Not All Bats Have Fangs Chapter 1: Black, a twilight fanfic

Ciao, everyone! Here is my latest story, in return for the sadly failed one, It was a Long Ten Years, and is called Not All Bats Have Fangs. It also outvoted Clairvoyance, in the long run, so here! I really am sorry about the other story, but I had NO idea what to do with it. The song for this chapter is called Misery, by Good Charlotte. I recommend you listen to it if you like the genre of rock, or lugubrious lyrics.

The story is Alternate Universe and quite OOC. The plot will based off of Vampire Kisses, and the Characters will be from Twilight. Of course, the plot will NOT be the same, 'cause those are boring!

It's a Twilight by Stephenie Meyer and Vampire Kisses by Ellen Schreiber crossover. I own neither one. I also don't own any of the music/bands mentioned.

Bella's Point of View

Take a look around

Don't you see it?

See that you are the only real face in the room

No one here has a clue what you're feeling

I fidgeted with my carry-on duffle bag. It was black. Obviously. The generic smell of the plain, gray airplane seats burned my nose. I preferred the aromas of wet black nail polish and the sweet scents on Halloween night.

"Miss? The plane has landed, and it is time to get off." A stewardess tapped my shoulder. Her voice was immaculate and professional, dripping purity, kindness and helpfulness. I looked up at her, with her perfect blonde bun and her perfect, ironed, navy blue stewardess uniform.

It violated everything I lived for. I lived for darkness. For individuality.

Look at all these happy people

Living their lives

Look at all these plastic people

There's nothing inside

Look at all these shallow people

Telling their lies

Today, I wore one of my many midnight black, pleated miniskirts, fishnet stockings, my combat boots, and an Emily the Strange gray t-shirt with 'YOU SUCK' clearly printed on the front. Good Charlotte's Misery blasted in my earbuds from my black I-pod nano.

"Of course." Was all I said, my own voice a flat monotone. I grabbed my duffle bag and stepped precariously into the red-carpeted aisle, purposely flaunting my boots at Ms. Perfect. I smiled fleetingly when I saw her frown in distaste.

When I exited the plane into the bustling Port Angeles International Airport, slowly and sadly, I scanned the callous crowd for my father, Chief Swan, head of police in the dreary town of Forks, Washington. I supposed the experience wouldn't be so bad. I detested Forks openly, but Phoenix, Arizona was so much worse. Too much sun. Tanned people. Sun. Happiness and activity. Far too much. For a girl like me, anyway.

Don't you know

The misery loves company

Yeah, I hoped

The misery was looking for me

Happiness is the place that's on the good of me

Yeah, I hope

That misery comes looking for me

The decision I made by traveling to the oh so wonderful town of Forks was not one I regretted, it was just one I… disliked. My mother needed space. I would give her some.

My mother, Renee Dwyer, and her new spouse, my stepfather and minor league baseball player, Phillip Dwyer, loved life. They loved the thrill and the feeling of being young. These feelings of happiness and exhilaration did not particularly mesh well with me. And so I left, giving the two their space to live fully and happily, as they indeed were. This way, at least, they wouldn't have a moody, adolescent Goth daughter to always worry about.

Not to mention, my real father, Charlie Swan. He lives all alone in a stuffy, two-story house in rainy old Forks. And now I would live there too. Wonderful.

I finally spotted him. He waved when he saw my gaze. I wrinkled up my nose to see that he was still dressed in his police uniform. Dark blue, covered in a variety of colorful badges and patches. His black leather waist-belt was weighed down by an arsenal including: a Taser, a hand gun, and some other police stuff. I inwardly groaned. This meant we'd be riding in the police cruiser, in all it's traffic-slowing glory. And hideous blue and white paint job, paired with the flashing sirens. Yuck.

I started making my way through the crowd towards him, ignoring the many stares and glares I was attracting. These people didn't understand. I didn't expect then to, with their plaid sweater-vests, tan slacks, and loafers. Their sun-hats, colorful blouses, and flowing skirts. I was quite used to it.

I had been nothing short of an outcast, back in Phoenix. People were, quite simply, afraid of me. Me, with my black eyeshadow, and me with my studded collar chokers, and me, with my dismal attire. I had no close friends, no favorite teachers, and no flashy clique to call my own, thank goodness! I was quite content to be Miss Nobody.

Everybody's singing

Everybody's moving

They're programmed

Their feelings

They're synchronizing

And criticizing

Perhaps here, in Forks, I'd get a better start. Maybe a couple friends, or maybe acquaintances, who knows? I didn't feel myself caring that much.

"Hey, kiddo!" Charlie smiled tentatively when I at last reached him, taking in my black lipstick and skull earrings. "You haven't changed one bit!" He was referring to the last time I'd seen him; two years ago. It was true. I really hadn't changed a bit, except growing taller and losing most of my childish roundness. I quickly turned the song down until it was just background music.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes, "Let's get out of here." I really was eager to escape to Charlie's, and now also my, house.

"Okay." Charlie frowned just a bit, obviously put out a bit by my lugubrious mood. "Let's go get the rest of your stuff, and we can go."

I followed my father to the luggage lines, and waited, watching the snail-paced suitcases and bags travel by me and to their respective owners. I once again ignored the stares I was getting.

Charlie was silent. I liked that about him. Thankfully untalkative, and moderately unsocial, as well. I knew he only had a few real friends, some Indian guys down from the La Push reservation that he liked to go fishing with. Bob or Billy, or something, and some other people. Our silence wasn't uncomfortable, just… silent.

And I finally saw my suitcases. They were an eyeful and an eyesore; I watched the baggage boy throw them onto the luggage line with fear and a bit of disgust. They were, of course, black. There were two of them, very large and bulky, due to the amount of clothes I owned. They were covered with a smattering of iron-on band patches; Good Charlotte, Evanescence, Aerosmith, etc. and some random stickers featuring cracked skulls and dark eyes. I broke out into true smile, right as Charlie and a good number of other random people frowned and glanced fleetingly at me, making the obvious connection as to who owned the suitcases.

"There's my stuff." I pointed without needing to, as Charlie was already locking his gaze on the steadily approaching Goth baggage.

Don't you know this misery loves me

Loves me

I could hear the murmurs, the steady spawning of quick gossip. Fools. It'd be all over town by tomorrow. The chief's death-induced, freak-of-a-girl daughter had come home to stay, for until school ended, at least.

I felt sorry for the shallow people who needed to spread rumors in order to feel important.

Charlie snagged one large suitcase off the line, thrust it to me, and grabbed the other for himself. I took mine without a word.

"Hey, Bells, what in the world do you keep in here?" Charlie grunted as we pushed our way out the airport and to the parking lot. Even with wheels, Charlie seemed to have a bit of a hard time lugging my case around.

"Stuff." I shrugged.

"It isn't drugs of something, is it?" Charlie asked worriedly and suspiciously, his inner cop taking over in response to my cryptic answer. He's need to get used to it; I was not known to be straightforward and clear in my words.

I sighed, eying the icy black parking lot asphalt with distaste; I was known to be terribly clumsy. "No, Char---Dad. I like my combat boots." And I gestured to my feet, namely my bulky and obviously heavy boots. "I've got three pairs besides these."

"Oh." Charlie said in a small, embarrassed voice. I sighed again, saying nothing. Poor, simple Charlie.

We reached the cruiser, and I popped the trunk without a word, stuffing my suitcase in and leaving just enough room for the other one. Charlie grunted as he managed to shove the case sufficiently in. He slammed the trunk shut, dusting his hands off on his cop jeans and breathing heavily. I shivered as a ghostly gust of cold, Washington wind blew into my face.

"Let's go home, kid. We can order pizza." He yawned and made his way to the driver's seat. I quickly strode to the passenger's seat after a moment, opening the door, sliding in, and slamming the door shut again with a kind of discreet contempt. The cruiser smelled a lot like the airplane, and the worn leather seats smelled like musty dust.

"OK." I said, shrugging. "I'm not hungry, though. The airplane food was crap." Charlie started up the car, backing carefully out of the cold parking lot and driving slowly out onto the highway. He turned left, onto a lane with an green, overhanging sign that read 'Forks, 30 miles'.

Again, like at the baggage line, our silence was moderately comfortable. I stared out at the dreary, green Washington landscape, while Charlie kept his eyes wordlessly on the road. I turned off my iPod and wound up the cord, stowing it in my pocket.

After about fifteen minutes of our lack of conversation, I turned to Charlie. "So… anything I should know? About town, or school?"

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "Not really. In small towns, not much changes over the years. There is one new family, though. They moved in last year, into the Berkshire Mansion, remember that? You used to play in it when you were young."

This peaked my interest. The Berkshire Mansion? No way! The place had been abandoned for years, left to rot and be covered in cobwebs and dust. I fleetingly remembered sneaking around the dark hallways as a curious seven-year-old, already naturally attracted to all things dark and spooky. "Really?" I asked Charlie, my voice gaining a bit of color.

Charlie seemed encouraged by this. "Oh, yes. The Cullens. A strange family, if you ask me, but I'm not biased." He gulped slightly.

I was peaked even further. "What can you tell me about them?" Anything to do with the Berkshire Mansion would be of interest to me.

He shifted uncomfortably. "Well… I don't know. The father, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, is a doctor at the local hospital. He's about 27, or something. His wife, Esme Cullen, I don't know much about. You don't see much of the family. I think she's a stay-at-home mom or something like that."

His words left something to be desired. I asked, "And their children? You mentioned the doctor is a father."

He nodded. "Yes. They adopted five teenagers before they moved here. All about your age, I think, 17 or 18. Carlisle and Esme might seem too young to have adopted so many kids that are in their late teens, but they manage. I'll admit, I had my worries when they first came, five teenagers and such, but the kids are actually quite civilized, no trouble at all." He licked his lips nervously. I snorted inwardly at this. I wasn't going to be making friends with a bunch of preppy, goody-goodies, no matter how cool their house was.

"That's nice." I said, closing the subject. Charlie seemed relieved that I dropped the subject.

For the rest of the ride, no one talked. I stared out the window at the mossy greenness of Forks. Clouds covered the sky dismally, obscuring all sunlight. It was a nice climate change.

Before I knew it, it was 4:00 pm, and the cruiser was pulling into Charlie's gravelly driveway, in front of the dingy house I was to call my own from now on.

I noticed a big, red, monster of a truck parked suspiciously in the extra parking space of the driveway. "Charlie, what's that?" I pointed with my black-nailed finger over his shoulder at the beast as he stopped the car. He looked up, clueless. Once he saw the truck, he seemed to suddenly remember something important. He slapped his hand to forehead with a grin. "Oh, that's for you, Bells. Consider it a homecoming gift, from me. You don't have to pay a dime." He anxiously awaited my reaction.

I peeked over his shoulder to scrutinize the truck. It was large, rusty red, and rather sub-standard. But there was something about it… it had personality. Feeling. I could actually imagine myself behind the wheel. I turned my attention back to Charlie. " I love it, Charlie, thanks!" And I meant it, my face breaking out into a small, but genuine smile. Of course, I had been saving up some cash to buy myself a car, preferably a black one, but this would do.

Charlie seemed relieved by my sudden burst of rarely-seen enthusiasm, and smiled in return. "C'mon, kid, let's go order us some pizza." He got out of the car and started towards the small porch. I glanced at the truck that was now mine before quickly following his example.

As I crunched across the gravel, I briefly wondered if Charlie could cook at all, and if he spent every night ordering pizza. If he couldn't, I supposed I could. When you live with someone as eccentric as Renee, your choices are; force down the burnt, soggy creations she refers to as 'food', starve, or learn to fend for yourself. I chose the latter option.

When I entered the threshold of the Swan home, I quickly made my observations. It was warm and cozy in a homely way, and rustic in its own sense. The kitchen was yellow and cheerful, and the small living room consisted of two faded recliners and a substandard color television. I pursed my lips. I wasn't going to be prejudiced, but I honestly couldn't wait to get to my own room, which was filled with my own style.

"So, do you like it?" Charlie asked me as he kicked off his boots into a corner, reaching for a nearby telephone.

"Yes. It's lovely." I fibbed easily, grinning good-naturedly. "When can we get my stuff from the trunk?"

"First thing tomorrow." Charlie promised, "You can go check out your room,; I'll call you down when the pizza's here."

"That's Ok, Charlie, I'm still full from the cruddy airplane food." I told Charlie as I thunked up the narrow wooden staircase. The twiggy railing felt like it could snap if I put too much pressure on it.

My room was much the same. Second door on the right. As I pushed the door open, I realized that no one had even bothered dusting it since I last took up the space.

It was a small room, with dark purple walls and black carpet. My bed had a faded black comforter, and the matching set of sheets and shams was folded messily on top. The lacy black curtains hung limply, obviously needing a good thwacking. My walls were covered in band posters, pictures, and a decrepit bulletin board near my bedside. Also next to my bedside was a dark, cherry-wood dresser with an alarm clock and a sweet lamp with a blood-red shade and bat silhouettes printed on.

I stepped gingerly into the room, careful not to whip up a dust-storm. Same old, same old. I carefully made my way to the closet, anxious to see if the clothes I had left there were still in place.

I sighed in relief as I pushed the closet door open and flipped on the light switch, seeing all my vintage t-shirts, skirts and jeans exactly as I left them, if not a bit dustier. I flipped the switch and closed the door quietly.

Now, to find a duster. I left my room and walked to the top of the stairs. I called, "Charlie, you got a duster?" I saw him jump up in surprise from the recliner he was plopped on while watching a baseball game.

Sheepishly, he turned to face me, his face red from embarrassment. "Uh, yeah Bells. There's a closet on the third door to the right full of blankets and cleaning stuff."

"Thanks."

I sauntered back past my room to retrieve the duster I would need. I found it buried under a pile of sheets. It was fuzzy and pink, ugh… Oh well.

I put the duster to good use, wiping it around the furniture in my room and dusting off all the trinkets and books until everything was returned to it's former gothic glory. I marveled at my handy work. Looking out my Windexed window, I saw that it was already dusk.

"Phew." I sighed, wiping my now-sweaty forehead and chucking the duster into a drawer. I decided a shower was in order, and departed for the bathroom. After all, I did have school tomorrow.

Quite unfortunately, I was going to have to share a bathroom with Charlie. He only had one in the house, and I dreaded the prospect of what awkward experiences might occur there. I turned on the hot water and stepped into the cramped shower-space.

As the droplets of hot water beat down onto my back, I couldn't help but ponder the facts that Charlie had given me about the family that had moved into Berkshire Mansion. What kind of people were they? What did they look like? Why did Charlie seem to feel uncomfortable when talking about them? I hummed Misery on a whim.

So you're tired of running

You're tired of hurting

You're tired of living in the light

You're tired of listening

You're tired hurting

Keep you're sadness alive

I scrubbed my body down with some raspberry vanilla body wash I found in the shower corner. I lathered my hair with some strawberry two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. After a while of standing in the shower, not doing anything in particular, the water began losing its heat. I sighed, twisted the shower knob to turn it off, and slouched out into the contrastingly cold air of the bathroom. Fog steamed up the mirror and the single window.

Wrapping myself in a black and white striped towel I'd brought from Phoenix, I approached the small, foggy bathroom mirror. It had a slight crack in the bottom left corner, and I could tell the whole thing could swing open to reveal a cabinet. I wiped the steam off to scrutinize my reflection.

I had forgotten to wipe off my makeup before showering. Unfortunately, black streaks of what was once my eyeliner, eye shadow, and mascara ran down my pale white cheeks like black rain on a window.

"Crap." I murmured, snagging a cotton ball from a little glass jar under the sink. I hurriedly wiped my streaked face, cleaning it of all cosmetics. I rubbed off the remnants of my black lipstick.

The difference between the real me, and the one I saw staring morosely back at me now, was startling. Without my makeup, I looked like one of those cheerleader girls, confident and pretty. Not to mention vain and shallow.

But I didn't think of myself that way. My bone-white, porcelain colored skin and mahogany brown hair looked so much more… right, with black Kohl and lip gloss. So much better with black, lacy camisoles and rockster logos, rather than pink miniskirts and Prada purses. I shuddered away from those giant Barbie dolls.

Scowling my signature scowl, I escaped the bathroom and the mirror to my bedroom, my safe haven with Charlie's rustic small-town house. I tossed my damp towel across the room and threw on a baggy Corpse Bride t-shirt and army-style shorts from my closet. Then I plopped onto my saggy bed, burying myself alive with black cloth.

And all too soon, even with my wet hair pressing down my back, even with the imminent mystery of 'the Cullens', even with the prospect of school at my throat, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Whoa hoah

Misery's my company

Whoa hoah

Misery is looking for me

Looking for me

There! It's done! I'm proud! I hope you liked it… sort of.

Please Review, or I'll set my Siamese cat named Robby on you!

Next chapter is school… and a bit of Edward…