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Carlisle had long understood that Edward was a paradox.
He was a vampire, yes, but he was also a child—no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. He was forever trapped at the fragile, tumultuous threshold between adolescence and adulthood, yearning for independence yet uncertain of what it truly meant.
Carlisle saw it in the way Edward observed his older siblings. He would linger on the outskirts of their conversations, watching with poorly hidden envy as Emmett and Rosalie made plans he was not included in, as Alice and Jasper shared a quiet understanding he could not access. There were times he would try to insert himself—sitting a little straighter, deepening his voice, offering his opinions with forced confidence. But then, the moment they teased him or dismissed him with affectionate indulgence, his face would twist in frustration, and he would retreat.
Carlisle never missed it.
Edward wanted to be seen as their equal, but the truth was, he wasn’t. He had been transformed at seventeen, an age where emotions burned too hot, where pride was brittle, and where the world often felt unfair simply because one was too young to know better. He had never had the chance to grow past that. And so, his emotions remained raw and immediate—happiness that was boundless, sorrow that was consuming, anger that flared with no warning.
Carlisle had tried to have infinite patience for it.
When Edward lashed out in petulance, when he stormed to his room because Emmett laughed at him, when he sulked in silence rather than admit he wanted to be included, Carlisle did not scold him. He let him be. He let him feel, knowing that Edward suffered just as much as his family did—perhaps more, because he was the one trapped in it.
But there were times when patience was not enough.
There were times when Edward’s pride became a cage, when he refused to accept the love freely given to him, when he pulled away from comforting words and gentle touches as if they burned him. As if needing his family, wanting their affection, was a weakness rather than a right.
That, Carlisle could not allow.
And so, when Edward curled up on the far end of the couch one evening, arms folded tight across his chest, eyes glassy with frustration, Carlisle did not let it go. The others had long since learned to leave Edward alone when he got like this, afraid of pushing him further into his moods. But Carlisle knew better.
He crossed the room and sat beside him.
Edward stiffened immediately, gaze flicking away.
"Edward," Carlisle murmured, his voice gentle but firm.
A muscle in Edward’s jaw twitched. He didn’t answer.
Carlisle sighed, then reached out and placed a careful hand on his shoulder. Edward tensed, but he did not move away. Not yet.
"You don’t have to do this," Carlisle said softly. "You don’t have to pretend you don’t want comfort."
Edward’s throat worked, but still, he remained stubbornly silent.
Carlisle gave him a moment. And then, deciding for him, he gently tugged Edward closer. The boy resisted for only a second—then he folded. His thin frame slumped into Carlisle’s side, his forehead pressing against his father’s shoulder with a shuddering sigh.
Carlisle exhaled, his fingers threading through Edward’s hair, holding him with quiet reassurance.
"This isn’t weakness," Carlisle whispered, pressing a kiss to his son’s temple. "You’re allowed to be young, Edward. You’re allowed to be loved."
Edward didn’t reply, but his fingers curled into Carlisle’s sleeve, gripping tightly, as if afraid to let go.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Carlisle simply held him, feeling the rigid tension in Edward’s body slowly unwind, the way his unnecessary breaths evened out as he allowed himself to be comforted.
Edward rarely allowed this. Oh, he loved affection—he always had. He would curl up beside Esme when she brushed through his hair, lean into Alice’s enthusiastic embraces, and let Emmett sling an arm around his shoulders without complaint. But that was when he wasn’t actively fighting himself. When he wasn’t trying to prove that he didn’t need any of it.
Carlisle had watched him struggle with that contradiction time and time again.
It was why he didn’t berate Edward when he sulked or threw his dramatic tantrums. It wasn’t that he was immature, not exactly. It was simply that he had never been given the time to grow out of that intensity, to settle into himself like his older siblings had. Carlisle understood that. He accepted it, even when it made Edward difficult.
But he also knew that there were limits.
Limits to how much Edward could hurt himself with his own stubbornness. Limits to how long Carlisle could let him push away the warmth of his family before it left him feeling cold and lonely.
"You should tell me what’s wrong," Carlisle murmured, rubbing slow circles against Edward’s back. "You know I’ll listen."
Edward let out a quiet sigh, his voice muffled against Carlisle’s shoulder. "It’s stupid."
Carlisle smiled faintly. "I doubt that."
Edward didn’t answer immediately. He sat there for a moment longer, curled up in the warmth of his father’s embrace, before he finally spoke.
"I just… I hate that they still see me as a kid." His voice was soft, almost ashamed, but also tinged with something bitter. "I know I’m younger than them, but I’m not… I’m not helpless. I could be just as mature as they are. But every time I try, it’s like they don’t take me seriously. And then I get upset, and it just proves them right, doesn’t it?"
Carlisle listened patiently, letting Edward voice his frustrations without interruption.
"It’s like… no matter what I do, they’ll always treat me this way. Even when I try to act like an adult, I can feel it—they’re humoring me." Edward’s voice tightened, his fingers still curled in Carlisle’s sleeve. "I just want them to see me differently."
Carlisle exhaled softly, his hand still stroking through Edward’s unruly bronze hair. "I know it frustrates you," he admitted. "And I won’t tell you that it isn’t unfair sometimes. But Edward, you have to understand… they don’t see you that way because they think less of you. They do it because they love you."
Edward made a quiet noise of protest, as if he didn’t believe him.
Carlisle huffed a quiet chuckle. "And you don’t help your case when you behave like this."
Edward groaned. "I know." He pulled back slightly, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. "It’s like I can’t help it. I get so frustrated, and I just—I don’t know."
Carlisle gently tugged his hands away from his face, tilting Edward’s chin so that their golden eyes met. "You don’t have to force yourself to be something you’re not," he said. "You’re young, Edward. That’s not a flaw. That’s simply who you are."
Edward looked away, unconvinced. "But I don’t want to be just the baby of the family forever."
"You won’t be." Carlisle gave him a knowing smile. "One day, you’ll see that you don’t have to fight so hard for respect. You already have it. You always have."
Edward blinked at that, looking almost caught off guard.
Carlisle squeezed his shoulder. "And, regardless of how grown-up you feel, you will always be my boy. That will never change."
For a moment, Edward was silent. Then, finally—finally—he let out a quiet sigh, his body going slack with something like relief. He leaned back into Carlisle, his head resting against his father’s chest, no longer resisting the comfort being offered to him.
Carlisle pressed another kiss to his temple, a silent reassurance.
One day, Edward would learn.
But until then, Carlisle would be patient.