob nodded solemnly. "That's the tradition."
Charlie stood beside me, watching us with a puzzled expression. "You like it that much?"
"I love it." I looked at him, full of warm fuzzies. "And I love you. Don't make it weird."
He flushed and coughed into his fist. "I'm not used to you being so… talkative."
"You'll adjust."
After the Blacks left, I took a long shower, changed into one of Charlie's old flannel shirts, and crawled into bed. The rain outside slowed to a drizzle, and my eyelids started to droop.
It was strange, falling asleep in a life that wasn't originally mine. But the bed was soft. The house was quiet. And for the first time since waking up in this storybook nightmare, I felt something close to peace.
The moment I hit the pillow, sleep came fast — none of that slow drift or mental chatter. Just a quiet snap.
And then... I wasn't in Forks anymore.
The sun was warm.
That was the first thing I noticed. The second was the faint scent of magnolias in the air.
I stood on a grassy knoll overlooking a wide plantation field. In the distance, boys in grey uniforms ran drills. The blue sky stretched endlessly above.
Someone was walking toward me.
Dark hair. Sharp jawline. That smirk that hadn't yet turned jaded.
He looked young. Human. Maybe seventeen.
"Afternoon, ma'am," he said with a slight Southern lilt. He tipped his hat.
I stared.
"Damon?" I breathed.
He paused. "Do I know you?"
"No. Not yet."
He tilted his head, curious rather than alarmed. "You from one of the Carolina families?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My heart was still catching up with my brain.
Damon Salvatore. Before the blood. Before the pain. Before the centuries of snark and cynicism.
Just a boy, on the edge of war.
"You looked lost," he said gently.
"I was. But maybe not anymore."
He smiled. Soft. Not seductive, not guarded — just… kind.
"Then walk with me a spell. You've got the look of someone who needs a place to be."
And so I did.
We walked under the trees, leaves whispering above. He told me about joining the army to make his father proud. About his annoying younger brother. About wanting more than honor and bloodshed.
I didn't say much.
I couldn't. Not when I knew what was coming for him.
But as the sun dipped below the tree line, and the world began to blur, I whispered the one truth I had.
"I'll see you again, Damon."
He looked back with a half-smile, eyes catching the gold of the sunset.
"I hope so, ghost girl."