Hello! Welcome to my imaginings of the development of the Cullen Family. I have started from the time that Edward returns from his rebellious years and intend to continue until it comes to a natural end! These stories are entirely my own imaginings, based on Stephanie Meyer's original stories and all canon facts. A companion piece, Perfection, follows Rosalie's human life as she moves closer to the change.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts on this story and any of your agreements/disagreements to how the characters evolve. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Homecoming

December 1930

Edward

I paced nervously through the living room, waiting for the voices absent in my head since I had run away from the life and family they had created. I knew they had said they would accept me back, but did I even deserve their forgiveness? Their love? Part of me wanted to bolt back out the open window through which I had climbed in their beautiful Rochester house, and try to drown the shame I felt at betraying the pure goodness of my creator. If they accepted me, I would strive to be the son they believed me to be. To atone for the horror of the crimes I had committed.

But why would they accept you back? A voice in my head intruded. What have you done that they would accept you when you betrayed their trust?

My stomach twisted at the thought of their rejection. It was true. There was no reason for them to want me as part of the family again after I had clearly displayed my contempt for their way of life. I would accept whatever they said. When I said my piece, I would leave, and try to live the moral life on my own, resisting the temptation of human blood. I saw an image of myself running through the Canadian wilderness alone, never sharing another hunt with the two individuals I loved, and pain shot through the place where my heart used to beat.

Yes, that is what I will do, I affirmed fiercely to myself. I cannot return to the life of the avenger, for it only ended in blood and despair.

As I was caught up in these thought, steeling myself for their rejection, a mental voice emerged that though I had not heard in years, I would have known even amidst the loudest city of voices.

Carlisle.

It's most likely nothing to worry about.My creator comforted his wife, gently dismissing her fears.

You're right, I suppose Esme said to Carlisle as they drove their car back home. A vision of a beautiful young woman glaring at her in disgust faded as Carlisle gently squeezed her hand.
They were coming. So close I could almost make out their voices in the raging snowstorm, my stomach twisted again. I forced myself to stop pacing and sit on the couch, my stillness belying the war going on in my head as I awaited what felt like the final judgment. To calm myself, I listened to their conversation.

We'll be more cautious around her in the future, Carlisle smiled at Esme, trying to reassure her that there was no reason to fear. I noted that he had many similar experiences that had evaporated with time. Still, the feeling that they might need to leave Rochester soon echoed in his mind.

But in any case he continued, dismissing the case in his mind, I wouldn't let it spoil your evening.His smile widened as he envisioned that evening. Out of habit, I grimaced at the mental images he conjured of slipping the red dress she wore from her shoulders.

The taste of punch wasn't nearly as good as I remember as a girlEsme responded dryly, missing Carlisle's innuendo as her stomach protested the human drink.

"Your expression was priceless! Though I can't understand why anyone would ever wish to ingest something that was colored such a shocking shade of pink" Carlisle said teasingly, his voice coming through more clearly with the engine off. A new level of panic arose as I realized they had finally reached the house.

As Esme leaned in, thoughts of tickling him interrupted by the pleasure of his kiss, a new fear entered my mind. Would the first time I had seen my father and mother in four years be in a moment of passion?

"Let's go inside" Esme whispered to him as they made their way out of the car.

Carlisle glanced at the house in anticipation, noting the open window I had used as my entry point. "Perhaps it was a poor idea to leave a window open. There may be half a foot of snow in your kitchen by now."

Esme's stomach twisted again as she remembered her baking endeavors. She slid the key into the lock of the door, opening it as she tried to block out the potent scent in her memory. "Better then the awful smell of those pies. I may never be able to look at a blueberry the same way after—"

Her words cut off as both she and Carlisle smelled my scent for the first time. Shock registered in their parallel thoughts as they analyzed my smell, registering that its strength meant I was still in the vicinity. Esme moaned quietly as I felt both of their hopes rise, though tempered by disbelief. They gazed at each other, and I saw through both of their eyes, the relief and hope permeating their senses. Their mental voices spoke in accord.

Edward

I rose quietly, listening to their hesitant movements as they entered the house and moved toward the increasing intensity of my scent. I rose slowly, shifting from foot to foot as I stared down, willing myself to keep control of the rising intensity of emotions coursing through me. Desperation, yearning, anxiety, and just a sliver of hope. No, I would not allow myself hope.

I heard them come closer, but kept my eyes on my feet. A half second passed with complete silence, as I ran through the multitudes of conversations I had had in my mind's eye in anticipation of this single moment. I steeled myself, preparing the speech I had painstakingly crafted in my travels.

I raised my eyes, "Mother, Father, I—" the speech died on my lips as Esme rushed to me, enveloping me in a hug as she sobbed tearlessly. Surprised at the intensity of her relief and love, I wrapped my arms around her small form, holding desperately to not only my mother, but also to the hope I dared not indulge in, that they would take me back.

"Edward, Edward," she sobbed into my chest. I hugged her back for a second more before I carefully detached myself. I would need to say my part, and give them the option of whether or not to take me back.

Esme looked up at me, fear and vulnerability flicked through her eyes. Her breath caught in her through as she thought Is he going to leave again? She stepped back from my still form.
I tore my eyes away from her, pain coursing through me at the thought of leaving this gentle woman again. I glanced away, composing my features as I fortified myself for the final moment that approached. I wouldsay my piece before I collapsed into the sobbing boy I felt certain would take over at any moment.

Even so, weakness overrode me. I could not look into my father's eyes.

"Mother, Father. I know that over the past four years , and even before, I have given you little reason to accept me. My behavior has been abhorrent as I rejected everything you stand for, morality, perseverance, and the strongest kind of internal strength. I have done terrible things, committed crimes for which no one should receive forgiveness or clemency. While I cannot regret taking the lives of some of those I murdered," I thought with rage of the terrible thoughts of the killers I had hunted, but continued "I realized over time that there is no being on earth that can make these judgments in clear conscience and with absolute moral authority on their side."

I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath. The moment of truth. "I know that I can never gain absolution, and have sacrificed the place in your hearts for the despair that was my due after years of subsuming myself in the blood of others. Still, I had to come back and beg your forgiveness. With every fiber of my being, I am ashamed of my actions, of playing false on your faith in me and so carelessly throwing away the warmth and love of your home. I will not ask you to take me back, as I know that I can never earn your love again," as desperately as my heart may desire it,I added silently to myself. "But I did want to try to atone in some measure, to the violation of your trust, and to let you know that I will, for the rest of my existence, avoid the temptation to murder humans, and try to live the life you have created."

My forced composure crumbled as sobs I had tried to contain rose in my throat and my eyes finally met my father's. He was listening intently to my words, a fierce edge to his thoughts that I couldn't quite identify and was somewhat scared to try. I spoke my next words directly to him, begging him as my body shook.
"Will you forgive me?"

His eyes burned golden as he swiftly crossed the room and wrapped me in a hug.
"There is nothing to forgive," he choked back, his body shaking with me as I cried tearlessly into his shoulder, wrapped in a tight embrace. It was not anger or resentment that I read in his thoughts but wordless relief and fierce love. I realized he was shaking too, releasing the wound of despair that our long separation had wrought. It felt unlike any emotion I had experienced in the past four years. It felt safe.

...

In the weeks since I had returned, I spent all my free time trying to make amends, in some way trying to prove that I deserved the warm, open arms with which Carlisle and Esme received me. As soon they had recovered their shock of seeing me again, they immediately employed me in activities, in unison fearful that I would take off at the slightest provocation.

Carefully avoiding the topic of my time away, Esme threw herself into a redecoration of the entire stylish house in which they were staying. Even my untrained eye could detect the glorious lines of symmetry and artistic bay windows that Frank Lloyd Wright had so carefully designed. I particularly enjoyed Esme's thrill every time the house gave her new architectural design ideas that caused her to drop whatever activity was occupying her mind and rush to her sketch table, picturing a new dining room set or high angled ceiling.

Aside from the home, I became her main occupation. While I would have been happy to just sit and observe, reading one of Carlisle's new medical journals or paging mindlessly through the numbing descriptions of Rochester's elite, I was instead conscripted into moving around the furniture endlessly, matching a specific shade of beige to one of three shades of green that would have been indistinguishable to the human eye, and placing new, carefully selected decorative pillows on the spotlessly clean couches.

Every so often I would notice a break in her composure, a longing glance at the impeccable grand piano. They had bought it for me in the hope that I would again one day play its untouched keys. I could not bring myself back to that reminder of my former life, however. I resolved that I would master myself before I allowed the selfish pleasure and escape I received in its keys. A mastery that was, so far, eluding me in my relationship with my father.

A perfect balance to his wife, Carlisle approached me in a very different manner. He called his employer and asked two weeks off of work with the excuse that he needed to take Esme on a spontaneous vacation. When I gently joked that he might want to take the time, his thoughts suddenly became stricken, fearful that I was looking for a way to leave again, until I quickly explained that I jesting. He remained politely entertained at Esme's efforts but mostly stayed silent, preferring to observe from a corner as his wife swirled around him, pulling me with her. I knew he was trying to allow me to decide for myself whether I should be staying, whether it was the right move for me, but was not ready to believe he would forgive me so easily when I could not forgive myself. I, meanwhile, avoided direct eye contact, but paid close attention to his every thought for notice of his feelings.

Since the first night's display of emotion, he seemed almost clinically detached from the emotion in the house. He controlled his thoughts by meditating on new surgical procedures, but every so often, when he glanced up at Esme engaging me in yet another of her endless tasks, I caught him silently praying that I wouldn't leave again, pain and fear edging his thoughts. He yearned to have his son back, that this time I would stay for good. Still, I no concept on how I should approach him, how I could begin to atone for my actions to not only regain the bond we once shared that was perhaps was gone forever, but also to become the son he wanted me to be.

It wasn't until thee weeks after my homecoming that I had truly understood the effect that my departure had wrought on Carlisle. He had resumed work and gently suggested that we go hunting after returning from his shift. Esme and I had been only two days earlier, but I saw in his eyes that he wanted some time alone with me. After sharing a meaningful look with Carlisle, Esme claimed that she had to work on a portfolio for one of the advanced architectural design classes she was taking and thus stay in for the night.

We drove through the night to a forest area less than 20 minutes outside of Rochester. Parking on the side of the road, I sped through the purple-toned velvet night with Carlisle trailing just behind me. I crossed paths of his and Esme's scent, and heard the quickened heartbeats of tiny animals trembling with fear as they recognized our predatory nature. In the silence I quickly found a herd of deer and adjusted my path to the Northwest, quickly felling a large male before they knew we were upon them. As we finished our meal, I waited for Carlisle to make the first move, knowing he was agonizing over the right words to start our conversation. He had carefully shielded his thoughts on the drive and in advance of the hunt, taking comfort in just being in my presence. He gazed at me, memorizing every line and motion.

As I listened to the tenor of his thoughts, I began to see that my time away had deeply affected him. Wrapped up as I was on my own shame, my need to somehow make up my absence to him, I had not taken into account the affect that my departure had on Carlisle, me being his first creation and one that had significantly changed him. As I destroyed my sense of self, hunting killers in the night, Carlisle had struggled with himself, as he continued to struggle now.

"Son..." he started, almost desperately, stopping before he began. With those words, his entire emotional state was laid bare for me. I gasped with the agony and sorrow I felt pouring off of him, echoing my own internal misery. I was resopnsible for the pensive man he had become, the crisis of faith in his world and himself that had overtaken him. I had profoundly shaken Carlisle's belief in his actions. He questioned whether he should have turned me, forcing me into a constantly cycle of denial or, if I did not deny, placed me into the role of a god, deciding who should live and who should die. Most disturbingly, I had caused him to question his own sense of right and wrong, whether expectations for living his 'vegetarian' lifestyle were too high for me or any other of our kind.

I fell to my knees, absorbing the tumultuous thoughts as they compounded my own insecurities. He quickly tried to cover up his emotions, but it was too late. I understood only a taste of how deeply I had hurt him, how terrified he was of my leaving again, how much he blamed himself for it.

I started to shake, his thoughts replaying themselves in my mind. Clutching my chest my shoulders shook, crying for his pain as well as for my own.

"Carlisle..." I sobbed, rocking back and forth against the ache as it emerged in my voice "I'm so, so sorry." Those words, the only ones I could utter, did not even begin to express the depth of my emotion, but somehow this compassionate, loving man who had chosen me understood and instantly accepted my apology. In a fraction of a second his arms were around me. His mind and body shook too, wishing they could alleviate my tormeent, hoping for just a few more minutes of this, of us together again. For the second time in a month, I had become a lost child, sobbing in the arms of a man so much better than myself.

As my shaking subsided, I felt his emotions shift, from sharing in my grief and wishing there was something, anything he could do to prove to me my own worth, to slowly, painfully, beginning to prepare and mourn for losing me again. That thought brought me up short. He was waiting, looking for me to leave. Did he already want me gone so soon? I pulled away, looking up at him, uncertainty and fear dominating my thoughts as I realized that he might not want me back.

"Of course I understand if you want me to leave," my still heart throbbing at the idea of leaving two people so dear to me.

Unable to speak from emotion Carlisle expressed through his thoughts, Of course I don't want you to leave...son. His simple utterance almost undid me again. I clutched at his words for hope but only found despair in his thoughts. But I understand if you have to go. I know that the life we choose is not an easy one, and perhaps one that goes against our very inclinations. I only want what is best for you.

Finally grasping that he was not forcing me to leave but rather that he thought I would leave again of my own accord to pursue the life that I so recently had held.

"So your fear is not of having a murderous, soulless demon in your house, but that I will leave voluntarily?" I said, disbelief coloring my words.

You are far from being a demon, my son. He thought back at me fiercely. And my opinions on your soul remain unchanged. But yes, I will understand if you choose to leave us for a different life.

"Carlisle, father," He looked up suddenly, joy radiating though him as he reveled in the word. "I don't want to leave. You and Esme are my family. While I understand if what I have done disgraced you, I will not leave unless you ask me to go. You would be entirely in your rights to do so in light of my recent actions, but I hope," I paused, looking into his face, intent on my every word, "I hope very much that you will allow me to stay."

His face burst into a smile, hope shining through his pure, genuine mind as he dared to allow himself to consider that I was here to stay.

"Yes,I'll stay" I answered his unspoken question tentatively, adding quickly, "Only if you want me, naturally. Please know that if you do not choose to take me back, I will feel you entirely justified. I do not want you to acquire the weight of sins I have burdened on myself or have to face the terror of the life that I chose. No matter how earnestly I wish I could repair my actions of the last few years, I can never truly repent." I wanted to convey just how great my shame was, the terror that I had become.

I read him absorbing the distress in my face and quickly composed a mask over my emotions. I would not unduly influence him, playing on his compassion and taking me in out of pity for my state of mind. It was time I faced the consequences of my actions, no matter if they tore me from the very place I could finally learn to heal. I held my unnecessary breath, the decision hanging like an axe over my head, sentencing me to renewal or despair.

Instead, I registered a nearly imperceptible change in his face that I couldn't quite identify. He placed his hands on my shoulders, his unreadable expression burning through his golden eyes. Fervently, he said "Then stay. Pleasestay. No matter what you do or have done, you will always be my son. There is no action that you could do that would cause me to want you any less than with whole self. You belong with us, and there you will stay."

Then I recognized the expression. It was not anger or contempt. No. It was pride. Somehow this benevolent leader, my creator, the only father I had, examined the contempt I held for myself, the terrible actions I had committed, the rejection of every lesson he had ever taught me, and was proud that I was willing to stand up to my actions.

"Come," he said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand. "Let's go home. Together."

As I examined his outstretched hand, I finally understood. There really was nothing to forgive, despite the fact that I would try to make up for my actions for the rest of my existence. With him, I was home. And there was no other place that I could be.

In the moonlight I took his hand, swiftly getting to my feet. With my father at my side, I ran back to the life I would create. I would prove that I was deserving of his pride. My life would begin anew.