AN: Welcome to my newest story! I know it's been a while, but I had a serious lack of focus this summer, and couldn't write much of anything longer than 500 words. If you haven't seen my Wolf Drabbles, check those out- there are several longer one shots scattered throughout them as well.

As for this story, I got the idea from one of my drabbles, and expanded it in another. Now I feel like I know where the story is going, so I'm going to start posting it and hope I don't run out of steam ;) I plan to post once a week to start out, every Wednesday, but if I write faster I will drop extra chapters in every now and then too.

Just a note, this is starting about ten years before Bella moves back. I'm not using years because I don't go based on the Twilight timeline, and I don't feel like figuring out when everything is. Time will move along through the chapters, and you'll just have to follow along based on Paul and Bella's ages.

One more thing, I am writing this strictly from Paul and Charlie's POV's. That means we won't hear from Bella at all, except for how these two men (or man and boy) see her. That's just the direction this story is taking. Also, there will be quite a bit of angsty stuff and some possible trigger warnings including child abuse, drug abuse, pretty much anything shitty you can think of. Paul is damaged, to say the least. We'll try to fix that as we go along ;)

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~Delinquent~

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Disclaimer: I own nothing but some shirtless pics of Alex Meraz that clog up the memory on my phone. SM owns all.

Chapter 1

January

Charlie POV
"Swan, I need you to head out to La Push. You've got friends down there, right?" Chief Cope didn't give me a chance to answer before he continued my orders. "There's a domestic disturbance call out on Fisher Road."

I stood there another minute, trying to figure out what could possibly be going on. I'd been with the force for nearly seven years, and never once had we been called out to the reservation. Billy's dad was the chief until he died late last year, and he wasn't too keen on letting the pale faces have any say over his land.

"Swan? You good?" I felt my face heat up when the chief looked to see why I hadn't answered him yet. Some of the older officers were trying to hide their laughter, and I knew I'd hear about this later.

"Yes, sir. I'm going," I answered as I checked my gun and pulled on my jacket. "Mark, you coming?"

We walked quickly to the car, with the ever-present rain pouring down around us. It never bothered me too much, but when I needed to get somewhere quickly, I did occasionally curse the weather.

I knew immediately who was involved when we reached the address in question. Billy had told me that Tommy Lahote was back in town, and he hadn't changed a bit since high school, except maybe to get even meaner. I knew Chief Black had ordered him away when he got some girl from the Lower Elwah tribe pregnant, but he must have heard of Will's passing and decided his exile was over.

A small crowd had gathered outside the house that was little more than a run-down shack at the edge of the woods. I nodded in greeting to those I knew, and met Billy, Harry, and Quil on the front porch.

Quil was sitting against the steps, and when I got closer I could see a line of blood running down his face from a deep gash above his left eyebrow. That stopped me for a minute—Quil was roughly the size of a large bear, and I didn't see how weaselly little Tommy Lahote could have gotten the jump on one of my best friends.

I shook hands with Harry and looked at Quil in question. Billy snorted and shook his head. "The bastard met him at the door with the butt of his shotgun. Knocked the big lug out cold. That's when we decided to call you in." Billy switched to his more formal tone to continue, "You can take him in if you want. He needs to be taken down a peg or two."

I nodded, already feeling the changes my best friend was bringing to his tribe now that he was acting Chief. All my life his dad had been Chief Black—it was strange to think of Billy that way now.

Motioning the guys back, I waved Mark over to cover the window and raised my gun as I pounded on the door. "This is the police! Open up!" I shouted, doubting if the couple inside could even hear me over the shouting and crashes of things being thrown around.

I held my ground when the door was flung open, and managed not to roll my eyes when I got my first look at Thomas Lahote in almost eight years. "Well, if it ain't the three stooges' little white lap dog. This ain't your jurisdiction, Charlie."

He wasn't holding the shotgun, but I wasn't dropping my guard either. Mark had his eyes trained on someone or something else from his vantage point, and he hadn't lowered his gun at all. I looked at the man before me, a bit surprised to see him looking so much older than I knew him to be.

Tommy was tall, but still shorter than Billy and me, and much smaller than big Quil. He was always thin and wiry, but now he seemed almost emaciated. His filthy wife-beater hung loosely from his small frame, and his faded jeans were loose and barely holding onto his hips. Fresh track marks on his arms answered several questions, but brought up several more.

"Actually, I think you know my best friend, Chief Black. He asked us to come down here after you assaulted the son of a tribal elder," I said, pointing vaguely in the direction they had hauled Quil. Tommy's eyes narrowed at my subtle reminder that he was not in any way connected to the Council, and those he deemed "royalty."

"Yeah, that dumb oaf broke into my house," he sneered, his formerly white smile now yellowed and gapped. "I'm just defending my land."

With the threat of authority, Tommy had deflated almost immediately. I didn't hear any more sounds from inside the house, but I didn't know anything about the woman he'd brought home either. I wasn't going to drop my guard.

"Well, we've had complaints from your neighbors that your little disagreement with your wife is disturbing the peace," I told him, not taking my eyes off him as I nodded my head toward the crowd in the street. "They don't appreciate that too much around here."

Tommy glanced back and I tensed as a figure slowly picked itself up off the floor, stumbling around dazed for a bit. He laughed a bit as he looked back at me. "That bitch ain't my wife—she's just a dumb whore with an even dumber son."

I holstered my gun as the woman flew toward him in a rage, knocking him back against the open door as she screeched and clawed at him with her nails. She was not a large woman by any means, but the force of her anger let her get some licks in before Mark and I managed to get between them.

I grew up fighting with Tommy Lahote from the time I could walk, but now I had police training and his weakened state on my side. He huffed and wheezed as he struggled in my hold, but there was no way he was getting away from me.

"Okay, okay, I think you two need some time to calm down. I'm taking you down to the station to cool off." Tommy didn't say a word as I turned him to face the house and read him his rights. I tightened the cuffs around his wrists, feeling a piece of my childhood slip away with the symbolic gesture. We had all grown up, but this time I was on the right side of the law, and Tommy was still the fucked-up delinquent he'd always been.

Mark was restraining the woman who continued to struggle long after I got Tommy into the back of the squad car. I wasn't sure what we would do if I had I take her in as well—we would need another car for sure.

Billy walked up just as Mark pulled a bag of white powder from the woman's pocket, and he hung his head in a combination of shame and resignation. He placed his hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the girl. "We'll take her down to the council hall. There's a place she can dry out overnight. Let's go in and see what else we can find."

I told Mark to hand the woman over to Harry and Quil, since the tribe had its own system of justice when it came to drugs and substance abuse. He nodded and told me he would stay by the car with Tommy while I checked out the house.

Something was niggling in the back of my mind, and I couldn't remember what exactly was bothering me about the whole situation. There was something else I was forgetting.

The interior of the house held a stale, dank odor that was only overpowered by the scent of smoke and alcohol that seemed to rise from every surface. The front door led into the small living room, where only a ratty brown couch and a few stray boxes made up the sparse furnishings.

I kept one hand on my gun as I made my way to the kitchen, unable to keep my nose from wrinkling at the stench from the rotting garbage and unwashed dishes. They had only been here for a week at the most, and I couldn't understand how it was already so disgusting.

Syringes littered the surface of the table, and a metal spoon and lighter sat beside an upturned chair as if waiting for its former occupant to come back and pick them up again. Not on my watch.

A soft rattle from the back of the house had me pulling my gun and turning toward the hallway. There was nothing in the small bedroom but a bare mattress on the floor and a few more half-opened boxes. I left Billy going through the contents for more drug paraphernalia.

A glance at the tiny bathroom revealed nothing more than dirt and a few threadbare towels, but I tensed as I heard another shuffling sound from the doorway at the end of the hall.

Moving silently, I kept my gun trained on the door as I swiftly turned the handle and threw it open, all the breath leaving my body as I saw what—or who—was hiding in the small closet. That thing I couldn't remember came rushing back—eight years ago, knocked up—this had to be Tommy's son.

His whole body was shaking uncontrollably, his thin arms wrapped around his knobby knees. I holstered my gun and crouched down in front of him. "Son? Are you okay? Have you been hurt?" I spoke quietly, keeping my voice low and steady, but he flinched back in terror when I rested my hand on his bony shoulder.

A soft whimper bubbled up from his throat, and when he raised his head, his eyes were filled with tears. He pushed himself further back against the particle-board wall. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he babbled almost incoherently. "I'll be good. I'm sorry. Please don't take me to jail!"

I couldn't move as his words filtered in, and I took a minute to study the small form before me. He couldn't be a day over seven, and the tear tracks on his dirty cheeks made him look even younger. He brought one filthy little hand up to brush his hair back from his face, and I felt my rage start to boil over at the sight of the huge bruise on his forearm.

The boy froze, sitting unnaturally still, and I forced myself to try and relax. I pushed away the thoughts of what I would do to that worthless waste of space outside in my patrol car, and focused on the watery brown eyes looking up at me in fear.

Trying to calm myself, I thought immediately of another set of wide brown eyes, these set in a much paler face. My Bells. I couldn't hold back a smile as I thought of my little girl, or the pain that followed. I just sent her back to her mom last week, after having her with me for five days at Christmas. The time between visits seemed to stretch interminably, and her visits were always way too short.

Bella had just turned eight this past September, and she was nearly as skinny as this boy, though she was better fed and cared-for. I hoped Renee was taking care of her, at least. It's not like I had any way to tell when she wasn't with me.

Another sniffle from the boy in front of me brought my attention back to the closet. "Son? Can you come out now? I'm not gonna hurt you," I told him, trying to coax him from the hole he'd backed himself into. "My name's Charlie."

His answer was so soft—just a breath really—that I nearly missed it. "P-P-Paul."