So I'm uploading this fic to my FFN account as well because I heard the fandom is larger here. Otherwise, I feel obligated to point out my Twilight knowledge is shady at best so enjoy this fic for its entertainment value :P

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1. Charon

Rosalie was there to witness the car crash completely by accident, despite her supernatural abilities. She'd been washing her face in the creek, ridding herself of the more gruesome blood stains, when she heard screeching tires and an awfully loud crash. Metal creaked unpleasantly, and another crash thundered through the woods.

Normally, Rosalie would know better than to investigate, but she had just fed, so she trusted her restraint. She blurred towards the noise, coming to stand at a road with visible tire tracks. The marks were easy to find, the black stripes across the asphalt still smelling strongly of burned rubber.

Also, the smoking wreck folded around a tree around fifty feet down the hill was a big hint.

She was about to head down the steep incline, when the sound of footsteps drew her attention to a figure standing next to her. The figure was a woman in her twenties, face mostly obscured by long dark hair and a large wine-colored hoodie.

The crash must have attracted a disaster tourist, ruining her chances to do damage control.

Rosalie's assumption was quickly corrected when the woman stepped forwards, skidding down the dirt incline.

"Hey!" Rosalie called, taking a step forward but catching herself just in time. It wouldn't do to expose herself to humans. Even if it was to save one from making a stupid mistake.

"Huh?" During the next split second, the stranger turned to look at who was yelling, her dark eyes widening as her foot caught on loose ground or whatever—Rosalie wasn't paying much attention to her feet. "Whu—oh shit!" She toppled over, rolling the rest of the way down until she hit the side of the crashed car with a sickening crunch.

Rosalie grimaced, quickly checking the road for other bystanders before speeding over. The air was thick with gas fumes and smoke, and she kneeled over the woman, intending to get her away from the wreck that was quickly turning into a bomb.

"I'm—ugh, oh God—I'm fine!" she coughed, all kinds of bones snapping as she rolled onto her hands and knees. "Get him—the driver."

Rosalie was unsure what to think of the woman and her many not-so-fine-sounding injuries, but at the sight of healthy determination reflecting in her brown eyes, she followed the suggestion.

The driver was obscured by a cracked window, and she made quick work of it, smashing it with a controlled tap of the elbow. A wave of fresh blood assaulted Rosalie, staggering her for a moment as she held her sleeve in front of her nose. The man inside showed no sign of bleeding, but was wheezing to get a decent breath in. She was suddenly infinitely grateful the crash interrupted her hunt.

The disaster tourist took her inaction as an opportunity to unlock the door and try to open it. When it didn't budge, she pushed inside to free the man, inelegantly lifting him through the window.

Rosalie's lip lifted in a snarl. If she had just waited, she could have forced the door open and carried him to safety. The hubris of man just signed his death warrant. And the worst of it was that she couldn't do anything about it without revealing herself.

She bit back her anger, and helped to lift the man through the window, making sure to take most of the weight before the woman got herself killed too. They dropped him a generous distance from the smoking wreck, and the woman kneeled down beside the driver, grasping his hand like they were familiar.

Rosalie was about to suggest calling 911 when a familiar crackling made the hairs on her arms stand on end. She twisted around so fast, the movement seemed instantaneous, and she caught sight of the crackling spark, setting fire to the leaked gas.

She didn't stick around to watch the fire spread, falling to her knees and grasping the woman to the front of her chest to protect her from the incoming blast.

The shockwave didn't knock Rosalie over, but pieces of flying shrapnel did. She took the brunt of the impact, landing sideways in the dirt.

The sudden change of scenery left her slightly disoriented, and her eyes roamed to find the woman talking to the man, who was by all means on the cusp of death. By the time Rosalie had gotten up, the man had become completely silent.

"I'm sorr—"

"Ugh, holy—fuck!"

Rosalie's mouth fell open, then quickly snapped shut so she could shoot the woman an indignant frown. She reached for something that Rosalie belatedly realized was a shard of metal, lodged in her side. Before she could advise against pulling it out, it was already too late.

"Oh, okay, that stings," she hissed through gritted teeth, dropping the bloodied shard in the grass next to her. She looked up at Rosalie, making prolonged eye contact. The only reason Rosalie didn't respond was because she was stumped at the progression of events. "Sorry about the blood."

Rosalie glanced down at the blood on the woman's hands, preparing herself for the onslaught of instincts, only to find them absent. "What," she breathed, brain kicking into gear. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stared her down. "Why would blood bother me?"

"You're—you—" she spoke haltingly, appearing out of breath even though she was still sitting on the ground. She tilted her head, looking almost pained to produce an explanation.

Or maybe she was literally pained.

"Rosalie?" she whispered.

Rosalie perked up, facial features slackening in alarm.

###

Twigs snapped underneath Rosalie's boot as she came to a stop in the woods. She looked around cautiously, unaware of how she arrived there. Instinctively, she reached out with her senses.

Birds chirped in the distance. A squirrel scurried up a tree. The wind rustled leaves. A stray car drove down the road much farther away.

She shook off the slight haze that had settled in her mind, and continued her way back home.

###

Rosalie wandered the streets of downtown Forks. The sun had set around an hour ago, casting a chilly blanket of darkness over the town.

The past few days had felt strange to her, like the color gradient of her surroundings were off; like she'd gone deaf to a warning shout; or maybe like she had forgotten something important. That seemed the most likely, as she wasn't aware of vampire senses being able to deteriorate, but for the life of it, she could not remember what was important enough to simultaneously forget and mull over.

She focused on breathing in the cool air, eyes and ears roaming the streets for a distraction from the unsettling feeling churning in her stomach.

A couple of men were arguing in their car in the parking lot, having a screaming match about faulty directions and whose fault it was.

A group of girls were walking down the street, some of their arms linked as they talked and laughed on their way to their destination.

A sole woman stood in front of a store front, producing an obnoxious slurping sound as she sucked on the straw of what seemed to be a strawberry milkshake.

Rosalie's step faltered as she took in the woman. There was something about the picture that she painted that intensified the unsettling feeling. She'd seen people wear hoodies underneath peacoats before, but in combination with the unruly hair and pale features, it—it just nagged at her and she couldn't let it go.

She approached the woman, and with every step in her direction, she also came closer to... it. Whatever it was. She could almost taste it.

Once Rosalie was a few feet away, the woman noticed her presence and looked up, eyes large and questioning, the straw still pressed between her lips.

It hit Rosalie like a freight train. Roughly half an hour worth of memories spilled into her mind. The crashed car, the driver who died, the explosion, the revelation that Bella knew her from somewhere—

Whoever this was, she had violated her mind. Before she was conscious of her actions, she had rushed forwards and roughly grasped the woman by the collar and pushed her against the concrete wall. The milkshake fell to the ground, spilling its meager contents. "What are you?" she growled. "What else did you take from me?"

Miraculously, Bella didn't choke on her drink, but she did let out an uncomfortable, deep weeze, preventing her from answering immediately. "What?" she gasped, hands shooting up to clutch at Rosalie's arm.

The cloth beneath her hands tore with the strength of her grip. In the distance, the vague smell of wet grass and pine permeated. It was strange in the context of the dry urban parts of Forks, but Rosalie didn't pay it much attention. "Don't play dumb with me."

"I'm not! I'm not, I swear," she said quickly, holding on fast. A pleasant heat seeped into Rosalie's arm where her hands were. "I didn't take anything from you."

Rosalie drew back her lip in a snarl, inching closer until she could feel Bella's breaths coming fast and shallow against her cheeks. "You took my memories of you!" she whispered harshly. "You better start talking before I start breaking bones."

Bella's eyes widened, stopping her wiggling. "Jesus. Calm down. I'll tell you everything. There's no need to get violent."

Rosalie blinked, unsure if she was serious or not. She wasn't about to take the chance of forgetting again, however, so she kept her grip. "Then speak."

"I come for the dead. To make their passing easier," Bella whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening in. "I could be death? I don't know." Her breaths started coming easier and her stiff posture relaxed as she spoke. It was oddly infectious, and Rosalie found her grip slackening as well. "People shouldn't be able to see me when I'm—when I'm working."

Rosalie furrowed her brow, not quite understanding (or believing, for that matter), but needing more information.

"I think—look, I'm not going anywhere. Could you let go?" she asked, gingerly patting her arm. When Rosalie didn't budge, she continued in a soft voice, "We met in the 1900s. I—I was there for you, but a man took you away."

Rather than entertaining her, Rosalie scoffed. "That describes nearly half of the vampire population—"

"You were left for dead!" She stopped talking, grimacing and wiggling in frustration. "Why don't you remember?" she hissed to herself, then glanced down at where her hands were holding Rosalie's clothed arm. "Fuck it," she said, and Rosalie nearly reared back when one hand shot down her arm to cover her hand and the other reached out to touch the side of her neck.

Rosalie gasped softly at the warmth that slithered across her skin, settling quick and deep in her chest, melting her from the inside out. The scent of wet grass and pine seemed to originate from directly around them, as if they were standing in a clearing, even though they were in the middle of the street. She felt soft and malleable, almost human, and she suddenly realized where she'd seen those kind brown eyes before.

###

Rosalie's world was reduced to betrayal, pain, and fear as she lay on the muddy ground. Her body was suffused in it, choking, and there seemed to be no end to the creeping torture. Even the sky was void of light.

"—here, I'm here!" A panicked voice came to a halt next to her. But it was too late, Rosalie thought bitterly, hatefully. "Shit, I should've come sooner."

Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut, unable to ignore the acidic burn of pain, both physical and emotional. Even dying had to become a humiliating experience for her.

A hand came to rest on top of her own, and it seeped warmth without restrictions. Rosalie wanted to recoil from the touch, but the warmth seeped into every corner of her mind and body with such speed, bringing so much desperately needed peace, the impulse faded as quick as it came. Breathing was difficult, but no longer constricted, her blood stopped roaring in her ears, and her skin didn't creep uneasily.

Suddenly, the hand disappeared, along with the calm. "Don't." Her eyes shot open, coming face to face with sad, brown eyes. It took a moment, but Rosalie realized the croaked plea was her own.

"Shh, I'm not going anywhere," Bella whispered. There was a brief rustling as she took off her jacket and Rosalie felt a hand on her neck, lifting her gently and letting her rest on the much softer folded piece of clothing.

The hand wrapped itself around hers again, and this time, Rosalie found herself clutching to it and everything it brought. The calm returned, and Rosalie swore she could hear birds chirping, and smell the warm, drying earth after a spring shower.

"You're not alone," Bella said, attracting Rosalie's attention once again. She hovered close, kneeling in the mud next to her. "Everything is going to work out, you'll see. You will be loved and at peace." She raised her hand, carefully removing the hair from Rosalie's face. Her soft smile felt like the sun's warm rays. "And I'm going to stay and make sure it happens."

Rosalie was doubtful at first, but something about her seemed so honest and the words rang so true, she ended up believing her. She didn't even realize she had let go of the rage and injustice, no longer mourned the possibilities she lost in life, because everything was going to turn out fine.

She had been so anchored by kind brown eyes, that it felt like a shock to her system when she looked up and away from her. They were focused on a man, rushing over and announcing he was a doctor before he so much as touched her. She knew, rationally, that he was trying to help, but she didn't care. As long as she held on, she was going to be fine.

He moved quickly and with practised hands, only stopping after he had assessed the gravity of her wounds.

It felt like ages before the world started moving again.

The man helped Rosalie up in a sitting position and it hurt, but she still felt fine, clutching to the peace, to Bella. Worry only began to nip at her feet when Bella looked stricken, when she desperately tried to push the man away from her. She thought she caught her punching him too, but there was no impact.

Rosalie frowned, eyes still glued to Bella as she tried to piece everything together, before a sharp pain exploded from her neck, ripping her from peace's embrace.

###

Rosalie only stopped running once rational thought caught up with her, and she wasn't surprised she was surrounded by the woods once again. She'd looked Death in the face, not once, but twice. And what was worse, Death witnessed her at her most vulnerable, only for Rosalie to attack and threaten her a century later. Surely, Death was familiar with the more extreme emotions and held no grudges?

She slumped against a nearby tree, regaining her senses one by one. The bark was rough against her shoulder, chipping away easily underneath her weight. Her hands were still clenched tight, and she made a conscious effort to loosen them.

Something sparkling fell from her slackened hand, along with a piece of cloth that used to be part of Bella's collar.

Still feeling a little numb, she reached down and picked up a shiny trinket from between dry leaves. It appeared to be a silver medallion, around half an inch wide, hanging from a broken chain. With a barely visible grimace, she realized she must have torn it from Death's neck during her escape.

She turned the medallion over, revealing the design in the dim moonlight. It depicted a man standing on a simple boat, the type of robes he was wearing and the style of the imprint seeming greek. "Charon?" she whispered to herself.

Maybe she hadn't insulted Death, but just the ferryman that helped souls cross over.

"Great," she muttered sarcastically, realizing she only doomed herself to wander the afterlife endlessly.

Thankfully, if luck was with her, she had a long, long undead life ahead of her to wander the world aimlessly.

She figured there were two things she could do; forget about it and hope the ferryman did the same or embark on a journey to find her and apologize.

Casting a glance at her surroundings, she pocketed the medallion.