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Normality	By : AlphaOmegaPsi Category: Twilight Series > AU/AR > Slash Views: 2983 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

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AN: I have pretty much nothing to say, other than I both love and hate this story. I'm liking the direction my mind is taking it.

Kinda weird, hope you like.

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It wasn’t easy having a Werewolf for a father.

Besides the horrible temper, he always wanted to wrestle or goof around. With any other dad, that wouldn’t have been a problem, but since I didn’t possess the same strength as him, it often led to me sporting big black bruises or broken bones. We weren’t strangers to Child Services.

My sister Lizzie usually avoided this treatment, since dad still thought of her as his delicate little flower. Little did he know that no matter how often I worked out, I still could never beat her at arm-wrestling contest. Her gloating afterward was far from delicate.

Still, it wasn’t like I hated my family. My dad and sister were just a little too weird for me. I identified most with my mom, who was completely human, inside and out. I felt like she knew what it was like for me to be average in a family like this.

Yeah, I was a momma’s boy. I inherited my father’s temper, though. I was infamous at school for being the quiet boy who could snap in a second. Most people stayed away from me because of it, but it wasn’t like I didn’t have friends. Sure, most of them were adults and Werewolves…okay, all of them were adults and Werewolves. They were the only ones who weren’t afraid of me snapping, who could take my blows and pin me until I calmed down. Sometimes Lizzie could too, if she caught me before I got too bad. It was hard to believe she was two years younger than me.

Sure, it wasn’t fun being avoided most of the time in school. Everyone being on edge around you, scared to say the wrong thing in case you get in the merry mood to rip their heads from their shoulders, it was a real bummer.

It wasn’t easy having a Werewolf as a father, but getting none of the powers and still retaining all the freakish glory…that was even worse.

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“Something’s bothering you today.”

I stared at the yellow stress ball I was throwing up in the air and catching, too mesmerized by the rhythmic movement to look up at my blonde, middle-aged therapist.

“No more than usual,” I mumbled. Up and down and up and down. I breathed with the rhythm, noting with some amusement that my heart rate rose along with it.

“Barlie, look at me.” I glanced over at the old bag just in time to miss the ball on the way back down. It fell harmlessly on my face and rolled across the floor to the other side of the room. I frowned after it, but didn’t fetch it.

“Nothing’s bothering me,” I said, still staring after the ball. My therapist - Mrs. Mavis, I think her name was- sighed and scribbled something down on her little pad of paper.

“I can’t help you if you’re going to keep things from me,” she said, her tone clipped but careful. Even she was scared of my tempers. I scowled, finally looking her in the eye.

“I’m not keeping anything from you. There’s just nothing really going on.”

“Uh-huh…how’s your father?” I grimaced as I realized he was out with the wolves today. I could have gone too if I didn’t have to go to this stupid therapy session my parents insisted on. Mrs. Mavis scribbled in her pad furiously.

Of course, it was probably at least partially influenced by the state. They were trying their damned hardest to prove my father was abusing me. He wasn’t, really; he was a little rough, but he never intentionally hurt me. He was used to dealing with much stronger people was all. Besides, it wasn’t as if they could really take me away from home. I wouldn’t be a minor anymore in three months, and there was nothing they could do after that.

“He’s fine,” I said, half-smiling for her benefit alone. “He’s a really great, loving father. I’m lucky to have him.”

“Any new injuries lately?” she asked, staring intently at my face as she spoke. “Any trips to the hospital you’d like to tell me about?”

“None for about six months now,” I answered easily. Dad had let up a little bit when he realized just how serious the situation was. He spent a lot of time with the wolves to get rid of the pent-up energy.

“Nothing…else?” Her gaze was piercing as she stared at me through her wire-rimmed glasses. “You know you can tell me anything. I know you’re trying to protect your father, but if he’s doing something bad…”

“He’s not a bad guy!” I yelled, slamming my hand down on the glass coffee table. When I pulled my fist away, cracks were spreading on the surface and blood was dripping from a cut on my hand.

“Shit,” I muttered, trying to keep it from dripping on the couch I was sitting on. “Can I get a towel?”

“Of course.” Ms. Mavis fetched one from her desk kept specially for these occasions and handed it to me. Though she tried to put up a cool front to act like she wasn’t afraid of me, I could see her shaking and the way she didn’t seem to want to make physical contact with me at all. I sopped up the blood with the towel, wincing at the pain.

“I think I should go to the hospital,” I said, standing up. “There might be glass in there; I should get it cleaned out.” Ms. Mavis nodded and led me to the door, the look of veiled relief all-too-evident on her face.

“We’ll pick this up again next week,” she said. “Feel better.” She couldn’t get the door closed quick enough as I walked away, past the receptionist and out into the quiet, dreary streets.

I didn’t head to the hospital like I said I would; instead, I went straight home. I didn’t feel like dealing with all the questioning again, and besides my mother was more than capable of fixing a little cut like this. She was a nurse, and a pretty damn good one too. She usually picked me up after sessions, so when I walked in almost half an hour early she was visibly surprised.

“Barlie? What are you doing home so soon?” She glanced at my hand. “What happened? You’re bleeding! Sit down, sit down now!” She pushed me into a chair in the kitchen and rummaged around in the drawer until she found her pair of tweezers and a roll of clean gauze. She also fetched rubbing alcohol and some cotton balls from the medicine cabinet.

“You should have gone to the hospital,” she admonished, moving the towel aside and peering into the cut. “Just as I thought; there’s a few shards imbedded in the skin. Damn it, Barlie, what did you break this time?”

“I just cracked a coffee table,” I said. “No big deal. She’s a therapist; she can afford to replace it.”

“That’s not really the point, is it?” She carefully grasped a sliver from the cut and I hissed as she pulled it free.

“That stings,” I complained.

“It’s going to sting a lot worse if you keep squirming like that.” She pinned my hand down on the wooden table. “Hold still. I think I only see two more.”

“So is dad still out?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the pain.

“Yes…he went to Sam’s a few hours ago and hasn’t been back since. He didn’t even call.” She scowled as she gently eased another sliver out. “I swear, sometimes I think he loves those guys more than he does me.”

“You know that’s not true, mom.” I smiled reassuringly. “Dad’s over the moon about you. Has been since you guys met. He just needs a place to vent his energy, and doing that around here is dangerous.”

“Well, you’re probably right, but I still wish he’d stay around a little more often.” She eased a small, almost microscopic piece of glass out of my hand and dropped it on the table. “Okay, make a fist. Is there any sharp pain in the cut?” I flexed my wounded hand a couple times, and aside from the pain of the cut there was nothing.

“I think you got it all,” I said. Mom sighed in relief.

“Good,” she said, sweeping the glass carefully off the table and throwing it away. “Now comes the fun part.”

“Swell.” I braced myself for that cold, demonic liquid, but there was no real way to prepare. Once it hit an open wound, it got inside and stung so much it made me want to throw a chair up against a wall. Lucky for our chairs, and our walls, mom had that innate ability to calm me down that all mothers seemed equipped with. She dabbed gently at the cut, all the while gently stroking my arm and humming a wordless lullaby. She had never told me about that song, where it came from or why it was so soothing, but I never felt any great curiosity about it. I had been hearing it since I was little, and never once had it occurred to me to ask about it. It was just one of those things that I couldn’t question.

When she was done, she wrapped the bandage tightly around my hand.

“There you go. Good as new. Luckily the cut wasn’t too deep, so it should heal in a few days.”

“Thanks, mom.” I flexed my injured hand and found it still sore and painful, but better than when I walked in. Mom put all the medical supplies away, then went back to the show she’d been watching.

“Shoot, it’s over,” she muttered, flipping through channels. I grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling guilty enough to join her on the couch. “What were you watching anyway?”

“Nothing special,” she said. “Some host show. They were having this rich kid on tonight. An actor or something.”

“What’s his name?”

“Archie something…” Mom shrugged. “I really can’t remember what he goes by. It was a rerun anyway; I’ve already seen it.”

“Why did you want to watch it again?” I frowned, puzzled by my mother’s behavior. She shrugged again.

“Guess I just wanted to see his face.” The air was tense, so I decided to change the subject.

“Where’d Lizzie run off to?” I asked, noticing that the house was too quiet for her to be hanging around.

“She just went to a movie with her friends,” Mom answered, her eyes still focused on the television screen. “Why don’t you go find your father and bring him back home while I fix dinner? Tell him I don’t want him coming home smelling like deer carcass again; he’s eating a human meal.”

“Okay…will you be okay by yourself?” Mom stared up at me like I was crazy.

“I thought I was the mom here, not you. I’ll be fine, Barlie. I’ve been alone before, as hard as it may be to believe.” I chuckled.

“Sorry, mom. I just worry, you know?” I bent to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

When I left, I noticed for the first time how chilly it was. I didn’t have my jacket on, but I felt silly going back for it, so I just pressed on toward Sam’s house. It wasn’t like I would die on the short trek there; a little cold air wouldn’t kill me. Anyway, all I really needed to do was fetch dad and we would be going home.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans. When I reached Sam’s house, the only one home was Emily.

“They all went into the woods about half an hour ago.” She sighed. “I don’t know what they do out there. These are peaceful times. It’s not like there are any vampires they need to defend against.”

“I know what you mean. My mom says the same thing.” I shivered a bit. “Hey, do you mind if I wait here for my dad? They’ll probably be coming back eventually, and mom won’t like it if I go back without him.”

“Sure, come on in.” I followed Emily into her home and into the kitchen, where I could smell something good cooking. Her son, Sam Jr., was coloring in his high chair quietly.

“Hey, there, Sammy,” I said, sitting at the table beside him. “What are you coloring?” He didn’t answer, though at five years old he was perfectly capable, and didn’t meet my eyes. I frowned. My father had told me about his suspicions regarding Sammy, suspicions his parents seemed hell-bent on denying. It wasn’t really my business, but I wished I could tell them to just take him to a doctor already. It was better to know, even if it was something bad. It’s not like they would suddenly hate him if he was autistic, would they? Considering their reactions, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to that question

Then again, I wondered if I had any room to judge them. Emily’s scars were something I had gotten used to, but that didn’t make them any less obvious or real. Maybe they just wanted something normal in their lives, something they could cling to that wouldn’t have to be explained. As I watched Sammy color, I couldn’t quite accept that as an appropriate answer. I couldn’t see shunning a part of your own child just because it didn’t fit your standards, even if things in your own life were hard. Wasn’t that just a continuation of a vicious cycle? It made my blood boil just to think about it.

“What are you making, Emily?” I asked, trying to turn myself away from angering thoughts.

“Pork loins,” she answered easily, checking the small timer on the counter. “The wolves are probably coming over again tonight, so I made a big serving. Did you want to stay? I got jelly for it.”

“No, thanks,” I said. “As tempting as that sounds, mom will kill me if I don’t get dad home soon. Besides, she’s cooking dinner right now and I think she’d like it if we were actually there for it tonight.”

“If you say so,” Emily said, shrugging. “How is your mother, by the way? I heard she was sick.”

“A little cold, nothing serious. The hospital won’t let her come back until she’s completely well, though. Sterility and all that.” I smiled. “I don’t think she knows what to do with herself being home all the time. She’s been sitting around watching TV a lot lately. I think she’ll be okay to go back to work in a couple days, though.”

“That’s good.” Emily glanced at the timer again. I didn’t get to talk with her much, so I imagined this was probably awkward for her. Sure, she knew me. She knew me as my father’s son. As an individual person, she knew nothing about me. It wasn’t like I took a great interest in her, and it wasn’t as if I really cared, but it made situations like this uncomfortable for both of us. When we had nothing to talk about, no werewolf buffers to bounce topics off of, any hint of casual conversation dried up.

“So, uh…where’s Leah going?” I asked, trying desperately to keep the ball in the air. Leah was their daughter, a pleasant enough 20-year-old who was currently working on her degree in art. I didn’t know her that well, but I figured it was as good a topic as any.

“CCA,” Emily said. She didn’t elaborate, and I felt weird asking her to. Again we fell into an awkward silence, Sammy’s crayon softly scratching over the page the only sound in the room. Thankfully, we didn’t stay that way for long, as a crowd of noisy werewolves piled into the house only minutes later.

Some people were uncomfortable around crowds, but I felt like I was the exact opposite of that. I loved being surrounded by people, especially people who noticed me right away and actually seemed happy to see me. I stood just as I failed to dodge the punch Paul aimed at my arm. That would be a bruise in the morning.

“If we’d known you were here, we would have come back sooner,” Seth said happily, catching me in a one-armed bear hug. “How you been, Barlie?”

“Great,” I said, grinning up at my friend and trying to breathe through the headlock. “It feels like forever since I’ve seen you guys.”

“It has been! You need to come out with us sometime!” Seth released me and patted my back in what he probably thought was a gentle manner. I lurched forward and gripped a chair to keep myself upright.

“I don’t think I’d really be able to keep up with you guys,” I pointed out. “But thanks for the invite.” I smiled warmly at the werewolf. From his first transformation at fourteen, Seth was the youngest of all the wolves. He was much older now, of course, but he looked like he had barely aged a day. He still had that childish glint in his eye, still had that playful personality. Though he definitely didn’t look fourteen, he looked like he could fall into my age group. Sometimes we’d hang out, and I’d feel normal for a bit. But Seth was a lot like my father: he was used to dealing with stronger people, and often went too far. It made him scared to spend any time with me alone, though I secretly thought that being around the whole pack would probably be more dangerous in the long run.

I spotted my father chatting with Emily and approached him, touching his bare arm to get his attention.

“Mom wants you home,” I said firmly. “She’s making dinner, and says she wants you to eat with us.”

“Oh, but Emily’s cooking is so good,” my father groaned. “Can’t I just stay for one little bite?”

“Your idea of a little bite is three servings,” I said, shaking my head. “No, she told me to come fetch you and if I don’t come back with you hungry she’s going to be really pissed.” He sighed.

“Okay…” he mumbled, his downtrodden face just like a kid’s. True to most werewolf appearances, my father looked like he could be in his mid-twenties instead of the almost-forty that he was. I wondered if my mother, who was really starting to show her age, ever resented the fact that he got to stay young and active while she kept getting older.

We said goodbye to the wolves and left, making the short trek home. Dad was shirtless, as usual, and didn’t seem bothered by the cold. I, however, was really feeling it as the wind whipped my short hair around, cutting into my face. I crossed my arms to try to retain some of my body heat, and sighed in relief when dad put his arm around me to share his furnace-like warmth.

“You should have brought a jacket,” he admonished. He caught sight of my bandaged hand. “What happened?”

“Smashed it on a coffee table,” I said casually. “My therapist pissed me off a bit and I lost my head. Mom fixed it up.”

“You need to learn to control this thing,” my father said seriously. “We all had to learn to control our tempers, and it was in our genes. You shouldn’t be having this much of a problem with a little anger.”

“Well, I’m sorry,” I said, frowning in annoyance. “I can’t help it. Sometimes I think I have it under control, then the next second I snap. I don’t know what it is; it’s like I just lose control of my body, like I’m a passenger in my own head while my body freaks out. I wish I could just learn to control myself like you and the wolves did, but…” I shook my head. “I don’t think the therapy is helping, either. Dad, I hate it there.”

“Well, you’re going to keep going as long as I tell you to go,” he said. “We’ve been over this before, Barlie; you’re not coming out of therapy until your anger is under control.”

“But she pisses me off!” I said through clenched teeth. I could feel my frustration rising. “Can’t I at least switch therapists? Maybe get someone who doesn’t have frozen peas for brains?”

“If you switch therapists now, you’ll have to start from scratch,” dad said. “Do you really want to do that, after all the progress you’ve made?”

“I haven’t made any progress!” I snarled, wrenching away from him. I no longer cared about the cold. “If you paid any attention to me at all instead of running around with those damn wolves all the time, you would know that!”

I ran off before he could answer, too angry to hear his response. He was always doing this, talking down to me because I couldn’t learn to control myself. I tried, so hard, to just get over things and let them go. But the littlest thing could make me snap, and it wasn’t like I liked this thing. I hated going crazy and breaking things; I hated not having any friends; I hated being different.

I burst into the house and stalked off to my room, ignoring my shocked mother. I told her I wasn’t hungry and managed to lock the door before letting out a loud scream and throwing my lamp against the wall. It shattered so easily, landing in a broken heap on the carpet.

I was literally shaking with rage. I felt like I would explode. I wanted to kill something. If only I were a werewolf, god damnit I wanted to be one so badly.

Instead I attacked the bed, ripping sheets and blankets apart, throwing their tatters all over the room. I ripped apart the lining of the mattress, revealing the spring underneath and making it impossible for me to sleep on it.

When I had thoroughly gutted my bed, I curled up in a ball on the floor. I could feel the hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I held them back. I had just caused so much damage, burdened my parents so much… I didn’t deserve to cry. Didn’t deserve to feel better. A lump grew in my throat and there it stayed until night came and I fell into a restless sleep curled on the floor.
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Normality