Chapter Text
Pain exploded across Devi's body, sharp and searing. She felt her mouth filling with blood as she twitched on the ground, the rough asphalt scratching her skin with every movement.
I just got hit by a car. The thought slowly developed in her foggy mind. A sharp squealing sound, getting quieter by the second, cut through her hazy confusion. The smell of burning rubber assaulted her senses. Hit and run, her mind groggily corrected.
Her eyes fluttered open, the steadily growing pool of blood immediately caught her attention. She let out an involuntary gasp, which strangled itself in her throat as fresh agony kicked in. Ribs are definitely broken, possible pneumothorax developing in the left lung.
"Hold on," a voice above her urged. A stranger kneeled beside her, pressing their hands inefficiently against her wounds. Not enough pressure, she thought dizzily. "An ambulance is coming."
Devi wanted to laugh, but her body wouldn't comply. Her years as an Emergency Medicine physician had taught her to recognize a lost cause. Her fingers twitched, reaching towards the voice. Her body ached for physical comfort as her mind processed the inevitability of the situation.
"You're going to be okay," the stranger promised, their voice breaking.
No, I'm not, Devi thought with surreal calm. But thank you for the lie.
She tried to remember what she'd been doing just moments ago. Walking home from the hospital after her shift. Planning to heat up leftover curry. Looking forward to finishing the season finale of one of her guilty pleasure trashy reality shows. Such ordinary thoughts for what turned out to be her last day on Earth.
She tried to shift, sending fresh waves of pain through her nervous system. Her vision began to narrow, the world dimming around the edges. So this was death. Not the white light her patients sometimes described in near-death experiences, but a gradual dimming of consciousness.
The stranger squeezed her hand. "Help is almost here."
But Devi felt herself slipping away, the pain receding as her body began to shut down. Her last thought was a peaceful one: At least I helped some people while I was here.
*
Darkness.
And then somehow, a gasping breath.
Devi's eyes flew open as her body convulsed upward, lungs heaving as if she'd been underwater for minutes. Her hands grabbed at her torso, expecting to find gaping wounds and bloody viscera. But there was nothing. No blood. No pain.
Morning light filtered through unfamiliar curtains, casting a soft glow across an equally unfamiliar bedroom. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Ribs that were just broken... Right?
She pushed herself up on the bed, struggling to orient herself. "Hospital?" she croaked, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. Higher pitched?
But it doesn’t smell right… No antiseptic, she noticed. No beeping monitors. Her arm was IV free. Just a bedroom decorated in shades of dark purple and gray, with a sturdy wooden desk and bookshelves lining one wall.
Devi pressed shaking fingers to her wrist, finding her radial pulse with practiced ease. Too fast. Fight or flight response activated. She forced herself to take measured breaths.
"What the hell?" she whispered, the sound of her voice jarring her again. It didn't sound like her voice.
She threw back the unfamiliar duvet and stared down at herself. Small hands beared none of the scars or calluses she remembered. Scrawny arms that lacked the definition she'd built through years of weight training.
Panic propelled her from the bed, feet hitting cool hardwood floors as she scrambled toward what she hoped was a bathroom. Her body felt wrong. Lighter and uncoordinated in a way that made her hit the doorframe on her way in.
The bathroom light clicked on to reveal a mirror, and the face in it made her gasp.
"No," she said, the word escaping as barely more than a breath. "No, this isn't possible."
A teenager stared back at her. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. Dark brown eyes wide with shock. Waist length wavy black hair tangled from sleep. The face was unmistakably hers, but a version of herself she hadn't seen in over a decade.
Devi touched her cheek, feeling the slight oiliness of adolescent skin. She pulled at the corners of her eyes, looking for crow's feet that were no longer there.
"I'm dreaming," she said firmly. "Or this is some bizarre dying hallucination."
She pinched herself, hard. It hurt. Nothing changed.
Feeling like her legs might give out, she sank onto the closed toilet lid and dropped her head between her knees as black spots danced across her vision. Her medical training kicked in automatically. Vasovagal syncope, lower your head and let the blood flow back in.
"Breathe," she instructed herself. "Just breathe."
After a few minutes, the dizziness receded. Devi raised her head cautiously and forced herself to think logically. If this wasn't a dream or a hallucination, what was it? Where was she? How did she get here? Why did she look like this?
She walked back into the bedroom on unsteady legs and noticed something on the desk she hadn't registered before. Papers were stacked neatly beside a bulky, ancient looking PC. She picked up the top document with trembling fingers.
A Washington state ID card. Her photo. Her name, Devika "Devi" Chandran. But the birth year was wrong.
Beneath the ID lay more papers: trust fund statements indicating modest monthly deposits, a document declaring her an emancipated minor, utility bills for a small house, and enrollment papers for Forks High School. All dated 2004.
"2004?" she whispered, her voice cracking in disbelief. "That's… that's not possible."
She sank into the desk chair, her fingers tapping anxiously against the wood grain. 2004. The year she moved to the US. The year she was in fourth grade with Ms. Brinkley. The year she had to start wearing deodorant. Not the year she should be sixteen and certainly not in Forks, Washington, a town she'd never even visited.
Forks. Something about the name tugged at her memory, but the shock of her situation made it difficult to focus.
A handwritten note lay beneath the other documents, the elegant script unfamiliar.
Some get second chances. Use yours wisely.
"What the hell does that mean?" Devi muttered, turning the note over in search of more information. There was none.
Her gaze darted around the room, taking in details she'd missed in her initial panic. The closet door stood partially open, revealing clothes that looked like they belonged in the early 2000s. Low-rise jeans, layered tank tops, flowy blouses. They looked to be her size.
On the nightstand, a flip phone sat charging. She stared at it in disbelief. 2004 technology, great. She flipped it open. No pre-programmed numbers. No call history.
"This can't be happening," she said, but the evidence before her suggested otherwise. Somehow she had died at thirty in 2026 and woken up as a teenage version of herself in 2004. She was in a state she'd never been to and had all the necessities of life mysteriously provided.
Devi touched her smooth oily cheek again, feeling a hysterical laugh bubble up in her throat. "What am I supposed to do now?" she asked the empty room, her pubescent voice cracking with worry.
The note offered no further answers: Some get second chances. Use yours wisely.
A second chance at what? And why here? Why now?
*
She strode back to the bathroom, studying her reflection in the mirror with clinical detachment that couldn't quite mask the underlying shock. Warm brown skin, not yet weathered by age or lightened from spending so many hours indoors during residency. Large, doe-like eyes with thick lashes stared back at her, widened with lingering disbelief. Her nose looked somehow more prominent on her younger face, the small gold ring in it catching the light when she turned her head.
"God," she whispered, gathering her waist-length black hair over one shoulder. She’d kept it much shorter since residency, not wanting to deal with maintenance after long hospital shifts. She'd forgotten how thick and wavy it was before years of stress and hormonal changes had thinned it.
She leaned closer to the mirror, examining a small cluster of acne along her forehead. "Wonderful. Teenage hormones. Just what I needed."
The laugh that followed held a slightly hysterical edge. "Really, Devi? You've somehow died and woken up as a teenager in 2004, and you're worried about the acne?"
She gripped the edges of the sink, closing her eyes and taking deliberate, measured breaths.
"Okay. I’m somehow sixteen years old. It's apparently 2004." She opened her eyes, meeting her younger gaze in the mirror. "I still have all my memories, I remember being thirty. I remember dying. The rational explanation is that I’m having a psychotic break… But everything feels so… real."
Moving back into the bedroom, Devi opened the closet door and rifled through the clothes. All in her size. All suited to her taste, or what passed for it while still adhering to the wacky fashion standards of the early 2000s. Practical tennis shoes and rain boots lined the closet floor.
"Well, at least my mysterious benefactor has good taste," she muttered, pulling out a soft burgundy sweater and examining it. The tag was still on it. "Someone went to a lot of trouble to set this up."
She glanced at the trust fund statements on the desk. Enough to live on and keep the bills paid. Devi caught sight of herself in the mirror again and snorted at the silly image: a teenage girl with bedhead and a critical expression, mentally calculating living expenses like a middle-aged accountant.
"What a glow-up," she joked weakly, running fingers through her tangled hair. "Thirty to sixteen. Most women would kill for this anti-aging regimen."
The humor helped steady her, a coping mechanism she'd developed during the worst days of residency. She could laugh or she could cry, but crying wouldn't help her figure out what to do next.
She pulled the sweater over her head, its softness wrapping around her like a warm hug. As she tugged it down, her eyes caught the mirror again. "Okay, Dr. Chandran," she said to her reflection, determination steeling her gaze. "New case. Patient presents with impossible symptoms. Diagnosis: unknown. Next step: gather more data."
*
Devi pulled a rain jacket over her sweater and ventured outside, desperate for fresh air and answers. This was apparently her new home. A small, old but neatly maintained house on the outskirts of town. A fine mist clung to everything, softening the edges of her surroundings in a hazy surreal way. It felt appropriately dramatic, given the circumstances. Silent Hill vibes, she joked to herself.
A battered Toyota was in the cracked driveway, rust clinging along the wheel wells. Devi squinted at it throught the mist and couldn't help but smile. A car. A real, drivable vehicle. She wouldn’t have to walk everywhere like she was in some Victorian novel. She resisted the urge to immediately go back inside and search for the keys. One thing at a time.
The town center wasn't far, about a ten minute walk. Devi kept her head down, partly to avoid the drizzle and partly to avoid drawing attention. The few passing cars slowed slightly, the small town drivers obviously curious about the unfamiliar (and clearly foreign) face in their small community. She offered a tight smile but didn't invite conversation.
Shops began to appear, modest storefronts with hand-painted signs. "Newton's Olympic Outfitters," she murmured, stopping abruptly as she spotted the sporting goods store across the street. The sign looked faded, the green paint chipped at the edges. A bell jingled as someone exited, a middle-aged man who glanced at her curiously before hurrying to his truck.
Devi felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Her mind was on the edge of a precipice.
She continued walking, a new sense of urgency in her steps. A small police station appeared on her right, unremarkable except for the cruiser parked outside with "Forks Police Department" emblazoned on its side.
"This is insane," she whispered, earning a curious glance from an elderly woman walking her dog.
A road sign caught her eye: "La Push Reservation - 14 miles." Déjà vu crashed over her like a wave, so powerful she had to stop walking. She pressed a hand against a nearby lamppost to steady herself, her mind racing.
Devi forced herself to keep going, passing a diner. The Carver Café, according to the sign. The smell of coffee and bacon wafted out each time the door opened.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since… well, technically since before she died. The thought was so absurd that a slightly hysterical laugh escaped her lips.
Two teenage girls exited the café, huddled together under a shared umbrella. They were so engrossed in conversation they barely noticed Devi standing nearby.
"My mom says they're all adopted," one said, her voice carrying in the quiet morning. "Dr. Cullen and his wife took them in when they were younger."
Devi froze, the name hitting her like a physical blow.
"They're all, like, together though," the second girl replied with a scandalized giggle. "Like, dating each other. Isn't that weird? My dad says it's inappropriate."
"But they're not actually related," the first argued. "And have you seen them? They're all, like, impossibly gorgeous. Especially the one with the reddish-brown hair. Edward, I think his name is."
Devi's knees nearly buckled. Edward Cullen. Forks, Washington. The pieces fell into place with terrifying clarity.
She turned abruptly and walked away from the girls, heart pounding. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be.
She'd read those books so many years ago. Teen vampire romance novels were the peak of literature in middle and high school. She'd watched the movies with friends, laughing at the melodrama while secretly enjoying the escapism.
And now she was inside the story?
"No," she said aloud, ignoring the startled look from a man unloading groceries from his car. "No, no, no."
Her pace increased until she was nearly running. She needed to get back to the house, needed privacy to process this impossibility.
She let out a deep sign of relief as the house came into view. She fumbled with the key, hands shaking so badly she could barely fit it into the lock. Once inside, she leaned against the door, breathing hard.
"This is not happening," she said to the empty room. "I'm not in Twilight. That's… that's fiction."
She pushed away from the door and started pacing, her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. "Okay. Okay. I've somehow died and woken up as a teenager in 2004." Her voice sounded high and tight to her own ears. "In Forks, Washington. Where apparently the Cullen family has just moved to town."
A laugh bubbled up from her chest, edged with hysteria. "Of all the fucking fictional universes to end up in, I'm in the sparkly vampire one? Why not Harry Potter? Or Star Trek? At least there I could have used a tricorder to figure out what's happening to me!"
Her laughter died as quickly as it had come, replaced by a heavy weight of realization. If this was real, then she was now living in a world where vampires and shape-shifters existed. A dangerous world. A world where Bella Swan would soon arrive and fall in love with Edward Cullen, setting in motion a chain of events that would eventually lead to her transformation into a vampire.
Devi stopped pacing, her gaze falling on her reflection in a small mirror by the door. The teenage face that stared back looked pale and frightened.
"I could change everything," she whispered, the implications unfolding in her mind. Her mere presence here could alter the entire story. How would those changes effect the characters she knew were real people in this world? What if her actions prevented Bella from meeting Edward? Or worse, what if her presence somehow put people in danger?
The weight of it settled over her. She knew what was coming, events that hadn’t happened yet here. Things that could save people… or make everything worse.
She moved to stand before the full-length mirror in her bedroom, meeting her own eyes with newfound determination. "Stay far away from the Cullens," she told her reflection firmly. "Let Bella's story unfold as it should. Don't interfere."
It seemed like the safest approach. Stick to the periphery of events. Let the story play out as it was meant to. Despite the many problems Bella faced throughout the books, things generally worked out for the characters in the end.
She would find her own path in this strange world, and stay away from supernatural dangers. Doing anything else felt like wasting the second chance at life she’d somehow been gifted. Perhaps that's what the note had meant: Some get second chances. Use yours wisely.
With that decision made, Devi felt some of the panic recede, letting her inner strategist take over. If she was going to be sixteen again, she would need to act like it. That meant going to high school, fitting in, building a life that wouldn't draw attention.
She moved to the closet and methodically began selecting clothes for her first day at Forks High School tomorrow. Dark jeans. A deep green sweater that complemented her skin tone. Comfortable boots that would stand up to the constant rain.
"One day at a time," she murmured, laying the outfit on her bed. "Observe. Adapt. Don't interfere."
She wondered how long she could maintain that resolution once she came face to face with the characters she knew were real people here. When she saw Bella and Edward and Alice and all the others in the flesh.
But she had to try. She refused to waste this second chance at life.