Chapter Text
It didn't happen all at once.
It started with headaches. Little ones, easily managed by some acetaminophen or a good nap. Gradually they developed into a consistent ache that Jacob tried his best to ignore. Shifting made them evolve into head splitting migraines that made him want to scream.
Safe to say he’d been sticking to human form since.
Everything was going fine. Jacob had it handled.
Then he had a nosebleed and Renesmee flipped out.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick? What’s going on?” The questions came at a rapid pace, her voice becoming more concerned with each one.
He wiped away the blood and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’m alright.”
“You don’t seem alright. You’ve been acting weird.” She said and now she looked at him like he was Charlie after a long coughing spasm. “You should get looked at. Why don’t we go find Grandpa and-”
Anxiety surged in his chest. If Carlisle knew then there was a chance they’d take him away from Renesmee. Jacob could imagine the excuses already. He couldn’t let it happen. She needed him.
He grabbed her arm hard. “I don’t need to see him. I don’t need to see anyone. Trust me, I’m fine.”
Renesmee bit her lip, eyes downcast. “But-”
He gave her his patented smile, bright and wide. “Hey, all I need is to sleep and maybe a vitamin. I’ll take better care of myself so you don’t worry, ok?”
“Ok Jacob.” She tugged at her arm, and Jacob let go with a mixture of guilt and annoyance.
“You know, you never say ‘my Jacob’ anymore. I never stopped being yours.” He said, “I’m always going to be by your side.”
Renesmee went quiet, her face unreadable. Jacob could feel his anxiety spiking again, accompanied by a fresh spurt of blood dripping from his nose. He went to wipe it away when she handed him a tissue.
“I know.”
Jacob didn’t understand why she sounded so goddamn sad, but he had to make sure she was happy. That’s what she needed him for.
So Jacob would smile when he didn’t mean it. He’d tell jokes or do things he didn’t care for. He’d reinvent himself to be exactly what she needed.
“Skyrim?” he asked, and she readily agreed.
Because really, he was the one who needed her.
His headache flared.
Usually when Jacob self corrected, any improper thoughts or feelings were erased. This time the annoyance persisted. It felt strange and illicit. He turned it over and over in his head like a stone.
Maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe Jacob really was dying. Or maybe he just had to get worse before he got better.
Things did not get better.
Jacob started forgetting things.
Memories kept falling right out of his brain. He misplaced things, found himself in strange places and lost track of conversations mid sentence. Jacob didn’t know what to do about it, so he didn’t do anything. What did it matter anyway?
None of the Cullens said anything to him about it. It seemed like as long as he was pretending to be ok, so would they. They were actors on the same stage dedicated to interacting as little as possible with each other.
Maybe Bella would have said something if she hadn’t been off with Edward on Isle Esme.
Meanwhile things started to change between him and Renesmee. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t feel the need to be near her always. The anxiety still lingered, but it was muted. Jacob didn’t know how to feel about it.
Renesmee took advantage of it.
“You don’t have to stay, I won’t be lonely.”
Or,
“Have you spent much time with your Dad lately?”
And,
“You’d have more fun fixing up a motorcycle than hanging out with me wouldn’t you?”
Everytime she succeeded, she looked so relieved and guilty.
Jacob needed her, and she kept on sending him away.
Maybe bit by bit he was forgetting that too. Maybe that’s why when he argued with himself about staying or going he rarely convinced himself to stick by her side.
Jacob did like working on bikes in his garage. Jacob did miss his dad. Jacob began to enjoy being alone for the first time in five years.
Maybe his brain was breaking.
Then why did he somehow feel better?
The day it happened wasn’t special.
Renesmee and him were on the couch taking turns playing a game. They’d moved on from Skyrim to Bioshock.
Jacob had been enjoying it so far, even if he kept forgetting key plot points. The visceral pleasure of electrifying people or bashing them upside the head with a wrench kept him engaged. He kept getting lost and after the third time he’d asked Renesmee where to go she’d pouted and said, “Why don’t you let me play then if you don’t know how?”
Which made Jacob grip the controller tighter and dedicate himself to not dying for the rest of the game and therefore making sure Renesmee never got her turn.
The progress was slow, but steady. Eventually Jacob could sense the end of the game approaching. Enemies swarmed him. His hands suddenly spasmed and he dropped the controller. In the few moments it took to scoop it back up, he’d already died.
“Finally,” huffed Renesmee. She took the controller out of his shaking hands with a callousness he didn’t think she’d had.
Jacob tried to hold his hands still. They continued to tremble ever so slightly. He shoved them in the pockets of his shorts.
He watched Renesmee effortlessly beat the scenario that killed him and proceed to beat a man to death with a golf club. He turned from the television and studied her.
Jacob couldn’t deny her beauty. He also couldn’t deny her strangeness. Before his brain decided to break down, he didn’t care about it. She could have been ugly, scar covered, and alien. All that would have mattered was that she was his.
Now he looked at her and didn’t see a single thing he cared for. He couldn’t remember why he’d ever cared for her. There’d been a girl he’d loved once, and it wasn’t Renesmee.
Once upon a time she’d been the center of his gravity. A million chains bound him to her.
Now most of the chains were gone. The few that remained snapped under the weight of a single thought.
I don’t want to be here anymore.
He stood. Renesmee glanced up at him.
Jacob smiled, fake and wide. “I'll be right back.”
Then he turned and walked away, through the house, and out the front door with no signs of stopping.