The sky hung heavy with clouds, just another dull, gray morning in Forks. Rain fell in relentless sheets over the school parking lot, turning asphalt into slick black glass and every puddle into a tiny mirror reflecting the stormy sky.
Aiden parked the matte-black Audi A6 with care, the tires hissing against shallow pools of water.
He kept his hands on the wheel for a long moment, listening to the steady patter of rain and the faint, distant roar of the road behind him. His mind drifted back to that morning:
He had come into the garage, the smell of motor oil and damp concrete thick in the air. Steve's phone rang just as he closed the door behind him. The urgency in Steve's tone had been immediate, cutting through the mundane routine of the morning.
"Aiden," Steve said, face pale, "there's been a pile-up on the road to Port Angeles. They need people… and fast."
Steve handed him the keys to the Audi. "Take it. You can take yourself to school, The roads are not safe, be extra careful, alright?" as he got into the police cruiser.
"Ok I'm headed out" he said opening the garage door. Heading into the rain.
Aiden nodded, moving to get into the driver seat, as he started the car.
The hum of the engine under his hands vibrated through him as he started the car.
There had been a strange thrill in taking control, even as anxiety tightened around his chest like a vice.
Now, stepping out into the rain, he shook off the memory. His boots splashed shallowly in the puddles as he scanned the school parking lot.
Rosalie had already exited her car, flanked by Emmette and Elise, her eyes stubbornly cold and untamed, her expression calm but alert.
Angela and Ben were at the base of the stairs, speaking with Lauren and Connor, their laughter muffled by the storm. Jessica sat in her car, focused on a final touch-up of her light makeup, oblivious to the chaos around her.
Bella's truck rolled into view, as she parked, Bella. Climbing from her beat-up truck, waving. Hair plastered to her cheeks. Smile faint, bright against the gray storm.
He began toward the stairs, the reflections of clouds and rain rippling in puddles under his feet. Every step was slow, deliberate. Calm, controlled. Until movement caught the corner of his eye.
The sound of honking a scratch could be heard as a blue van veered out of the way a car tried to pull out of the parking space.
Then came the sound. Tires. Rubber screaming against wet asphalt. Brakes screeching. Metal sliding.
It was Tyler.
Swerving as the icy asphalt did not hold no traction.
Tyler's van fishtailed across the asphalt.
Time stretched. Every sound, every motion exaggerated. Tyler's van fishtailed, barreling straight for him. He tried to move, tried to step aside, but his body betrayed him. Legs sluggish, thoughts scrambling, panic twisting his chest, hot and sharp.
The van collided with him, sending him back as he collided with the lamp post. Brutal. Shoulder shattered against the cold metal with a sickening crack. White-hot pain exploded, radiating through the chest and spine. He ricocheted onto the hood of a nearby car. Metal scraped against ribs. Hood dented.
But Tyler van didn't stop.
It kept going, as it slid until it reached a girl standing by a red truck.
Out of the corner of his eye, a blur moved impossibly fast, Metal crunched. Edward. Limbs almost invisible in motion. The van twisted under his hand like it was made of cardboard, stopping inches from Bella. She froze, dazed but unharmed.
"What… the fuck?"
"No. That can't be real. My head, blood, shock… I must be seeing things."
Rosalie moved toward him, and though she lacked Edward's inhuman speed, her urgency carried her to his side almost immediately. Her hands were gentle but firm as she assessed his injuries, brushing wet hair from his face.
"Aiden, stay with me," she said, her voice urgent yet steady, an anchor in the storm.
Pain lanced through every nerve, and he gasped, vision swimming. He tried to speak, and his words were ragged, wet with blood and rain.
"You… you're not cold anymore," he rasped, a weak attempt at humor. "Heat… can come from ice."
Rosalie blinked, taken aback. For a moment, the storm, the sirens, and the chaos disappeared, leaving only a quiet intimacy in her expression—the faintest ghost of a smile, a breath held between them, a thread of connection that refused to break.
His gaze flicked toward Edward, who was walking away after saving Bella. A mix of awe and irritation twisted inside him. He whispered, just for Rosalie,
"I… saw Edward… save Bella."
Her expression hardened for a fraction of a second, then softened again as she kept her hand warm and steady against his.
"You're not alone," she murmured. "I'm right here."
Pain stabbed through his chest and shoulder. Every movement threatened to pull him under. Internal monologue tangled with the chaos of the storm:
Everything hurts. Every bone, every joint…
Why did Tyler lose control? Why did this happen so fast?
Steve's going to be furious. He trusted me with that car…
Rosalie… She's still here. Still holding my hand. Still, herself…
Edward… always so fast, so perfect… And here I am, broken and bloody.
The wail of the ambulance grew louder, slicing through the storm. Students screamed, slipping on the wet asphalt, some colliding with each other in panic. Yet through the cacophony, Rosalie's presence anchored him. Her hand pressed against his, brushing his knuckles lightly, grounding him.
"You're going to make it," she whispered close to his ear. The warmth of her voice carried him through the sharp, relentless pain. "Just stay with me. That's all you need to do."
He tried to nod, wincing at the stabbing pain in his ribs and shoulder.
"I… I can do that," he rasped. Her fingers stayed laced with his small, human reassurance against the chaotic storm.
Rain poured relentlessly, blending with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid smell of burning tires. Every movement caused pain to flare across his body. His vision flickered between red and gray, shadows of the chaos around him stretching into surreal shapes. Yet Rosalie remained constant, a tether to reality in the storm.
Edward moved like a shadow in the distance, Bella wide-eyed but safe, thanks to his intervention. Cars crumpled, doors ajar, students shouted, and the storm raged. But Aiden clung to Rosalie's hand, the warmth and gentle pressure a lifeline.
I'm still here. I'm holding on. I'm alive because of this… because of her.
He let himself focus on her, the brush of her hair from his face, the subtle warmth of her hand in his, the gentle pressure against his shoulder as she steadied him. Intimacy in small doses, moments that felt enormous amidst destruction.
He found himself drawing strength not from adrenaline, not from survival instinct, but from proximity, from touch, from quiet human connection.
Sirens cut through the storm, paramedics appearing, moving with urgency. Yet even as they assessed him, lifted him gently, and prepared for transport, Rosalie remained close. Her hand lingered on his, her gaze locked onto him.
"You're going to be okay," she said again, almost a mantra. "I'm not leaving."
Aiden's voice was weak, rasping, but he managed one final thought, whispering only to her:
"Thanks… for being here… even when… everything goes wrong."
For a long moment, the parking lot was a storm of noise aimed only at Bella.
Edward still stood between her and the crushed side of the truck, students crowding around, voices tripping over one another—
"Is she okay?"
"Bella, what happened?"
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
No one looked toward the second wreck until Rosalie's voice tore through the confusion.
"Help! Over here, he's down!"
The shout cut straight through the rain. Heads whipped toward the far row where the black Audi sat skewed across two spaces, its hood buckled. Aiden lay half-hidden against the other car's bumper, Rosalie crouched beside him, her pale hands bright against the asphalt.
Ben and Angela froze mid-step; Jessica's gasp broke the murmur of the crowd. Mr. Molina was the first to move, splashing through a puddle as he waved people back. "Give them room! Move!"
Rosalie's knees were soaked, the hem of her coat plastered to her legs, but she didn't shift an inch. One hand pressed against Aiden's chest to feel the shallow rise of breath; the other brushed the wet hair from his forehead.
"Stay with me," she said, voice low now, meant only for him. "You're not done yet."
Aiden's vision blurred, the edges of faces and umbrellas melting together. He could hear them calling his name, feel the thunder under the ground, but all of it seemed far away. Only her voice stayed near, a point of warmth in the cold rain.
The ambulance lights cut through the gray, reflecting on wet asphalt, metal, and rain. Pain threatened to drag him into unconsciousness, but Rosalie's presence kept him tethered.
Every brush of her fingers, every whispered word, every heartbeat near his was a lifeline. Even amidst destruction, trauma, and chaos, intimacy and connection survived.