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Chapter Text

The grand, sun-drenched living room of the Cullen house hummed with an unusual energy. Carlisle, ever the observant patriarch, noticed it first. A subtle shift in Edward’s posture, a flicker of childlike curiosity in his usually intense golden eyes. He’d been reading a classic novel, but now he was tracing the intricate patterns on the Persian rug with a fingertip, a small frown creasing his brow.

“Edward?” Carlisle inquired gently.

Edward looked up, his expression momentarily blank before a wide, innocent smile bloomed. “Mr. Carlisle, look! The lines are all twisty!” He giggled, a sound so unexpected it made Esme, who was arranging a vase of lilies, pause and turn.

“Twisty?” Carlisle chuckled, sitting beside Edward on the plush sofa. “Yes, I suppose they are. They’re part of the design.”

Edward’s smile faltered slightly. “Design?” He tilted his head, his brow furrowing again. “What’s… design?”

Esme exchanged a bewildered glance with Carlisle. This wasn’t just childlike curiosity; it was something… different. Before they could delve further, a high-pitched squeal echoed through the house.

“Emmett stole Mr. Snuggles!” Alice’s voice, usually so melodic, was laced with a dramatic wail. She came bounding into the living room, her small frame a whirlwind of indignation. Emmett trailed behind, holding a plush, one-eyed bear aloft.

“I did not! Mr. Snuggles wanted to hang out with me!” Emmett protested, puffing out his chest. He normally stood well over six feet tall, but something about his demeanor, the petulance in his voice, was distinctly youthful.

Rosalie entered, rolling her eyes. “You’re such a baby, Emmett.” She reached for the bear, a look of exasperation on her face. But as she spoke, her voice softened, losing its usual sharpness. “Here, Alice. He was just visiting.” She handed the bear to Alice with a gentle smile. It was a smile that didn’t quite fit Rosalie’s usual icy beauty, it was too soft, too… young.

Jasper, who had been quietly observing the unfolding scene, suddenly swayed. He blinked, his golden eyes wide and unfocused. A wave of confusion washed over his face. “Everything… feels loud,” he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He pressed his hands to his temples, his usually controlled expression replaced with one of distress.

Bella, who had been sitting quietly in a corner, engrossed in a book, suddenly dropped it. She whimpered, reaching out towards Edward. “Eddy… scared,” she mumbled, her big brown eyes welling up with tears. She crawled towards him, her movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

Carlisle and Esme exchanged a look of dawning realization. It wasn’t just Edward. It was all of them. They were… regressing.

“Esme,” Carlisle said softly, “Remember what we read about age regression? I think… I think they’ve slipped.”

Esme nodded, her expression a mixture of concern and tenderness. “It seems so. Edward, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice… and even Bella.”

The room was filled with a cacophony of childlike noises. Alice was babbling happily to Mr. Snuggles, Emmett was making airplane noises as he ran around the room, Rosalie was trying to mediate between them with a patience she rarely displayed, Jasper was rocking back and forth, his face pale and distressed, and Bella was clinging to Edward’s leg, whimpering softly.

Edward, for his part, seemed completely unperturbed by the chaos. He was stroking Bella’s hair, a look of gentle concern on his face. “It’s okay, Bella,” he whispered. “I’m here.” His voice was higher pitched, softer, more childlike than usual. He looked up at Carlisle, his eyes wide and innocent. “Mr. Carlisle, Alice wants… soft blanket.”

Carlisle smiled. “Oh, what a good idea! Let’s find something soft and comforting for her.”

Carlisle turned to Esme. “Esme, would you mind helping us find a soft blanket for Alice?”

Esme nodded, her expression warm. “Of course. I think I know just the one. It’s a lovely, pale blue, very soft. Perhaps some smooth stones, too? They always seemed to soothe her when she is in distress.”

“Me!” Alice exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Pretty rocks!”

“Me too!” Emmett yelled, though he was already happily occupied with a set of wooden blocks. He paused in his building and looked at Esme. “Can I have a blanket too, Mommy?”

Esme chuckled, easily lifting Emmett into her arms for a loving hug. “Of course, my little bear. We’ll find the perfect blankets for everyone.” She nuzzled Emmett’s cheek. “And some pretty rocks for Alice.”

The next few hours were a whirlwind of childish antics. Emmett and Alice staged a dramatic battle with toy swords, Rosalie joined them, giggling as she pretended to be a princess in distress, Jasper, overwhelmed by the emotions of the others, retreated to a quiet corner, where Carlisle sat with him, gently humming soothing melodies. Edward, surprisingly mature for his regressed age of ten, helped Carlisle and Esme care for the others, even trying to read Bella a story, though his attention span seemed to wane quickly. Bella, regressed to a much younger age, mostly just wanted to be held and cuddled, finding comfort in Edward’s presence.

Carlisle and Esme, despite their initial surprise, took to their roles as caregivers with ease. They were patient, loving, and understanding, meeting each child’s needs with unwavering devotion. Carlisle, with his gentle demeanor and medical knowledge, was adept at soothing Jasper’s anxieties and managing Edward’s occasional bouts of overwhelming thoughts. Esme, with her warm hugs and comforting words, was a natural at nurturing the younger ones, providing a sense of security and love.

As the “day” wore on, the initial chaos subsided, replaced by a sense of comfortable domesticity. The playful energy of their earlier games, stories, and tea party gradually gave way to a quieter atmosphere. Esme, sensing the shift, brought out a box of quiet games and puzzles, encouraging the regressed Cullens to engage in gentle, focused play. Carlisle sat with them, offering guidance and praise, as they worked together to solve simple challenges.

Edward, sitting beside Bella, who was snuggled in his lap, looked up at Carlisle and Esme, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Mr. Carlisle,” he said softly, “why do I feel… little?”

Carlisle smiled. “Sometimes, Edward,” he explained, “our minds need a break. They need to go back to a time when things were simpler, less complicated. It’s a way of healing, of finding comfort.”

“Like a vacation for your brain?” Emmett piped up, tilting his head curiously.

“Exactly, Emmett,” Carlisle chuckled.

Jasper, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. “It’s… overwhelming,” he murmured. “Feeling everyone’s emotions… it’s too much.”

Carlisle nodded understandingly. “I know, Jasper. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. That’s why we’re here. We’ll help you manage it.”

Esme gathered them all in a big hug. “We’re a family,” she said softly. “And we’ll always be here for each other, no matter what.”

The sense of warmth and love in the room was palpable. Even Rosalie, who usually kept her emotions guarded, leaned into the hug, a small, genuine smile gracing her lips.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, the regressed Cullens stirred. They were vampires, of course, and didn’t need sleep, but they had learned to mimic human behavior to blend in with the mortal world, and bedtime was part of that routine.

“I’m tired,” Alice yawned dramatically, rubbing her eyes.

“Me too,” Emmett echoed, though he was bouncing with energy.

Rosalie, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes. “You’re not actually tired,” she pointed out.

“But it’s bedtime!” Alice insisted, pouting.

Carlisle smiled. “That’s right, Alice. It’s time to wind down. How about we all go upstairs and read some more stories?”

A chorus of excited agreement filled the room. Even Jasper, who was still feeling a little overwhelmed, seemed to relax at the prospect of a quiet evening with his family.

Upstairs, the Cullen house was transformed into a haven of warmth and comfort. Esme had dimmed the lights, filling the room with soft lamplight and the gentle scent of lavender, creating a tranquil and inviting space. Carlisle had gathered a stack of their favorite children’s books. They all piled onto the large bed in the master suite, snuggling together like puppies.

Carlisle began to read, his voice soothing and melodic. The children listened attentively, their eyes wide with wonder. Even Edward, who had read these stories countless times, seemed to be hearing them for the first time, his face filled with childlike delight.

As Carlisle continued to read, the regressed Cullens settled into a quiet stillness, enjoying the comforting sound of his voice and the warmth of their family’s presence. They didn’t sleep, but they found a different kind of rest in the shared quiet and the feeling of being loved and protected.

As Carlisle finished the story, he looked around at his regressed family, nestled together on the large bed. Bella was curled up against Edward, her thumb tucked into her mouth, looking content. Edward, his face soft and peaceful, had his arm draped protectively over her. Alice was snuggled into Emmett’s side, clutching Mr. Snuggles tightly. Emmett, despite his earlier boisterous energy, was now completely still, his face buried in Rosalie’s hair. Rosalie, in turn, had her head resting on Jasper’s shoulder. Jasper, his earlier anxiety completely dissipated, looked serene and content.

Carlisle smiled, a wave of tenderness washing over him. He gently placed a hand on Edward’s forehead, marveling at the smoothness of his skin, the innocence in his expression. Esme, sitting beside him, brushed a stray strand of hair from Bella’s face.

“They look so peaceful,” she whispered, her voice filled with love.

“They do,” Carlisle agreed. “This… this has been a unique experience, Esme. A reminder of the simple joys of childhood, the importance of family.”

Esme nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s like we’ve been given a second chance,” she murmured, her voice thick with a mix of longing and old pain. “A chance to see them as they once were, to nurture them, to hold them… to finally experience the joy of parenthood, even in this small way, a chance to heal.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, simply enjoying the quiet presence of their children. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic breathing of the regressed vampires. They had learned to mimic this human behavior, finding a strange comfort in the ritual of it, even though they didn’t require sleep.

Suddenly, Edward stirred. He blinked his eyes, his golden gaze focusing on Carlisle. “Mr. Carlisle,” he mumbled, his voice still slightly childlike, “can we… can we find my blocks?”

Carlisle chuckled softly. “Of course, Edward. Just a moment.”

He gently disentangled himself from the still Bella and went to the playroom. Esme stayed with the others, stroking their hair and whispering sweet nothings. She knew that even though they didn’t need sleep, the quiet closeness was comforting.

When Carlisle returned with a box of colorful wooden blocks, Edward was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He took the box gratefully and began to carefully stack the blocks, his gaze drifting around the room.

“Where’s Bella?” he asked, his voice a little clearer now.

“She’s still here,” Esme replied gently, gesturing towards Bella, who, along with Alice and Emmett, was now playing quietly. They had all been content in their quiet stillness, their version of rest, but now the playful energy was returning.

Edward nodded, absorbed in his building. He handed a block to Bella, who giggled and placed it on top of her own tower.

The next few hours passed with a comfortable rhythm. The regressed Cullens played together, their laughter echoing through the house. Alice and Emmett staged a dramatic tea party with their stuffed animals, Rosalie joined them, giggling as she poured imaginary tea. Jasper, still a little sensitive, found solace in quietly arranging and rearranging his collection of smooth, colored stones. Edward, surprisingly mature for his regressed age of ten, helped Carlisle and Esme keep an eye on the others, even trying to engage them in a game of building with his blocks. Bella, regressed to a much younger age, mostly just wanted to be held and cuddled, finding comfort in Edward’s presence.

———

As the “day” wore on, the initial chaos subsided, replaced by a sense of comfortable domesticity. Carlisle and Esme, ever watchful, ensured that everyone was happy and engaged. They knew that even though their children were vampires, their emotional needs were very real, especially in this regressed state.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, the regressed Cullens remained quietly occupied, enjoying the quiet and the feeling of closeness.

“I want a story,” Alice announced, plopping down on the large bed in the master suite.

“Me too!” Emmett echoed, jumping onto the bed beside her.

Rosalie and Jasper joined them, and soon, the whole family was gathered together. Carlisle and Esme exchanged a tender look, their hearts overflowing with love for their unusual family.

Carlisle began to read, his voice soothing and melodic. The children listened attentively, their eyes wide with wonder. Even Edward, who had heard these stories countless times, seemed to be hearing them for the first time, his face filled with childlike delight.

Esme sat beside him, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She cherished these moments of innocence, these precious glimpses into the hearts of her children.

As Carlisle continued to read, the regressed Cullens remained still and quiet, enjoying the comforting sound of his voice and the warmth of their family’s presence. They didn’t sleep, but they found a different kind of rest in the shared quiet and the feeling of being loved and protected.

The “night” passed peacefully. Carlisle and Esme stayed with their regressed children, providing a constant presence of love and security. They took turns reading stories, humming gentle melodies, and simply holding them close.

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, the regressed Cullens began to stir. The shift back to their adult selves was subtle, almost imperceptible. It was a gradual return, a gentle reawakening of their adult minds. The childlike innocence faded, replaced by their usual composure and self-awareness.

Edward looked around at his family, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He remembered… snippets of the regression. Playing with Bella, building with his blocks, feeling safe and loved in Esme’s arms. He didn’t remember everything, but he remembered the feelings.

“Did… did we…?” he stammered, looking at Carlisle and Esme.

Carlisle smiled reassuringly. “You did, Edward. You all did. And it was… wonderful.”

Esme nodded, her eyes filled with warmth. “It was a gift,” she said softly. “A gift to us, and to yourselves.”

The regressed Cullens looked at each other, a mixture of embarrassment and understanding on their faces. They didn’t need to explain anything. They knew what had happened. They had felt it, deep within their souls.

A comfortable silence settled over the room. They were a family, bound together by love, loyalty, and an experience that had deepened their connection in ways they couldn’t have imagined. They knew that this regression might happen again, that their minds might occasionally need to retreat to a simpler time. And they knew that whenever it did, they would be there for each other, always. They were the Cullens, and they would face whatever came their way, together.

Chapter Text

A few days had passed since the Cullens’ unexpected return to childhood. The initial shock had given way to a strange, almost comfortable rhythm. The grand living room, usually a space of quiet elegance, now echoed with the delighted shrieks of Alice and Emmett as they chased each other, their movements a blur of superhuman speed disguised as childlike play. Rosalie, a vision of domestic bliss in a ruffled apron Esme had found for her, meticulously arranged a tea party for her stuffed animals, her brow furrowed in concentration as she poured imaginary tea. Edward, a picture of gentle devotion, sat beside Bella, his brow knit in concern as he patiently turned the pages of a brightly colored picture book for her, pausing to point out the images and narrate the simple story.

Even the air felt different, charged with a strange blend of innocence and ancient power. The scent of lilies, perpetually arranged by Esme, mingled with the faint, almost metallic tang that clung to the vampires, a stark reminder of their true nature beneath the veneer of childhood. A subtle undercurrent of lavender and baby powder, now a constant presence, permeated the air, a strange juxtaposition against the underlying metallic scent of their immortal blood.

Jasper, however, remained on the periphery of this idyllic scene. He sat curled in a large armchair, his usually sharp golden eyes clouded with a distant, almost haunted look. He’d tried, in the first few days, to participate in the childlike games, to force a smile and join in the laughter. He’d even attempted to engage Emmett in a mock sword fight, but the sheer force of Emmett’s playful swings, a mere fraction of his true strength, had sent a jolt of fear through Jasper, a stark reminder of the power they all possessed, even in this regressed state. The memory of Emmett’s exuberant “rawr,” accompanied by a playful but undeniably powerful swing of his makeshift wooden sword, still echoed in Jasper's mind, a jarring reminder of their true nature beneath the façade of childhood innocence.

Now, he simply observed, his senses bombarded by the cacophony of emotions emanating from the others. Alice’s joy, so pure and unadulterated, vibrated against him like a hummingbird’s wings, a frantic flutter of delight. Emmett’s boundless energy, a raw, untamed force, thrummed in the air around him. Rosalie’s carefully constructed composure, a fragile shield against the vulnerability of her regressed state, radiated a low hum of anxiety. Even Edward, usually so controlled, emitted a constant undercurrent of worry, a deep-seated need to protect Bella, who, regressed to a much younger age, clung to him with unwavering devotion. Bella’s soft giggles, usually a source of joy for the family, now felt to Jasper like a fragile melody played against a backdrop of underlying tension.

It was too much. A constant barrage of feelings, amplified by their childlike innocence, crashed against Jasper’s carefully constructed defenses, threatening to overwhelm him. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions that weren’t his own, yet he experienced them with an agonizing intensity. The childlike state, instead of simplifying his existence, had stripped away the coping mechanisms he’d painstakingly developed over decades, leaving him raw and exposed. He longed for the quiet control he had once possessed, the ability to filter and manage the emotional onslaught. Now, he felt like a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable to every emotional current.

———

He longed for the quiet solitude of his room, a sanctuary from the emotional storm raging within him. But even there, he knew, he wouldn't be safe. The emotions would follow him, clinging to him like shadows. He felt trapped, a prisoner in his own mind.

Then, Alice’s laughter shifted, a high-pitched giggle turning into a small, hiccuping sob. It was a fleeting moment, a ripple in the otherwise placid surface of their play. But for Jasper, it was like a lightning strike, illuminating the raw vulnerability of their regressed state. Alice’s sudden sadness, so pure and unadulterated, pierced through him, triggering a wave of empathetic pain so intense it made him gasp. It wasn’t just her sadness; it was the echo of Emmett's confusion, the barely contained frustration radiating from Rosalie, the ever-present undercurrent of Edward’s anxiety. It all slammed into him at once, a tidal wave of raw emotion threatening to engulf him. He felt the shift in Alice’s mood like a physical blow, the sudden drop from pure joy to unadulterated sadness resonating within him with an almost unbearable intensity.

Jasper’s distress manifested physically. He began to tremble, his hands clenching into fists, the force almost cracking his knuckles. His unnecessary breathing became shallow, rapid gasps that did little to calm the rising panic. He rocked back and forth in the chair, his face pale and drawn, his golden eyes wide and unfocused. He whimpered, a small, lost sound that was almost swallowed by the ambient noise of the room. He felt like he was shattering, the carefully constructed facade of control crumbling under the weight of the others’ emotions. He pressed his hands to his temples, as if trying to physically hold his head together, to contain the chaos within. He squeezed his eyes shut, but even that offered no relief. The emotions were inside him, a swirling vortex of pain and confusion. The cacophony of emotions was not just a feeling; it was a physical sensation, a pressure building inside his skull, a tightening in his chest.

He needed to escape. He needed to get away from the overwhelming emotions, to find some semblance of peace. He pushed himself out of the chair, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. He stumbled, his legs feeling weak and unsteady. He half-ran, half-stumbled towards the door, desperate to find a quiet corner, a place where he could shut everything out. He felt a desperate need to flee, to escape the suffocating weight of the emotions that threatened to drown him.

**

Carlisle, ever attuned to the emotional undercurrents within his family, noticed Jasper’s escalating distress. He saw the trembling, the pallor, the tightly clenched fists. He recognized the signs of emotional overload, the telltale signs of Jasper’s struggle. He excused himself from the pretend tea party Rosalie was attempting to organize, offering a gentle smile and a murmured, ”I’ll be right back,” to the gathered stuffed animals. He approached Jasper with gentleness and understanding.

He found Jasper huddled near the window, his back to the room, his small shoulders shaking. The grand window, usually offering a panoramic view of the surrounding forest, now seemed to reflect only the turmoil within Jasper. Carlisle knelt beside him, his presence radiating a quiet strength, a sense of calm that was a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil raging within Jasper. He gently placed a hand on Jasper’s trembling shoulder, the simple touch a grounding anchor in the storm of emotions swirling within the younger vampire. “Jasper,” he said softly, his voice calm and reassuring, “I’m here with you. You’re safe. We’ll get through this together.” His voice was a low, steady hum, a beacon of calm in the storm raging within Jasper.

Jasper flinched at his touch, a small, involuntary movement, but he didn’t pull away. He was too lost in the maelstrom of emotions to even register Carlisle’s presence fully. His breath hitched in his throat, a small, choked sob escaping his lips. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to physically block out the overwhelming sensations. He felt Carlisle’s hand on his shoulder, a warm, comforting presence, but it was as if he were separated from it by a thick fog of emotion.

“Jasper,” Carlisle repeated gently, drawing his attention back. “Open your eyes, Jasper. Look at me.” He waited patiently, his hand remaining gently on Jasper’s shoulder, a constant, reassuring presence. When Jasper finally opened his eyes, they were wide and unfocused, filled with a childlike fear. His eyes, usually a vibrant gold, now seemed dull and clouded, reflecting the turmoil within.

”It’s okay, Jasper,” Carlisle murmured, his voice soothing and steady. “Can you feel the soft texture of this blanket?” He gestured to the plush throw draped over the armchair where Jasper had been sitting. “Focus on that for a moment. Feel the gentle warmth against your skin.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, giving Jasper time to process his words.

Jasper’s gaze flickered towards the blanket, his fingers twitching slightly. He reached out a hesitant hand and touched the soft fabric, his fingers curling around the plush material. The simple act of focusing on the texture of the blanket seemed to ground him slightly, pulling him back from the edge of panic.

“Good,” Carlisle murmured. lNow, can you hear the gentle humming of the others? It’s a soft sound, a comforting sound. Listen to the rhythm of it.”

Jasper strained to listen, his brow furrowed in concentration even if he didn’t needed to. He could hear the faint murmur of Alice’s voice as she babbled to Mr. Snuggles, the rhythmic thud of Emmett’s feet as he paced the room, the soft rustle of pages as Edward continued to read to Bella. The sounds, usually just background noise, now seemed amplified, distinct, almost overwhelming. But as he focused on them, he began to discern a pattern, a quiet hum of activity that was strangely comforting.

Carlisle continued, his voice a steady anchor in the sea of Jasper’s distress. “And can you smell the faint scent of the lilies Esme arranged? They’re a delicate fragrance, a peaceful fragrance. Let it fill your senses.” He spoke softly, his voice a gentle counterpoint to the turmoil within Jasper.

He maintained the gentle pressure of his hand on Jasper’s shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence, his support. “Jasper, I’m right here with you,” he repeated softly. “Just focus on these things. The blanket, the humming, the lilies. Let them bring you back to this moment, to this quiet place.” He wanted Jasper to anchor himself in the present, to find a sense of grounding amidst the emotional storm.

He paused, allowing Jasper time to process his words. He could see the tension slowly beginning to drain from Jasper’s body, the trembling subsiding slightly. His breathing, though still shallow, was becoming more regular. The frantic, unfocused look in his eyes was beginning to soften.

“Jasper,” he continued, his voice gentle, “can you tell me what you’re feeling?” He wanted to encourage Jasper to articulate his emotions, to give voice to the overwhelming sensations he was experiencing. Sometimes, simply naming the feeling could lessen its power.

Jasper looked up at Carlisle, his eyes still filled with a childlike vulnerability. “I… I feel… too much,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Everyone… their feelings… the sounds… it’s… loud.” The words were hesitant, barely audible, but they were a start.

Carlisle nodded understandingly. “I know, Jasper,” he said softly. ”It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. It’s okay to feel all of those feelings. You don’t have to push them away. Just let them be.” He wanted to validate Jasper’s experience, to assure him that his feelings were valid and acceptable. There was no judgment here, only understanding and support.

He shifted slightly, sitting closer to Jasper, his presence radiating warmth and acceptance. “Think of it like this, Jasper,” he said gently. “Imagine your mind is like a quiet room. And all of those feelings, they’re like… like music playing in other rooms. You can hear them, but you don’t have to let them fill your whole room. You can choose which songs to listen to, which sounds to focus on.” He used a simple analogy, something a child could understand, to explain the complex concept of managing emotions.

He took a slow, deliberate breath, demonstrating the calming technique. “Can you feel my hand on your shoulder, Jasper?” He wanted to bring Jasper’s attention back to the physical world, to anchor him in the here and now.

Jasper nodded, his eyes fixed on Carlisle’s face. He was beginning to respond, to engage with Carlisle’s gentle guidance.

“Good,” Carlisle murmured. “That’s me. I’m here. I’m real. I’m not going anywhere.” He gently squeezed Jasper’s shoulder. “Focus on that feeling. The pressure, the steadiness. It’s a reminder that you’re safe, that you’re grounded." He reinforced the message of safety and security, reminding Jasper that he was not alone.

He continued to guide Jasper, using sensory details and gentle reassurance to bring him back to the present moment. He spoke softly, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of Jasper’s distress. He shared a simple story about his own childhood, a time when he had felt overwhelmed by the world around him, reminding Jasper that everyone, even vampires, experienced moments of vulnerability. He wanted Jasper to understand that he wasn’t alone in his struggles, that even Carlisle, with all his wisdom and experience, had faced similar challenges.

“When I was a little boy,” Carlisle began, his voice warm and reminiscent, “I had a favorite toy, a wooden boat. I loved to take it to the stream near my home and watch it float. Sometimes, the water was calm and peaceful, and my boat would glide effortlessly along. But other times, the water was rough and choppy, and my boat would be tossed and turned by the waves. There were even times when I thought it might capsize. But my little boat, it was resilient. It always managed to right itself, to find its way back to the surface. Your feelings, Jasper,” Carlisle continued, “are like that stream. Sometimes they’re calm and peaceful, and sometimes they’re rough and choppy. But you, Jasper, you’re like that little boat. You’re resilient. You have the strength within you to weather any storm, to find your way back to calm.”

He paused, allowing the story to resonate with Jasper. “Your feelings, Jasper,” he continued, “are like that steam. They can be loud, harsh and frightening, but they’re not going to hurt you. They’re just… feelings. And like the thunder and lightning that make a steam frightening, they will eventually pass."

He smiled gently at Jasper. “The important thing is to remember that you’re not alone. I’m here with you, and so is Esme, and Edward, and even Alice, Rosalie, Bella and Emmett, in their own way. We’re all here for you, Jasper. We’ll help you through this, just like the bird clung to its nest—you have that strength within you too."

Jasper was listening intently now, his eyes fixed on Carlisle’s face. The story, simple as it was, seemed to have a calming effect on him. He was still trembling, but the tremors were less pronounced. The tension in his shoulders was beginning to ease.

Carlisle continued to talk to Jasper, carefully crafting stories of what a joyful childhood could be like, a peaceful, idyllic world away from the complexities and anxieties of their current situation. He spoke of playing in fields of wildflowers, the joy of a warm bath after a long day of play, the comfort of a bedtime story. He wove in simple tales of universal childhood joys – the thrill of discovering a hidden bird’s nest, the satisfaction of building a perfect sandcastle, the wonder of watching fireflies dance in the twilight. He was building a world for Jasper, a peaceful, idyllic world away from the complexities and anxieties of their current situation, a world he wished he himself could have experienced and hoped, in some way, Jasper could, in this regressed state, truly live within.

As Carlisle spoke, Jasper began to relax, his body slowly unclenching. He leaned slightly towards Carlisle, seeking comfort in his presence. He was still vulnerable, still fragile, but he was no longer drowning in the sea of emotions. He was beginning to find his way back to the surface, guided by Carlisle’s gentle hand.

Carlisle continued his quiet, soothing monologue, his voice a gentle balm against the rawness of Jasper’s emotional wounds. He spoke of simple joys, of the warmth of the sun on his skin, the personal smell of those who they love, the sound of birds singing in the morning. He painted vivid pictures with his words, drawing Jasper into a world of sensory experiences, a world that was safe, comforting, and far removed from the emotional turmoil of the present moment.

“Do you remember, Jasper,” Carlisle asked softly, “when you were just a little boy, before… before everything changed? Do you remember the feeling of riding a horse for the first time? The way the wind whipped through your hair, the strength of the animal beneath you?”

Jasper blinked, his eyes fluttering slightly. A faint smile touched his lips. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“It was exhilarating, wasn’t it?” Carlisle continued. “The feeling of freedom, of power… it was a wonderful sensation. And even though you were a little bit scared, you knew that you were safe, that the horse was strong and surefooted, and that I was there to guide you.”

He paused, allowing the memory to settle in Jasper’s mind. “Your emotions, Jasper,” he said gently, “can sometimes feel like a wild horse, powerful and unpredictable. They can take you on a wild ride, and they can be a little bit scary. But just like that horse, they won’t hurt you. And just like when you were a boy, I’m here to guide you, to help you manage those feelings, to help you find your way back to calm.”

He gently stroked Jasper’s hair, a small, reassuring gesture. “It’s okay to feel these feelings, Jasper,” he repeated. “It’s okay to feel scared, or sad, or angry. Everyone feels those things, even vampires. The important thing is to remember that you’re not alone. We’re all here for you, and we’ll help you through it.”

He shifted slightly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, smooth stone. “I found this by the river the other day,” he said, holding out the stone to Jasper. “Feel it. It’s cool and smooth, and it fits perfectly in your hand."

Jasper took the stone hesitantly, his fingers closing around it. He turned it over and over in his hand, feeling its smooth surface, its weight.

“It’s a grounding stone,” Carlisle explained. “When you’re feeling overwhelmed, you can hold it tight and focus on its texture, its coolness. It will remind you that you’re here, in this moment, that you’re safe. It’s more than alright if you break it, I can find you another grounding stone”

He watched as Jasper continued to examine the stone, his brow furrowed in concentration. He could see the tension slowly draining from Jasper’s body, the tremors subsiding further.

“Jasper,” Carlisle said softly, “can you tell me about the stone? What does it feel like?”

Jasper looked up at Carlisle, his eyes now clearer, more focused. ”It’s… smooth,” he whispered. “And… cool.” He said, turning it over in his hand. “And… it just is.”

“That’s perfect,” Carlisle said, smiling gently. “It’s a simple, real thing, a tangible connection to the present. It’s a reminder that you’re here, that you’re grounded.”

He continued to talk to Jasper, guiding him through a series of simple grounding exercises. He asked him to describe the objects in the room, the colors, the textures, the smells. He asked him to listen to the sounds around him, the soft murmur of the others, the gentle ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.

With each question, with each description, Jasper became more present, more grounded. He was still vulnerable, still fragile, but he was no longer lost in the overwhelming sea of emotions. He was beginning to find his way back to himself, guided by Carlisle’s gentle hand, the smooth stone clutched tightly in his own.

The emotional storm within Jasper was beginning to subside, the waves of anxiety slowly receding. He was still tired, emotionally drained, but he was no longer overwhelmed. He was safe, he was grounded, he was with Carlisle. And in that moment, that was all that mattered.

A quiet settled over him, not the oppressive silence of emotional overload, but a peaceful stillness, a sense of calm he hadn’t felt in days. He looked at Carlisle, his eyes now clearer, more focused, a flicker of his usual golden intensity returning. He felt a deep sense of gratitude for Carlisle’s patience, his understanding, his unwavering support. He knew, instinctively, that he could trust Carlisle, that he was safe in his care. The connection between them, always strong, had deepened in these shared moments of vulnerability and comfort. He felt a warmth spread through him, not a physical warmth, but an emotional warmth, a sense of belonging and love.

Carlisle, sensing the shift in Jasper’s demeanor, the return to a more settled state, continued to hold his gaze, his own eyes filled with warmth and understanding. He saw the lingering fragility in Jasper’s expression, the subtle traces of the emotional storm, but he also saw the burgeoning strength, the quiet resilience that had always been a part of Jasper’s nature. He knew that the journey wasn’t over, that there would be other struggles, other moments of vulnerability, but he also knew that Jasper had taken a significant step forward, that he had faced his fears and found a measure of peace. He decided to gently probe further, to encourage Jasper to articulate the feelings that had overwhelmed him, to give voice to the anxieties that still lingered beneath the surface.

“Jasper,” he said softly, “it’s alright to feel these things. It’s alright to feel scared, or confused, or overwhelmed. Can you tell me… what’s making you feel this way?”

Jasper hesitated, his lower lip trembling slightly. He clutched the smooth stone tighter in his hand, as if seeking comfort from its tangible presence. “It’s… everyone,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Their feelings… they’re so loud. Like… like a storm inside my head.”

“I understand,” Carlisle murmured. “It’s difficult when you can feel everyone’s emotions so intensely. It’s like carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

Jasper nodded, tears welling up in his eyes that would never shed. “I… I don’t know how to make it stop,” he sobbed, the sound small and childlike. “I just want it to be quiet.”

Carlisle gently touched Jasper’s cheek. The pain of his emotions was evident in the moisture that welled in his golden eyes, though no tears fell. “It’s okay to feel these feelings, Jasper,” he reassured him. “Let them out. It will help you feel better.”

The emotions began to surface more strongly now, a release of the pent-up feelings that had been threatening to overwhelm him. He hiccuped, his small shoulders shaking. “I’m… I’m scared,” he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m scared of… of losing control. Of hurting someone.”

Carlisle pulled Jasper closer, enfolding him in a comforting embrace. “You’re not going to hurt anyone, Jasper,” he said softly. “I won’t let you. We’re here for you. We’ll help you manage these feelings. You’re safe here.”

He held Jasper close, allowing him to sob, to give in to the overwhelming emotions, to release the fear and anxiety that had been building up inside him; his small shoulders shaking. He didn’t try to stop the outpouring of feeling, he simply held him close, a steady presence in the midst of the storm. He simply offered comfort and reassurance, a safe space for Jasper to express his vulnerability.

“I feel… different,” Jasper mumbled between sobs. “I feel… little. And… and I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling so… helpless.”

“It’s okay to feel little, Jasper,” Carlisle said gently. ”It’s okay to let go of the weight of the world for a while. You don't always have to be strong. You can let yourself be taken care of. As I said before, we’re here to take care of you.”

He continued to hold Jasper, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions. He spoke softly, reminding Jasper of his strength, his resilience, his capacity for love and compassion. He reminded him of the bond they shared, the unwavering support that he and the rest of the Cullens offered.

As the sobs subsided, Jasper leaned against Carlisle, his breathing becoming more regular. He felt exhausted, emotionally drained, but also… lighter. The weight on his chest had eased, the storm in his head had quieted.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice still shaky but filled with gratitude. “Thank you, Papa.”

“You’re welcome, Jazz,” Carlisle replied, squeezing him gently. “I’m always here for you, no matter what.”

He knew that this was just one step in Jasper’s journey, that there would be other moments of struggle, other times when the emotions threatened to overwhelm him. But he also knew that they would face those challenges together, that their bond would only grow stronger with each shared experience.

After a while, Jasper stirred, his eyes now clear and focused. He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings, grounding himself in the present moment.

“I… I think I’m ready to go back,” he said, a hint of his usual confidence returning to his voice.

Carlisle smiled. “Are you sure, Honey?” he asked. “There’s no rush, love. You can stay here with Pops as long as you need to.”

“I’m sure,” Jasper said, nodding. “I want to… I want to be with my family.”

Carlisle helped Jasper to his feet, his hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder. Together, they walked back to the living room, where the other Cullens were still engaged in their childlike play.

Jasper paused at the doorway, taking a deep breath. He could still feel the echoes of their emotions, but they no longer threatened to overwhelm him. He had faced his fears, he had expressed his vulnerability, and he had found comfort in the love and support of his family. He was ready to rejoin them, not as a fragile, overwhelmed child, but as Jasper Hale, a member of the Cullen family, strong, resilient, and loved.

Chapter Text

The world was a kaleidoscope of vibrant colors and overwhelming sensations. Edward’s mind, even in its regressed state, was a strange battleground. A part of him, the adult Edward, the vampire, the husband, remained, a silent observer within the innocent child’s facade. It was like listening to a radio station playing two different frequencies at once — the simple, immediate needs of his regressed self, and the echoes of yesterday, the memories, the responsibilities, the ever-present anxiety for Bella’s… well-being. “Safety” wasn’t quite the right word anymore.

He sat beside her, a brightly colored picture book open in his lap. Bella, regressed to an even younger age than the others—just two years old—, gurgled happily, reaching out chubby hands to grab at the pictures. Edward dutifully pointed at each image, reciting the simple words printed beneath. *Cat. Dog. Ball.* His voice was soft, childlike, but beneath the surface, his adult mind was churning.

He remembered the initial shock of the regression, the sudden shift in his perception. One moment he was holding Bella in his arms, discussing plans for their future, the next he was… smaller. The world was bigger, brighter, louder. Emotions, always a torrent for him, became a tsunami. But unlike the others, the memories weren’t entirely gone. They flickered at the edges of his consciousness, like half-forgotten dreams. He knew who he was, what he was, even as he struggled to articulate it in his regressed state. It was a strange and unsettling duality.

His protectiveness towards Bella, always a driving force, was… different now. It wasn’t about physical safety anymore. It was more about emotional well-being, about preserving her innocence in this regressed state, about shielding her from the potential strangeness of their immortal existence, even in this childlike form. He hovered over her, anticipating her every need, a constant, silent guardian. He could feel the innocent joy radiating from her, her complete trust in him. It was a sweet, sharp ache in his chest.

The other Cullens, in their regressed states, were a source of both amusement and anxiety. Alice and Emmett’s playful antics, usually a source of lightheartedness, now filled him with a low hum of worry. Their superhuman strength, even in play, was a constant reminder of their potential for unintentional harm. He watched them closely, his senses on high alert, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t physical danger he feared, but the potential for emotional upset, for the fragile innocence of their regressed state to be shattered by a careless word or action.

Alice, her face scrunched in concentration, was meticulously building a tower of brightly colored construction blocks. Emmett, regressed to a similar age, zoomed around her, making airplane noises and occasionally bumping into her creations. Edward watched with a tight knot in his chest, ready to swoop in if the playful jostling became too rough.

Suddenly, as Emmett careened past, he accidentally knocked into Alice’s tower. The blocks tumbled down, scattering across the floor. For a moment, Alice simply stared at the wreckage, her brow furrowed. Then, her lower lip began to tremble, and her eyes welled up with tears.

“No…” she whimpered, her voice small and childlike. She reached out a hand, as if trying to magically reassemble the fallen blocks. “My… my tower…”

Emmett, oblivious to his part in the disaster, continued his airplane flight, blissfully unaware of Alice’s distress.

Edward’s heart clenched. He knew how much Alice loved creating things, how much joy she derived from these simple, childlike activities. To see her so upset, even over something as small as a broken tower, tugged at his heartstrings.

He knelt beside her, his expression gentle and comforting. “It’s okay, Alice,” he murmured softly. “It’s just blocks. We can build it again.”

Alice shook her head, “I… I squished it,” she sobbed, her voice barely audible. “I squished it too hard.”

Edward understood. It wasn’t just the tower that was upsetting her. It was the accidental use of her vampire strength, a stark reminder of the power she possessed, even in her regressed state. It was a small thing, a broken tower, but it represented something much larger—the potential for unintended harm, the fragile nature of their childlike innocence.

He gently gathered her into his arms, offering a comforting embrace. ”It’s okay, Alice,” he repeated softly. “It was an accident. You didn’t mean to.”

He glanced at Emmett, who was now attempting to build his own tower, a precarious structure of mismatched blocks. He knew that Emmett hadn’t meant to cause any harm, that his clumsiness was simply a part of his regressed state. But the incident with Alice served as a stark reminder of the delicate balance they were trying to maintain, the careful dance between their superhuman abilities and their childlike innocence.

“We can build a bigger tower,” Edward suggested, trying to distract her. “A really, really big tower. With lots of colors.”

Alice sniffled, her tears beginning to subside. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears that will never fall. “Really?” she whispered.

“Really,” Edward confirmed, smiling gently. “We’ll build the biggest, most amazing tower ever. And this time,” he added playfully, “we’ll make sure no airplanes come crashing through.”

Alice giggled softly, a small, watery sound. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her expression beginning to brighten. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “A big tower.”

Edward smiled, relieved to see her distress easing. He knew that the sadness wouldn’t disappear instantly, but he hoped that the promise of a new, even grander creation would help to soothe her hurt feelings. He would make sure to keep a closer eye on them all. Their innocence was precious, and he was determined to protect it, even from themselves.

He sat down again with Bella, returning to his task of reading her the little objects and describing them to her. When suddenly, Rosalie caught his attention.

It was Rosalie’s attempts at domesticity, her fervent desire to create a sense of normalcy, touched a chord within him. He understood her need for control in this chaotic situation, her desire to protect the fragile illusion of childhood. He admired her strength, even as he worried about the underlying frustration he sensed beneath her composed exterior. He recognized the subtle tension in her movements, the barely suppressed sigh as she cleaned up a spill of pretend tea.

His biggest struggle, was his mind reading. Even in his regressed state, the echoes of thoughts drifted through his mind, fragments of conversations, snippets of emotions. It was a cacophony, a jumble of impressions that he struggled to decipher. And worse, some of the thoughts, even in these innocent minds, were… unsettling. Childish desires, simple wants, but tinged with a raw, unfiltered honesty that made him deeply uncomfortable. He was privy to thoughts he should never have access to, thoughts that made him cringe even in his regressed state. It was a violation, a breach of privacy, even if unintentional. He longed for the control he usually possessed, the ability to shield his mind from the thoughts of others. Now, he was bombarded, exposed, vulnerable. He was particularly disturbed by the flashes of… *hunger* he occasionally sensed from the others, a primal instinct that even regression couldn’t fully suppress. It was a stark reminder of their true nature, a reminder that even in their childlike innocence, they were still vampires.

He tried to block the thoughts out, to focus on Bella, on the picture book, on the simple words he was reciting. Tree. Flower. Sun. But the thoughts persisted, whispering at the edges of his consciousness, distracting him, unsettling him. He felt a growing frustration, a sense of helplessness. He was trapped between two worlds, the innocence of his regressed state and the lingering awareness of his true nature, his adult responsibilities. The flashes of hunger from the others, though fleeting and childlike, were particularly disturbing. He knew they weren’t a threat to Bella—they were all vampires, after all—but the primal nature of it, the echo of their shared existence as predators, made him deeply uneasy. He felt responsible, somehow, for maintaining the illusion of childhood, for keeping their true nature hidden, even from themselves.

He looked at Bella, her face lit with innocent joy as she babbled and reached for him. He smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes, a smile that masked the turmoil within. He gently brushed a stray curl from her forehead, his touch feather-light, his love for her a burning ember in the midst of the chaos. He would protect her, he vowed silently. He would keep her… “safe” wasn’t the word anymore. He would keep her well, emotionally and mentally, no matter the cost. Even if it meant battling the echoes of yesterday, even if it meant struggling with the unwanted intrusion of thoughts, he would be her shield, her guardian, her Edward.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his unnecessary breath coming in short, shallow gasps. He felt a dark cloud gathering in his mind, a suffocating anxiety and pressure that mirrored the emotional turmoil within… He wanted it to stop. He wanted the thoughts to stop. He wanted to just… be a child, like the others. He wanted to let go of the weight of responsibility, the constant anxiety, the unwanted intrusion of other minds.

The gentle touch on his shoulder was a lifeline. Edward flinched, a small, involuntary movement, before his eyes fluttered open. Esme’s face, etched with concern and overflowing with a love that transcended time and species, was a beacon in the swirling chaos of his regressed mind. He saw the worry there, the unspoken question, and a wave of relief washed over him. Someone saw him. Someone understood, at least partially, the turmoil within.

He wanted to articulate the jumble of thoughts and emotions that were battling for dominance inside him, but the words felt… slippery. They were there, on the tip of his tongue, echoes of adult vocabulary and complex concepts, but they wouldn’t form. He was ten, yes, but also… something else. A shadow of the adult Edward, trapped within the confines of a child’s mind, a child’s vocabulary. He shook his head, a small, frustrated gesture, his lower lip trembling slightly. He just felt… bad. Too much.

Esme knelt beside him, her touch feather-light as she brushed a stray curl from his forehead. It was a familiar gesture, one that had comforted him countless times throughout his two lives. ”It’s okay to feel overwhelmed, dear,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm against the rawness of his emotions. “It’s okay to let go.”

Her words were a release, a permission he hadn’t realized he craved. It was as if she had unlocked a dam within him, allowing the pent-up emotions to start to flow. He leaned into her touch, seeking the comfort of her presence. “I… I…,” he stammered, his voice small and choked with unshed tears. He couldn’t explain it. He just felt it. The weight of everything.

Esme pulled him closer, enveloping him in a warm, comforting embrace. The familiar scent of lavender and vanilla, a constant presence in the Cullen house, filled his senses, a powerful reminder of home, of safety, of unconditional love. He leaned into Esme’s embrace, his body relaxing slightly. He could feel the warmth radiating from her, a comforting presence that soothed his troubled mind. It wasn’t physical warmth, of course, but an emotional warmth, a sense of unconditional love and acceptance. “Just breathe, sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice a gentle rhythm against his ear. “Just breathe.”

He tried to follow her instructions, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of Esme’s embrace. But the emotions were too strong, a tempest raging within him. He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes, a strange and unsettling sensation. He hadn’t cried in… well, he couldn’t even remember the last time. Vampires didn’t cry. But the emotions were so raw, so intense, they were finding a way out, even if the tears themselves wouldn’t fall.

“Carlisle is here too, Edward,” Esme said softly, her voice laced with reassurance. ”We’re both here for you.”

He felt another hand on his back, a gentle pressure that radiated strength, reassurance, and understanding. Carlisle’s presence, as always, was a source of calm, a grounding force, a steady anchor in the swirling chaos of his mind. He leaned into Carlisle’s touch, drawing strength from his unwavering calm.

”What’s troubling you, Edward?” Carlisle asked gently, his voice a low, steady hum that resonated with reassurance. He didn’t push, he didn’t demand an explanation. He simply offered a safe space for Edward to share whatever he was feeling.

Edward hesitated for a moment, his mind still a whirlwind of fragmented thoughts and emotions. He wanted to explain, to articulate the overwhelming sensations that were bombarding him, but the words felt clumsy, inadequate. He was ten, but also… more. He was a vampire, a husband, a protector. And the weight of those responsibilities, even in this regressed state, was crushing him. Then the words tumbled out, a jumbled mess of half-formed thoughts and emotions. He spoke of the overwhelming influx of other minds, the unsettling glimpses of raw desire, the constant pressure of responsibility. He spoke of his frustration, his helplessness, his longing to simply be a child.

“It’s… it’s the thoughts,” he finally managed to say, his voice small and shaky. “Everyone’s thoughts… they’re so loud.” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to encompass the sheer volume of mental noise that was assaulting him. “I can hear them… all the time. It’s too much sometimes.”

Carlisle nodded understandingly. He knew how sensitive Edward was to the thoughts and feelings of others, how his telepathic abilities, often intertwined with his empathy, could become a burden. “I know, Edward,” he said softly. “It must be overwhelming.”

“It’s not just… the noise,” Edward continued, his voice still trembling. ”It’s… what they’re thinking. Even… even the little ones…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the discomfort he felt at being privy to the unfiltered thoughts of his regressed family. He was seeing glimpses of their desires, their fears, their raw, unadulterated emotions. It was a violation, even if unintentional, and it made him deeply uneasy. The flashes of hunger, though fleeting and childlike, were particularly disturbing. He knew they weren’t a threat—they were all vampires, after all—but the primal nature of it, the echo of their shared existence as predators, made him deeply uneasy. He felt responsible, somehow, for maintaining the illusion of childhood, for keeping their true nature hidden, even from themselves.

“It’s different now,” he tried to explain, his voice thick with emotion. “When… when I’m myself, I can… I can control it. I can filter it. But now… it’s like… like there’s no wall. I can’t… I can’t shut it out.”

Esme stroked his hair, her touch soothing and reassuring. “It’s alright, Edward,” she murmured. “You don’t have to control it right now. Just let it be.”

“But… it’s not right,” Edward protested, his voice rising in distress. “I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be hearing these things. It’s… it’s private.”

Carlisle nodded, understanding the ethical dilemma Edward was grappling with. Even in their regressed state, the Cullens deserved their privacy. “I understand, Edward,” he said gently. “It’s difficult. But remember, these aren’t your thoughts. They’re just… passing through. You don’t have to hold onto them. You can let them go.”

“And… and I feel… responsible,” Edward continued, his voice barely a whisper. “For Bella… for everyone. I have to… I have to keep them safe.”

He looked at Bella, who was happily playing with a stuffed animal nearby, her face lit with innocent joy. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her, a deep-seated need to shield her from any harm, real or imagined. But it wasn’t just physical safety he was worried about anymore. It was something more… intangible. It was about preserving her innocence, protecting her from the harsh realities of their existence, even in this childlike state.

“You don’t have to be responsible right now, Edward,” Esme said softly. “It’s okay to let someone else take care of you for a while. You deserve to be taken care of too.”

“But… I’m the first one,” Edward protested, his voice laced with anxiety. “I have to… I have to protect them.”

“You are protecting them, Edward,” Carlisle reassured him. “By being here, by being with them, you’re offering them comfort and security. But you don’t have to carry the entire burden yourself. We’re all here for each other. We’ll take care of each other.”

He paused, allowing his words to sink in. “And it’s okay to ask for help, Edward,” he continued gently. “It’s okay to admit that you’re struggling. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human… or, in our case, vampire.”

“I just want it to stop,” Edward whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “I want… I want to be little. Like the others. I don’t want to… to feel all this.”

Esme pulled him closer, her embrace tightening slightly. “I know, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I know. It’s okay to want that. It’s okay to let go.”

Esme and Carlisle listened patiently, their eyes filled with understanding and compassion. They didn’t interrupt, they didn’t judge, they simply listened, offering a safe space for him to express his vulnerability.

She and Carlisle exchanged a look, a silent communication passing between them. They understood the struggle Edward was facing, the conflict between his adult responsibilities and his regressed state. They knew he needed to release the tension, to let go of the weight he was carrying.

“Just breathe, Edward,” Esme repeated softly. “We’re here for you.”

When he had finished, Esme stroked his hair, her touch gentle and loving. ”It’s alright to feel overwhelmed and it’s alright to feel all those things, sweetheart,” she said softly. “It’s alright to feel overwhelmed. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, especially not now.”

Carlisle nodded in agreement. “You deserve to let go, Eddy,” he said gently. “You deserve to be a child, just like the others. You don’t always have to be the protector. Sometimes, it’s okay to let yourself be protected.”

Esme pulled him closer again, her embrace tightening slightly. “We’re here for you, Edward,” she whispered. “We’ll take care of you. Just let it all go, sweetheart.”

And as he sat there, enveloped in their love and support, something shifted within him. The tension began to drain from his body, the headache behind his eyes began to recede. He felt a sense of peace settling over him, a quiet calm he hadn't experienced in days. He was safe, he was loved, he was allowed to be a child.

He closed his eyes, his breathing slowing and deepening. He felt himself drifting further into his regressed state, the echoes of yesterday fading into the background. The weight of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of lightness, of freedom. He was five years old again, or perhaps even younger. The world was still bright and loud, but it was no longer overwhelming. It was simply… interesting.

He snuggled closer to Esme, a soft smile gracing his lips. He was surrounded by love, by warmth, by acceptance. He was home. And for the first time in days, he felt truly at peace.

Chapter Text

The kaleidoscope of colors and sounds in the Cullen house was a constant hum, a backdrop to Rosalie’s restless observation. A few days into the latest regression, the novelty had worn thin, replaced by a low thrum of unease. The routine was established: meals served in brightly colored bowls, stories read in childish voices, and the constant, gentle supervision of Esme and Carlisle. But Rosalie felt… out of sync. She was regressed, yes, to the age of twelve, a pre-teen navigating the confusing landscape of burgeoning adolescence. But a part of her, a core of her adult self, remained, observing, analyzing, feeling in a way the others didn’t seem to.

She watched Emmett and Alice, their laughter echoing through the house, their play a whirlwind of childish energy. They were so carefree, so completely immersed in their regressed states. Emmett, usually a mountain of strength and playful bravado, was now a boisterous seven-year-old, his emotions writ large across his face. Alice, the visionary, the planner, was a whimsical five-year-old, her imagination boundless, her emotions as delicate as butterfly wings. Their vulnerability, so apparent in their childlike innocence, tugged at something within Rosalie, a feeling she couldn’t quite name.

It was a feeling that resonated with a memory, a snapshot from her human life. She had a friend named Vera, who had a baby boy. Rosalie remembered visiting them, holding the baby, feeling a pang of… something. Envy? Longing? She wasn’t sure. But she remembered the way Vera looked at her son, the gentle smile, the unconditional love. Rosalie had wanted that. She had wanted a child of her own, a family to cherish. The memory, so long buried beneath layers of vampire existence, surfaced with unexpected clarity.

———

Emmett was struggling with his shoes. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking out from the corner of his mouth. He tugged at the laces, his hands fumbling with the knots. “I can’t!” he exclaimed, his voice laced with frustration. He threw the shoes down in a dramatic gesture, his lower lip trembling. Rosalie watched, a pang of sympathy twisting in her chest. She remembered Emmett as the powerful vampire, the one who could lift cars and wrestle bears. Seeing him so helpless, so dependent, triggered a wave of protectiveness within her. She wanted to swoop in, to tie his shoes for him, to soothe his frustration. But she hesitated. Was it right to interfere? Was it right to deny him the opportunity to learn, even in his regressed state?

Alice, meanwhile, was drawing at the kitchen table, her face scrunched in concentration. She was creating a fantastical world of unicorns and rainbows, her imagination running wild. Suddenly, her face crumpled, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Emmett broke my tower,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. The memory of the block tower incident, so vivid in her childlike mind, was causing her fresh pain. Rosalie watched, her heart aching for the little girl. She remembered the joy on Alice’s face as she built the tower, the pride in her creations. Seeing her so upset, so vulnerable, stirred a deep need within Rosalie to comfort her, to reassure her that everything was alright.

Later, Rosalie observed Emmett and Alice interacting with the other regressed Cullens. A minor disagreement arose between Emmett and Jasper over a toy truck. Their childish voices rose in anger, their faces flushed with emotion. Rosalie watched, her jaw tightening. She saw the hurt in Jasper’s eyes as Emmett, in his regressed state, lashed out with a thoughtless remark. She wanted to intervene, to mediate, to protect them all from the emotional fallout of their childish interactions. She felt a growing sense of responsibility for their well-being, a desire to shield them from the pain and confusion of their regressed state.

These unfamiliar feelings were unsettling. Rosalie had always prided herself on her strength, her composure, her ability to remain untouched by the messy emotions of others. These maternal instincts, this overwhelming desire to protect and nurture, felt like a weakness, a betrayal of her carefully constructed image. I’m a vampire, she reminded herself. I’m not supposed to feel this way.

Yet, the feelings persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment. She recalled her human life, the longing she felt for a child, a family of her own. She remembered the envy she felt towards Vera, the connection between mother and child. The memory was bittersweet, tinged with both longing and regret. She thought of her human family, the lack of warmth and connection, the emotional distance that had always existed between them. She had never experienced the warmth of true familial love, the unconditional support that Esme and Carlisle offered their children. Perhaps that was why these feelings were so foreign to her. She had never learned how to nurture, how to care for another being in this way. She was twelve now, mentally, but the emotional scars of her human life, the lack of familial connection, were still raw, still tender. She was a child again, in some ways, but also carrying the weight of her past, the unfulfilled longing for a family of her own.

The catalyst came in the form of a genuine scare. Alice, while playing near the stairs, tripped and fell. The other regressed Cullens, engrossed in their own activities, didn’t notice. But Rosalie did. She saw Alice fall, her small body tumbling down the steps. A jolt of pure terror shot through Rosalie. It wasn’t a rational fear. She knew Alice was a vampire, that she couldn’t be seriously hurt. But the sight of her falling, the vulnerability of her small frame, triggered a primal instinct within Rosalie, a need to protect, to shield, to nurture.

She rushed to Alice’s side, her heart pounding in her chest. “Alice!” she cried, her voice filled with panic. She gently scooped Alice up into her arms, cradling her close. She checked her over, her eyes scanning for any sign of injury. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Alice, startled by the fall, began to cry. “I… I fell,” she sobbed, her small body shaking.

Rosalie held her tighter, offering comfort and reassurance. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soothing and gentle. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

The other regressed Cullens, alerted by the commotion, gathered around. Emmett, his face etched with worry, clung to Rosalie's leg. “Alice okay?” he asked, his voice small and anxious.

Rosalie nodded, offering him a reassuring smile. “Yes, she’s okay,” she said. “Just a little scared.”

She held Alice close, stroking her hair gently. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice soft and soothing. “You’re safe now.” She felt a surge of protectiveness so strong it was almost overwhelming. It wasn’t just about physical safety anymore. It was about emotional well-being, about nurturing and comforting these two precious beings.

Emmett, still clinging to Rosalie’s leg, looked up at her with wide, worried eyes. “Rosie…?” he whimpered, his voice small and uncertain.

Rosalie knelt down, so she was at their level. She gathered both Emmett and Alice into her arms, holding them close. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice filled with warmth and love. ”I’m here for both of you.”

They clung to her, their small hands grasping her fingers, their bodies leaning into her embrace. They trusted her, they depended on her, and Rosalie, in her regressed state, found herself fiercely protective of them.

The other Cullens, while initially surprised, gradually adapted to Rosalie’s new role. They saw the genuine love and care she offered Emmett and Alice, and they recognized the positive impact she had on them. Even Jasper, whose agitation had triggered Rosalie’s transformation, seemed calmer in her presence, drawn to her quiet strength and unwavering support.

One evening, as Esme and Carlisle were reading stories to the younger regressed Cullens, Rosalie sat with Emmett and Alice, quietly observing them. They were both completely relaxed, their bodies curled up together, their faces peaceful and serene. A wave of tenderness washed over Rosalie, so intense it threatened to overwhelm her. Tears pricked at her eyes, a strange sensation for a vampire, but these weren’t tears of sadness, not entirely. They were tears of… love? Relief? Belonging? She wasn’t quite sure.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of Alice’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Both of you.” She glanced at Emmett, his face relaxed and innocent in deep relaxation. “I never knew… I never understood…” she trailed off, struggling to articulate the unfamiliar feelings swirling within her.

Esme, ever perceptive, quietly approached. She sat beside Rosalie, her presence a comforting warmth. ”It’s alright, Rosalie,” she murmured, her voice gentle. “Let it out.”

Rosalie sniffled, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I… I didn’t expect this,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “This… this feeling.”

“What feeling?” Esme prompted, her gaze soft and encouraging.

“This… this need to protect them,” Rosalie explained, gesturing towards the sleeping children. “This… love. It’s so strong, so overwhelming.”

Esme smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “It’s a powerful thing, isn’t it? This… caring for someone.”

Rosalie’s eyes widened. “Caring?” she echoed, the word feeling strange on her tongue. “But I… I’m not…”

“You are,” Esme interrupted gently. “Maybe not in the traditional sense, but you are. You care for them, you nurture them, you protect them. That’s… that’s what family does.”

“But I’m… I’m only a kid right now,” Rosalie protested, her voice laced with confusion. “And they’re younger. It doesn’t make sense. I’m just… their older sister.”

“Love doesn’t always make sense,” Esme replied, her voice soft. “It doesn’t follow rules or logic. It just is. And sometimes,” she added with a warm smile, “sometimes being the older sister is exactly what you need.”

Rosalie pondered this for a moment, her gaze drifting back to Emmett and Alice. The idea of being a caring older sister, a protector, felt much more natural, more aligned with her regressed mindset.

Rosalie pondered this for a moment, her gaze drifting back to Emmett and Alice. “I always wanted a child,” she confessed, her voice barely audible. “When I was human… I had a friend, Vera. She had a baby boy. I used to visit them, and I… I felt jealous of her. I wanted that connection, that love.”

Esme nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. “I know,” she said softly. “I know that feeling.”

Rosalie looked at Esme, a question in her eyes.

“I lost my child,” Esme reminded her, her own voice tinged with sadness. “When I was human. It was… it was devastating. But then I found Carlisle, and I found this family. And I realized that love can take many forms. It can be the love between a mother and child, yes, but it can also be the love between siblings, between friends, between a family.”

Rosalie’s heart ached for Esme, for the pain she had endured. But she also felt a sense of kinship, a shared understanding of the deep longing for a family, for connection, for love.

“I never had that,” Rosalie confessed, her voice trembling. “Not really. My human family… they were distant, cold. More concerned with appearances than with love.”

Esme reached out, taking Rosalie’s hand in hers. “You have it now,” she said, her voice firm and reassuring. “You have us. We’re your family, Rosalie. And we love you.”

Rosalie squeezed Esme’s hand, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for… for everything.”

———

Later that night, Rosalie found herself talking to Carlisle. They sat in his study, surrounded by books and the comforting scent of old leather. Rosalie, still feeling emotionally raw, poured out her heart to him. She spoke of her struggles, her confusion, her newfound love for Emmett and Alice.

Carlisle listened patiently, his gaze warm and understanding. “It’s a beautiful thing, Rosalie,” he said, when she had finished. “This love you feel for them. It’s a gift.”

“But I’m… I’m scared,” Rosalie admitted, her voice trembling. “I’m scared of messing up, of not being good enough.”

Carlisle smiled gently. “You’re already doing a wonderful job,” he reassured her. “You’re loving them, protecting them, nurturing them. That’s all that matters.”

“But I’m… I’m still a child myself,” Rosalie protested. "I’m only twelve, right now. How can I possibly take care of them?”

“You’re not alone,” Carlisle reminded her. “You have Esme and me. We’re here to support you, to guide you, to help you. You can love, nurture and care for them, even if you’re regressed yourself. And we’re here for you.”

Rosalie nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. She realized that she didn’t have to do this alone. She had a family, a support system, a source of unconditional love.

“And you know,” Carlisle continued, his voice gentle, ”it’s okay to be a child sometimes. Even when you’re caring for others. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let go, to be vulnerable, to let others care for you as well.”

Rosalie’s eyes widened. “I… I never thought of it that way,” she admitted.

“It’s true,” Carlisle assured her. “You’re allowed to be both a caregiver and someone who receives care. It’s not a weakness to ask for help, Rosalie. It’s a strength.”

Rosalie pondered this for a moment, her heart filled with gratitude. She realized that Carlisle was right. She didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders. She could let go, she could be vulnerable, she could allow herself to be loved and cared for. She could be both the older sister and the little sister.

———

The next day, Rosalie found herself playing with Emmett and Alice in the garden. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers. Rosalie laughed as Emmett chased her around a tree, his childish laughter echoing through the garden. Alice, meanwhile, was busy collecting wildflowers, her face lit with joy. Rosalie felt a lightness she hadn't experienced in centuries. She was free to be herself, both the caregiver and the child, both strong and vulnerable.

Later that evening, as the sun began to set, Rosalie found herself snuggled between Esme and Carlisle on the couch. They were reading a story together, their voices blending in a comforting harmony. Rosalie felt safe, loved, and completely at peace. She had found her place, her family, her purpose. And she knew, with a certainty that went beyond words, that she would never be alone again. She was home.

The fear she felt for Alice, the overwhelming need to protect her, was a revelation for Rosalie. It was a feeling so powerful, so primal, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It was as if a dormant part of her had finally awakened, a maternal instinct that had been lying dormant for centuries.

She realized that it wasn’t just about physical safety anymore. It was about emotional well-being, about nurturing and comforting these two precious beings. It was about offering them the love and support that she herself had craved as a child.

She became more attentive, more watchful. She anticipated their needs before they even expressed them. She soothed their fears, she dried their tears, she offered them unwavering love and support. She was no longer just observing them. She was actively caring for them, nurturing them, protecting them.

She found herself scolding Emmett for being reckless, for running too fast, for climbing too high. She comforted Alice when she was sad, offering her gentle hugs and words of reassurance. She even “stood up” to Jasper when he became too agitated, gently but firmly reminding him that he wasn’t allowed to scare the others.

Her actions weren’t always perfect. She sometimes overreacted, her protectiveness bordering on smothering. But her intentions were pure, driven by a deep and unwavering love for these two children, these two members of her family.

Chapter Text

The living room, a space usually reserved for hushed conversations and elegant repose, had been utterly and gloriously transformed. It was no longer a room; it was a realm, a vibrant, chaotic landscape sculpted from blankets, pillows, and the boundless imagination of a regressed Emmett. Sunlight, streaming through the tall, arched windows, danced across the scene, illuminating a world where order had yielded to whimsy. The sheer curtains, usually hanging in pristine folds, now billowed and swayed, stirred by the gentle breeze and the restless energy that permeated the room.

The very air seemed to hum with Emmett’s childlike excitement. He moved with a restless, almost frenetic energy, his large, regressed hands constantly in motion, adjusting a blanket here, repositioning a pillow there, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously crafted his masterpiece. He was the architect of this whimsical world, the conductor of this symphony of play, and every detail mattered.

The foundation of his creation was a sprawling fort, a labyrinth of draped blankets and strategically placed furniture. Armchairs, usually arranged in a formal, conversational grouping, were now huddled together, their plush seats forming the inner sanctum of the fort. Sofas, once pristine and inviting, were now draped with blankets, creating makeshift tunnels and secret passages. Pillows, usually arranged with meticulous precision, were scattered across the carpet like oversized, brightly colored stepping stones, creating a soft, undulating terrain that invited exploration.

Stuffed animals, a motley crew of plush creatures, peered out from behind strategically placed cushions, their button eyes gleaming with mischievous anticipation. There was a worn teddy bear, its fur matted and its button eyes slightly askew; a plush dinosaur, its scales faded and its tail frayed; a collection of miniature soldiers, their plastic armor chipped and their faces faded. Each toy held a story, a memory, and Emmett was determined to uncover them all.

He’d unearthed a treasure trove in the attic – a dusty, cardboard box filled with relics from Carlisle’s human childhood. The box, unearthed with a joyous shout that echoed through the silent house, had been hauled down the stairs, its contents spilling out onto the carpet like a cascade of forgotten memories. Emmett, his curiosity piqued, had immediately set about examining each item with the wide-eyed wonder of a child discovering the world for the first time.

He held a wooden train in his large, regressed hands, turning it over and over, his brow furrowed in concentration. The smooth, polished wood felt warm beneath his fingertips, and the intricate carvings on its surface intrigued him. He ran his fingers along the wheels, marveling at their smooth, effortless rotation. “Carlisle!” he called out, his voice filled with childlike wonder, the sound echoing through the transformed living room, a sound that carried the pure, unadulterated joy of discovery. “What’s this do? Does it go choo-choo?”

Carlisle, ever patient and indulgent, knelt beside him, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He gently took the train from Emmett’s hands, demonstrating its simple mechanics. “This is a toy train, Emmett,” he explained, his voice soft and soothing, a voice that carried the warmth of gentle understanding. “It used to run on a track, like this.” He mimed the movement of the train, his fingers tracing an imaginary path across the carpet, his movements slow and deliberate, as if demonstrating to a very young child.

Emmett’s eyes widened, his imagination ignited. “A track?” he asked, his voice filled with awe, the sound barely a whisper. “Can we make a track?” He imagined a miniature world, with tiny houses and miniature trees, a world where the wooden train would chug along, carrying passengers to far-off destinations.

Carlisle chuckled, a warm, reassuring sound. “Perhaps later, Emmett,” he said, his voice filled with gentle amusement. “For now, let me tell you about how it used to work.” He proceeded to explain the history of the toy, the way it used to chug along a miniature track, the sounds it used to make, the places it used to go. He spoke of the train’s journey, of the imaginary passengers it carried, of the adventures it embarked upon. Emmett listened intently, his eyes fixed on Carlisle’s face, absorbing every detail like a sponge. He asked endless questions, his curiosity insatiable, his mind eager to explore the world of forgotten toys, to unravel the mysteries hidden within their worn surfaces.

He then proceeded to gather every toy from the box, his excitement growing with each new discovery. There were wooden blocks, painted with faded letters and numbers, their edges worn smooth by years of play; a worn teddy bear, its fur matted and its button eyes slightly askew, its presence radiating a sense of comforting familiarity; a set of miniature soldiers, their plastic armor chipped and their faces faded, their poses frozen in a perpetual state of battle. Each toy held a story, a memory, and Emmett was determined to uncover them all.

His social butterfly side was also in full swing. He’d already invited Alice to join him in his fort, and she was currently perched atop a pile of pillows, her small hands clutching a tattered picture book, her giggles echoing through the room as Emmett pretended to be a fearsome dragon guarding his treasure. “Rosalie! Come see!” he called, his voice booming with playful enthusiasm, beckoning her towards the fort. “We’re having a dragon adventure! You can be the princess!”

Rosalie, initially hesitant, stood at the edge of the transformed living room, her arms crossed, her expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. She surveyed the chaotic scene, her eyes scanning the landscape of blankets and pillows, her gaze lingering on the scattered toys. But Emmett’s infectious enthusiasm was hard to resist. A small smile played on her lips as she reluctantly approached the fort, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene with a hint of curiosity. Emmett’s energy was contagious, filling the room with a sense of childlike wonder, a vibrant, almost tangible force that drew everyone into his playful world. He was the conductor of this symphony of play, the architect of this whimsical wonderland, and he was determined to share his joy with everyone, to invite them into the magical realm he had created.

———

The “restaurant” game, fueled by Emmett’s boundless imagination, continued late into the afternoon. He’d transformed the living room into a bustling bistro, complete with tablecloths fashioned from blankets, menus scribbled on scraps of paper, and a symphony of imaginary clinking cutlery. He was the head chef, the maître d’, and the entertainment, all rolled into one.

“And for our esteemed guests,” he announced, his voice booming with theatrical flair, “I present the special of the day: a cloud-fluffed soufflé of starlight, garnished with rainbow sprinkles!” He mimed the act of scooping a delicate portion onto a toy plate, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Alice, seated at the makeshift table, clapped her hands excitedly. “Ooh, that sounds yummy!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Rosalie, leaning against the doorway, observed the scene with a mix of amusement and bemusement. She’d initially resisted joining the game, but Emmett’s infectious enthusiasm had gradually worn down her defenses. Now, she found herself smiling despite her initial reservations.

Edward, ever vigilant, kept a watchful eye on Bella, who was toddling around the “restaurant,” her small hands reaching for imaginary morsels. Jasper, as usual, remained withdrawn, but Emmett made a conscious effort to include him, offering him imaginary delicacies and engaging him in playful banter.

“And for our quiet connoisseur,” Emmett said, approaching Jasper with a flourish, “I have prepared a symphony of whispers, a delicate blend of moonlight and stardust.” He mimed the act of placing a tiny, invisible portion onto Jasper’s plate.

Jasper, though still reserved, offered a small, almost imperceptible smile, a rare and precious sight.

Emmett’s “Gentle Giant” tendencies continued to manifest throughout the game. He was overly cautious, afraid of spilling imaginary soup or dropping invisible plates. He moved with exaggerated slowness, his large, regressed hands handling the toy utensils with delicate precision.

When Bella, in her eagerness, knocked over a toy cup, spilling imaginary tea onto the “tablecloth,” Emmett was quick to comfort her. “Oh, dear,” he said gently, his voice filled with concern. “Don’t worry, Bella. It’s just a little spill. We can clean it up.” He then proceeded to mop up the imaginary tea with a napkin, his movements slow and deliberate.

He also made sure everyone was comfortable, offering them imaginary cushions and asking them if they needed anything. He was a gracious host, attentive to every detail, ensuring everyone was having a pleasant dining experience.

As the “restaurant” game continued, Emmett’s social butterfly side was on full display. He told jokes, sang songs, and engaged in playful banter, creating a lively and engaging atmosphere. He’d even invented a series of silly riddles, which he posed to the other regressed Cullens between courses.

“What has an eye, but cannot see?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Alice, as always, was the first to answer. “A needle!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with triumph.

“Correct!” Emmett exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “And what has a neck, but no head?”

The other regressed Cullens pondered the riddle, their brows furrowed in concentration. Eventually, Rosalie, to everyone’s surprise, offered the correct answer: “A bottle!”

Emmett beamed with pride. “You’re all so clever!” he exclaimed. “I’m so lucky to have such wonderful friends.”

The atmosphere in the “restaurant” was one of pure, unadulterated joy. Emmett’s enthusiasm was infectious, filling the room with a sense of childlike wonder. Even Jasper, usually withdrawn, seemed to be enjoying himself, his expression softening with each passing moment.

As the “restaurant” game began to wind down, Emmett announced it was time for a “movie night.” He gathered the regressed Cullens, explaining the concept with theatrical flair. He’d set up a makeshift “screen” using a white sheet draped over the sofa, and he’d gathered a collection of stuffed animals to serve as “moviegoers.”

He then proceeded to narrate an imaginary movie, using his imagination as the projector. He described the scenes with vivid detail, using dramatic voices and sound effects to bring the story to life.

“And now,” he announced, his voice hushed with anticipation, “the brave knight enters the dark and mysterious forest…”

The regressed Cullens listened intently, their eyes wide with wonder, their imaginations ignited by Emmett’s storytelling. Even Edward, usually preoccupied with Bella, was captivated by the tale.

As the “movie” reached its climax, Emmett’s “Gentle Giant” tendencies surfaced once more. He became overly cautious, afraid of scaring the younger regressed Cullens with the imaginary monsters and villains.

“And then,” he whispered, his voice filled with suspense, “the fearsome dragon appeared… but don’t worry, he’s a friendly dragon.” He then proceeded to describe the dragon’s gentle nature, emphasizing its kindness and compassion.

He also made sure Bella was comfortable, gently stroking her hair and whispering reassuring words. He was a comforting presence, ensuring everyone felt safe and secure.

As the “movie” ended, the regressed Cullens applauded, their hands clapping together in enthusiastic appreciation. Emmett beamed with pride, his heart filled with joy.

“That was the best movie ever!” Alice exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Emmett nodded in agreement. “I’m happy you liked it,” he said, his voice filled with contentment. “I had a lot of fun making it.”

He then gathered the stuffed animals, carefully arranging them on the sofa, ensuring they were all comfortable. He was a gentle caretaker, attentive to the needs of everyone, both real and imaginary.

———

The energy in the living room, already high, reached a fever pitch. Emmett, fueled by his boundless enthusiasm, announced it was time for the “Grand Imagination Games,” a culmination of all the activities they’d enjoyed throughout the day. He’d meticulously planned a series of challenges, incorporating elements from the treasure hunt, the sports day, and the restaurant game, creating a chaotic yet exhilarating blend of imaginative play.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, vampires and humans!” he proclaimed, his voice booming with theatrical flair. “Welcome to the Grand Imagination Games! Prepare to be amazed, astounded, and utterly delighted!”

He’d transformed the living room into a sprawling obstacle course, using the fort as its central hub. Pillows became stepping stones, blankets became tunnels, and stuffed animals became obstacles to be overcome. He’d even incorporated elements from the toy box, using the wooden train as a miniature hurdle and the toy soldiers as miniature guardians.

“The first challenge,” he announced, holding up a crumpled piece of paper, “is to navigate the treacherous Pillow Peaks!” He gestured towards a pile of pillows arranged in a precarious formation. “But beware! One wrong step, and you’ll tumble into the abyss of tickle monsters!”

Alice, her eyes sparkling with excitement, immediately volunteered to go first. She carefully navigated the Pillow Peaks, her small feet finding purchase on the soft, undulating terrain. She giggled as she imagined the tickle monsters lurking beneath the pillows, her imagination running wild. Bella following just behind her with the same enthusiasm.

Rosalie, though initially hesitant, couldn’t resist the allure of the challenge. She followed them, her movements more deliberate, but her expression softening with each step. Even Jasper and Edward, usually withdrawn, decided to participate, their movements cautious but their eyes filled with a flicker of amusement.

Emmett, as always, was everywhere at once, offering encouragement, cheering them on, and adding dramatic commentary. He was the master of ceremonies, the ringmaster of this imaginative circus, his energy fueling the excitement.

“And now,” he announced, his voice hushed with anticipation, “the second challenge: the Tunnel of Shadows!” He gestured towards a blanket tunnel, its interior shrouded in darkness. “Dare you venture into the unknown?”

The regressed Cullens hesitated, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement. Emmett, sensing their apprehension, stepped forward, his expression reassuring. “Don’t worry,” he said gently. “It’s just a little dark. I’ll go first.”

He crawled into the tunnel, his large frame filling the narrow space. He emerged on the other side, his face beaming with triumph. “See?” he said, his voice filled with reassurance. “Not scary.”

One by one, the regressed Cullens followed him through the tunnel, their fears replaced by a sense of accomplishment. Emmett’s “Gentle Giant” side was in full display, ensuring everyone felt safe.

The third challenge involved navigating a miniature obstacle course using the toys from the attic. Emmett, acting as a “curious explorer”, explained the history of each toy, before it was used in the obstacle course.

“And now,” he announced, his voice filled with excitement, “the final challenge: the Grand Feast of Imagination!” He gestured towards a makeshift table, laden with toy plates and cups. “Prepare to create the most delicious imaginary meal ever conceived!”

He then proceeded to lead a chaotic cooking session, encouraging the regressed Cullens to use their imaginations to create fantastical dishes. He provided ingredients like “moonlight,” “rainbow sprinkles,” and “stardust,” and everyone created a dish.

As the “Grand Feast” reached its crescendo, Emmett’s “Social Butterfly” side took center stage. He engaged in playful banter, told jokes, and sang songs, creating a lively and engaging atmosphere. He made sure everyone was included, offering encouragement and praise for their imaginative creations.

Suddenly, during a particularly enthusiastic moment, Emmett tripped over a scattered pillow, sending a tower of toy plates crashing to the floor. The sound echoed through the room, shattering the playful atmosphere.

The silence that followed the crash of the toy plates was thick and heavy, a stark contrast to the joyous cacophony that had filled the room moments before. Emmett stood frozen, his large, regressed hands trembling slightly, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and guilt. The scattered plates, once symbols of playful imagination, now lay shattered across the carpet, like fragments of a broken dream.

He looked at the other regressed Cullens, his eyes filled with a desperate plea for forgiveness. Emmett froze, his eyes wide with fear. He looked at the scattered plates, his expression filled with guilt. “Oh, no,” he whispered, his voice trembling and barely audible. ”I’m sorry. “I didn’t mean to.” He felt a lump forming in his throat, a wave of childlike remorse threatening to overwhelm him. He had been so careful, so determined to be gentle, and yet, he had still managed to cause chaos.

He looked at his family, his eyes filled with panic. “Did I break them?” he asked, his voice barely audible. “Did I hurt anyone?”

His “Gentle Giant” side was overwhelmed with worry. His “Joy of Play” was replaced with fear. He had been so worried about hurting someone all day, and now he had.

Alice, sensing his distress, rushed to his side, her eyes filled with concern, her small hands reaching out to touch his arm. ”It’s okay, Em,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "It was just an accident." But her words did little to soothe his troubled mind.

Rosalie, though initially startled by the noise, approached him with a gentle expression, her usual aloofness replaced by a genuine concern. “They’re just toy plates, Em,” she said, her voice surprisingly tender. “No one’s hurt.” She knelt beside him, her gaze meeting his, her eyes conveying a message of understanding and acceptance.

Edward, ever vigilant, had already checked on Bella, who was startled by the noise but otherwise unharmed. He offered Emmett a reassuring nod, a silent message of support. Even Jasper, usually withdrawn and impassive, offered a small, almost imperceptible smile and a reassuring nod, gestures of comfort that spoke volumes.

Emmett’s guilt began to subside, replaced by a wave of affection for his family. He realized how much they cared for him, how they accepted him even when he made mistakes. But he still felt a lingering sense of unease, a fear that he’d ruined the fun.

He looked at the scattered plates, his eyes filled with remorse. ”I’ll clean them up,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, but firm. “I’ll make it right.” He knelt down, his large, regressed hands carefully gathering the fragments, his movements slow and deliberate, as if handling precious artifacts.

He began to gather the plates, his movements slow and deliberate. He was determined to restore the playful atmosphere, to prove that he could still be the gentle, caring Emmett they knew and loved. He meticulously collected each piece, his brow furrowed in concentration, his focus unwavering. He imagined himself as a diligent worker, repairing a broken masterpiece, restoring order to a chaotic world. He did so with extreme care, and then he looked at everyone, with a look of pure love, and sadness. He felt he had ruined the fun.

As he gathered the last of the fragments, he paused, his gaze lingering on a small, chipped plate. It was a simple toy, but it held a memory, a reminder of the joy they had shared. He felt a pang of sadness, a sense of loss for the carefree innocence that had been momentarily shattered.

He looked at the other regressed Cullens, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and determination. “Let’s play something else,” he said, his voice slightly stronger, but still carrying a hint of vulnerability. “Something gentle.”

He suggested a game of “quiet stories,” where they would take turns narrating imaginary tales, using soft voices and gentle gestures. He wanted to create a peaceful atmosphere, a sanctuary where they could reconnect with their childlike wonder without the risk of further chaos.

Alice, her eyes sparkling with renewed enthusiasm, immediately agreed. Rosalie, though initially hesitant, nodded in acceptance. Edward, ever watchful, settled Bella onto his lap, ready to participate. Even Jasper, usually content to observe from the sidelines, moved closer, his expression softening.

Emmett began the game, his voice soft and soothing, his words weaving a tale of gentle creatures and magical landscapes. He spoke of a world where kindness and compassion reigned, where even the smallest creature could find solace and comfort.

He described a meadow bathed in moonlight, where fireflies danced among the wildflowers, their tiny lights creating a magical spectacle. He spoke of a gentle breeze that whispered secrets through the leaves, carrying messages of peace and harmony. He spoke of a hidden pond, where crystal-clear water reflected the stars, creating a mirror to the heavens.

As he narrated his tale, he carefully incorporated elements from the earlier games, weaving them into the fabric of his story. He spoke of a treasure hunt, where the prize was not a tangible object, but a feeling of joy and connection. He spoke of a sports day, where the competition was not about winning, but about celebrating the spirit of play. He spoke of a restaurant, where the food was not about sustenance, but about sharing love and laughter.

He wanted to show everyone that even after the chaos, even after the broken plates, the joy of play could still be found. He wanted to prove that he could still be the gentle, caring Emmett they knew and loved, the conductor of their whimsical orchestra, the architect of their imaginative world.

As he finished his story, a sense of peace settled over the room, a quiet contentment that filled the space between them. The broken plates were forgotten, replaced by the shared memory of a gentle tale, a testament to the enduring power of imagination and the unwavering bonds of family.

———

The “Grand Imagination Games,” with their whirlwind of chaotic joy and imaginative escapades, had finally run their course. The air, once charged with frenetic energy, began to settle, replaced by a quiet contentment. The regressed Cullens, their faces flushed and their eyes sparkling with lingering excitement, began to wind down, their movements slowing, their voices softening.

Emmett, his initial guilt and remorse fading into a gentle sense of satisfaction, felt a wave of calm wash over him. The “Gentle Giant” within him took over, his large, regressed hands now moving with a deliberate, almost tender care as he began the task of tidying up. The scattered pillows, once obstacles in a grand adventure, were now carefully gathered and stacked, their soft surfaces yielding to his gentle touch. The blankets, once draped over furniture to create elaborate forts, were now folded with meticulous precision, their folds crisp and neat.

He approached the scattered toys, his eyes scanning the room for any stray pieces. The wooden train, the miniature soldiers, the worn teddy bear – each toy was treated with a reverence, a gentle respect for the stories they held. He carefully placed them back into the cardboard box, arranging them with a sense of order, ensuring each toy had its place.

He paused, his gaze lingering on the chipped toy plate, a reminder of the earlier mishap. He picked it up, his fingers tracing the delicate pattern on its surface, a pang of sadness tugging at his heart. He felt a sense of responsibility, a desire to mend the brokenness, to restore the harmony that had been momentarily disrupted.

He looked at the other regressed Cullens, his eyes filled with a silent apology. “I’m going to put these away,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

He carried the box of toys back to the attic, his footsteps echoing through the silent house. He carefully placed the box in its designated spot, a sense of satisfaction filling him as he restored order to the chaotic space.

Returning to the living room, he found Bella sitting quietly on a blanket, her eyes wide and innocent, her gaze fixed on him. He approached her gently, his movements slow and deliberate, as if not to startle her.

“Hi, Bell” he said softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “Are you tired?”

Bella nodded, her eyes drooping slightly. Emmett sat beside her, gently stroking her hair, his touch light and tender. He began to hum a soft lullaby, his voice a gentle melody that filled the quiet room.

He sat beside Bella, his large, regressed hands gently stroking her hair, his touch light and tender. Her breathing was slow and even, her small body relaxed peacefully. He then began to narrate a story, his voice a soothing whisper, his words weaving a tapestry of gentle creatures and magical landscapes. He spoke of a world where kindness and compassion reigned, where even the smallest creature could find solace and comfort. He described a meadow bathed in moonlight, where fireflies danced among the wildflowers, their tiny lights creating a magical spectacle. He spoke of a gentle breeze that whispered secrets through the leaves, carrying messages of peace and harmony.

He described a hidden glen, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, where a family of deer grazed peacefully, their eyes reflecting the stars. He spoke of a crystal-clear stream, where playful otters frolicked, their sleek bodies gliding effortlessly through the water. He spoke of a majestic oak tree, its branches reaching towards the heavens, its leaves whispering secrets to the wind.

Bella listened intently, her eyes fixed on his face, her breathing slowing as she falsely drifted into a peaceful false slumber. Emmett continued to narrate his story, his voice a gentle lullaby, a soothing melody that filled the quiet room with a sense of tranquility.

He felt a sense of protectiveness towards her, a desire to shield her from any harm, to create a safe and nurturing environment where she could dream peacefully.

He then turned his attention to Carlisle and Esme, who were observing the scene with warm smiles, their eyes filled with affection. He approached them, his curiosity piqued, his mind eager to learn more about the toys from the attic. “Pops,” he asked softly, “can you tell me more about the toys in the attic?”

Carlisle smiled and nodded. “Of course, Em," he said, his voice gentle. “Which ones are you curious about?”

Emmett’s eyes lit up, his curiosity reignited. He wanted to ask questions about each toy, eager to learn their stories, to uncover the memories they held. He wanted to ask about the wooden train, the miniature soldiers, the worn teddy bear – each toy held a fascination for him. “Can you tell me more about the wooden train?”

Carlisle smiled and nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Ah, the wooden train,” he said, his voice filled with nostalgia. “That was one of my favorite toys when I was a child. It was a gift from my father.”

He proceeded to tell Emmett about the train's history, about the countless hours he had spent playing with it, creating imaginary worlds and embarking on fantastical adventures. He spoke of the train’s journey, of the imaginary passengers it carried, of the places it had visited in his dreams.

Carlisle and Esme patiently answered his questions, their voices filled with warmth and affection. They shared stories of their childhood, of the games they played, of the dreams they held. Emmett listened intently, his eyes wide with wonder, his imagination ignited by their tales.

Esme added her own memories, recalling the times she had joined Carlisle in his imaginative play, creating elaborate scenarios and sharing in his joy. She spoke of the train's ability to transport them to far-off lands, to escape the confines of their reality and enter a world of pure imagination.

Emmett listened intently, his eyes wide with wonder, his imagination ignited by their tales. He felt a connection to the toys, a sense of shared history, a feeling that they held more than just physical form, that they contained fragments of memories, echoes of the past.

He then asked about the miniature soldiers, his curiosity piqued by their intricate details. Carlisle explained that they were replicas of soldiers from a historical battle, a battle he had read about in his early years in this life. He spoke of the soldiers’ bravery, their dedication, their unwavering loyalty.

Esme added that Carlisle and his stories had sparked her interest in history, leading her to explore the stories of past civilizations, to understand the complexities of human conflict and the resilience of the human spirit.

Emmett’s curiosity was insatiable, his mind eager to absorb every detail, to unravel the mysteries hidden within the toys. He asked about the worn teddy bear, the plush dinosaur, the painted blocks – each toy held a story, a memory, a piece of the past.

Carlisle and Esme patiently answered his questions, their voices filled with warmth and affection. They shared stories of their childhood, of their dreams, of their hopes and fears. They spoke of the lessons they had learned, the experiences that had shaped them, the values that guided their lives.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, the regressed Cullens settled into a quiet contentment. Rosalie, her initial skepticism replaced by a gentle affection, sat beside Alice, her arm draped protectively around her shoulders. Edward, ever vigilant, kept a watchful eye on Bella, ensuring she was comfortable and safe. Jasper sat quietly, observing the scene with a sense of peace.

Emmett, surrounded by his family, felt a wave of warmth wash over him. He had created a world of joy and laughter, a haven of imaginative play, and he had learned the importance of gentleness, of care, of understanding. He had discovered the power of his “Gentle Giant” side, the strength that came from tenderness, the joy that came from sharing.

He felt a sense of belonging, a deep connection to his family, a feeling that he was truly home. He was surrounded by love, by acceptance, by the unwavering bonds of family. He was at peace.

———

The last vestiges of daylight faded from the sky, replaced by the soft glow of the moon. The living room, bathed in its gentle light, was a scene of quiet contentment. The remnants of the day’s imaginative play—the scattered pillows, the folded blankets, the neatly arranged toys—served as a silent witnesses to the transformative power of childhood joy, a silent testament to the joy and laughter that had filled the space. A sense of peace permeated the air, a tranquil harmony that settled deep within everyone's soul.

Emmett, nestled between Carlisle and Esme, felt a wave of warmth wash over him, he felt a profound sense of peace. His large, regressed body was relaxed, his breathing slow and even, his heart filled with a profound sense of happiness. The day’s events, a tapestry woven from laughter, play, and gentle care, had left him feeling lighter, more connected to his family than he had felt in a long time. His regressed state, initially an unexpected and somewhat unsettling experience, had become a gift, a chance to rediscover the simple joys of childhood, to reconnect with his family on a deeper, more intimate level. He looked at his family, his eyes filled with affection, his lips curved into a gentle smile.

He looked at his family, his eyes filled with a warmth that radiated from his very being. “I had so much fun today. I don’t remember ever having a day this fun,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with childlike wonder. “It was like... like being a kid again,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “Thank you for playing with me.”

Carlisle smiled, his eyes twinkling with affection. Playing an arm around Emmett’s shoulders, drawing him closer. “That’s because you were, Em,” he said gently, his voice a soothing balm to Emmett's soul. “You allowed yourself to be a child again, to embrace the joy and innocence that resides within you. We enjoyed watching you play,” he said, his voice filled with warmth. “You brought so much joy to everyone.”

Esme nodded, her eyes filled with a gentle understanding and affection. “And you shared that joy with us,” she added, her voice warm and loving. “You reminded us of the importance of play, of imagination, of simply being present in the moment. You have such a wonderful imagination, Em,” she said softly. “You created a magical world for us all.”

Emmett’s heart swelled with affection. He had always loved his family, but today, he felt a connection that transcended the bounds of their immortal existence. He had shared a day of pure, unadulterated joy with them, a day that had stripped away the layers of pretense and revealed the raw, vulnerable essence of their familial bond.

Emmett’s eyes sparkled with happiness. “I love you all,” he said, his voice sincere. ”I’m so happy we’re a family.”

Alice, her eyes sparkling with delight, snuggled closer to Rosalie, her small hands reaching out to touch Emmett’s arm. “Me too, Em,” she said, her voice filled with childlike enthusiasm. “I love playing with you.”

Rosalie, her initial skepticism replaced by a gentle affection, placed a hand on Alice’s shoulder, her eyes conveying a message of quiet contentment. “You brought joy to us today, Em,” she said while giving him a sincere loving smile.

Emmett’s eyes filled with warmth. He had always admired Rosalie’s strength, her fierce independence, but today, he had seen a different side of her, a softer, more nurturing side. He had witnessed her gentle affection for Alice, and her quiet acceptance of his regressed state.

Edward, ever vigilant, gently stroked Bella’s hair, ensuring she was comfortable and safe.

He then turned his gaze to Edward, his eyes filled with a quiet devotion. “And Bella,” Emmett murmured, his voice filled with concern. “Was she okay? I was worried about her getting hurt.”

Edward smiled, his eyes filled with gratitude. “She was perfectly fine, Emmett,” he said gently. “You were very careful with her, very gentle. She enjoyed playing with you.”

Emmett’s shoulders relaxed. He had been so worried about his strength, about accidentally hurting someone, but he had managed to control himself, to channel his strength into gentleness.

He looked at Jasper, who was sitting quietly, observing the scene with a sense of peace. “And you, Jasper?” Emmett asked, his voice filled with a gentle curiosity. “Did you have fun?”

Jasper, his expression softened by the warmth of the moment, offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. “It was… peaceful,” he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “I enjoyed watching you all play.”

Emmett’s heart swelled with affection. He had always admired Jasper’s quiet strength, his unwavering loyalty, but today, he had seen a glimpse of his gentle soul, a hint of the peace that resided within him.

Emmett’s regressed state had allowed him to fully express the many facets of his personality. His boundless energy and enthusiasm had transformed the living room into a playground of joy and laughter. His “Gentle Giant” tendencies had manifested in his careful movements, his gentle touch, his unwavering concern for the well-being of others. His childlike curiosity had driven him to explore the stories behind the toys, to learn about the past, to expand his understanding of the world. His social nature had fueled his desire to connect with his family, to share his joy, to create a sense of belonging.

He had rediscovered the simple pleasures of childhood, the uninhibited freedom of imagination, the pure, unadulterated joy of play. He had also learned the importance of gentleness, of care, of understanding. He had discovered the strength that came from tenderness, the joy that came from sharing.

His childlike joy and enthusiasm had brought happiness to his family, creating a sense of unity and connection. Alice, his constant companion, had reveled in his playful energy, her eyes sparkling with delight. Rosalie, though initially hesitant, had succumbed to his infectious enthusiasm, her expressions softening with each passing moment. Edward, ever vigilant, had allowed Bella to participate in the games, trusting Emmett’s gentle nature. Even Jasper, usually withdrawn, had been drawn into the playful atmosphere, his expression softened by the warmth of the moment. And Carlisle and Esme enjoyed his imaginative stories and games, both entirely happy for the family they have and the bonding moments they share.

He looked back at Carlisle and Esme, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you,” he said softly, his voice filled with sincerity. “Thank you for letting me be a kid again. It was… it was really special.”

Esme leaned down and kissed Emmett’s forehead, her touch light and tender. “You’re always our child, Emmett,” she said gently. “No matter how old you are, you’ll always be our little Emmett.”

Carlisle placed a hand on Emmett’s shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “And we’ll always be here for you, Emmett,” he said gently. “Always.”

Emmett’s eyelids began to droop, his body relaxing against Carlisle and Esme. He was tired but content, his heart filled with warmth and love. He felt a sense of peace, a quiet contentment that settled deep within his soul. He was surrounded by his family, by their love, by their acceptance. He was home.

Carlisle began to read a story, his voice soft and soothing, his words weaving a tale of gentle creatures and magical landscapes. The rest of the family listened attentively, their eyes filled with wonder, their imaginations ignited by his words.

As Carlisle’s voice lulled him into a peaceful slumber state, Emmett reflected on the day’s events. He realized how much he enjoyed being a child again, how much he loved playing and exploring and connecting with his family. He felt a sense of peace and belonging, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

He drifted off to a state of relaxation, surrounded by his family, a picture of childlike innocence and peace. His regressed state had allowed him to fully express his playful, gentle, curious, and social nature, bringing joy and happiness to the members of his family.

The Cullen kids relax surrounded by their parents and the remnants of their playtime, a testament to the power of childhood joy and the strength of their familial bonds. The soft glow of the moon illuminated their sleeping forms, casting a gentle light on their peaceful faces. The air was filled with a sense of tranquility, a quiet harmony that spoke of love, acceptance, and the enduring bonds of family.

Emmett’s regressed state had been a gift, a chance to rediscover the simple joys of childhood, to reconnect with his family on a deeper level, to express the many facets of his personality. He had learned the importance of gentleness, of care, of understanding. He had discovered the strength that came from tenderness, the joy that came from sharing. He had found peace within himself, a sense of belonging that filled him with contentment. He was home, surrounded by the love of his family, and he was at peace.

The memory of this day, the feeling of pure joy, would stay with him for eternity even after he returned to his adult mind. It had been a day of healing, a day of love, and a day that would strengthen the Cullen family bonds forever.