A/N: Once upon a time Dymond left a review that said, 'Wow, I really liked this one shot. I think it'd be cool to see a fully fledged Julie Black fic from you if you're ever inspired!' and . . . this happened. I have zero willpower when it comes to Blackwater. Warning: dirty and unedited, but it just had to be done.

Disclaimer: Twilight and its inclusive material (including the alternate world of 'Life and Death') is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a WIP at its finest; the title may change.

The Garage

i.

you lost your mind in the sound / there's so much more
lauren aquilina, "king"

(Leland)

Everyone knew that Julie Black had been obsessed with cars ever since her dad died in one.

There were two places she could usually only ever be found: either the garage situated just to the side of her little red, one-storey home, where she was known to hole up in for hours, if not days at a time; or the junkyard, whose owner she had been on first-name basis with since she was nine-years old and who allowed her to spend whole afternoons scavenging parts, if only so that she could dismantle them and teach herself how to put them back together again.

(Mr. Whitman didn't allow anyone to wander around his yard — it was the old man's pride, and he had strict rules about waiting at the rickety cabin whilst he retrieved whatever it was he'd been asked for — but somehow it was Julie Black who was the only person in the world who had ever been seen to stand on the stacked cars and wave cheerfully over the metal fence.)

As she'd gotten older, she'd steadily become the first person anyone called if something went wrong with their car; she had done so many odd-jobs that people had probably saved hundreds, if not thousands of dollars, and it was only because she was fifteen-years-old and still had to go to school that she wasn't giving the auto-shops all over Washington a run for their money.

She was such a headstrong and high-spirited little thing, forever tearing around the reservation with smudges of grease on her nose or her cheeks (or often both) that Mrs. Black often had trouble keeping her contained. Whenever somebody asked her about Julie, even if only to be polite, her response usually began with a long-suffering sigh.

It was that long-suffering sigh Leland Clearwater heard over the phone now. "She's locked herself in the garage," Mrs. Black told him. "And all the tools are in there with her."

"Uh — Dad's out fishing, but he probably has something in his shed to bust her out," Lee replied, a little bemused. He had a vague memory of Julie doing the same thing once before when her father had died, but it had lasted barely an hour before she'd been marched straight back out kicking and screaming.

"Can you have a look and bring something over? I don't really want to bother Charlie with this," she said, and Lee understood the grave tone of her voice; his parents had gone to the funeral yesterday, but they'd told him and Sarah to stay home — Charlie was as good as family, but nobody had really known his kid.

Bonnie sighed then. "I tried to call — well, it doesn't matter," she said, sounding awkward. "Anyway, you're the first person who's answered."

"Sure. Yeah. No problem." Bonnie was nothing if not proud, so it was a rare occasion that she allowed herself to ask for a hand with anything, especially since she'd had to start relying on her wheelchair. "I'll be right over."

Which was how he found himself standing with a crowbar in front of Mrs. Black, who he'd always found a little bit frightening but had an air of despair about her as she nodded to the garage door. "Go ahead, son."

It took Lee less than thirty seconds to break in, which ordinarily he would have been a little proud of (he'd been working out since Samantha had left him; he wanted to be able to pack enough power behind the punch the day he decked Elliott so hard the fucking traitor wouldn't be able to get up again) but seeing Julie crumpled on the garage floor in a black dress and sobbing her heart out brought Leland up a little short.

She hadn't even seemed to notice the intrusion, but then maybe she hadn't heard him and Bonnie over the stereo blasting hair-metal which she was obviously using to drown everyone and everything out — or to cover-up the sound of her own cries, maybe.

Crying was a bit of a phenomenon for Lee. He'd never seen his mom cry, and he considered himself lucky that his little sister was in a permanent good mood — she was always laughing, always smiling; she'd hardly ever cried as a baby; and even on the threshold of puberty (which he point-blank refused to accept; he didn't remember ever giving Sarah permission to grow-up) she hadn't caused anyone a scrap of trouble.

He wondered if Adam and Aaron had ever thought the same thing about Julie.

He'd just always figured that she was as tough as Bonnie, so seeing her so upset was . . . disarming, to say the least, and even her mom seemed at a little bit of a loss. It took the woman a second or two to gather her wits, and twice as long to cover the sadness in her eyes before she nudged Lee and pointed at the blaring stereo.

Julie nearly jumped out of her skin when the music was abruptly silenced. "What—"

She looked at Lee, blinking furiously through her tears as he gave her a sort of grim, apologetic smile and looked pointedly to Bonnie.

Julie gulped as she got to her feet, her face flushed and eyes bloodshot as if she'd been crying for days. "Mom—" she started, but then her face twisted miserably and she began crying again. "Mom."

"Oh, Jules." Mrs. Black's voice was uncharacteristically soft. She reached her hand out, and Julie blindly stumbled towards it, her dark hair plastered to her face and her black dress creased beyond measure.

"It's all my fault," Julie sobbed. "Mom, I didn't — I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—" She took deep, gasping breaths, fighting against an invisible force which eventually sent her dropping to her knees.

Lee didn't think about it as he dropped the crowbar and swept the girl up in his arms, instinct driving him as even her mother leant forward, looking for all the world as if she were prepared to throw herself out of her chair and catch her daughter. She looked on helplessly as Julie sobbed loudly against him, suddenly clinging to his shoulders and shivering violently whilst burying her face into his chest, soaking his shirt, seeking any comfort she could find.

Julie cried all the way to the house, cried as Lee set her down on her bed and had to gently prise her fingers out of his shirt, one by one, over and over, gently urging her to stop grabbing on and just let go, Jules, c'mon kid, let go—

It was half an hour later, after giving in to Jules and letting her cling to him for just a bit longer until she had exhausted herself that he followed Bonnie out of the room.

"I didn't realise she knew Charlie's boy so well."

Mrs. Black sighed. "She didn't," she said, looking away. "Charlie's boy — Beau . . . Did you know he died in a car crash?"

Oh. Oh.

"Oh," Lee replied lamely, unable to find the words that might explain how he understood now why Jules was grieving so badly. It had only been six years or so since her father had died the same way.

Mrs. Black began pushing herself down the narrow hallway. "You remember we had that old truck? The Chevy?" she asked, though she did not wait for an answer, did not look back to see if he was following her. "Well, I can't really drive anymore, so I let Jules work on it."

Lee didn't understand, but nodded to Bonnie's back anyway.

"You know what she's like," she continued as they entered the living room and faced one another. "She pulled the whole damn thing apart and rebuilt it good as new so we could sell it."

Lee still couldn't see the punchline of her story, and it must have shown in his face because Bonnie sighed as she pulled on the brake of her chair, bracing her arms against the sides of it, settling in the middle of the room with a grim expression on her face.

"Charlie bought it," she explained. "He gave it to Beau as a welcome home present, of sorts, and . . . well . . . I guess Jules blames herself — I didn't really think about it until just now. Didn't piece it together." Bonnie looked down at her hands, frowning to herself. "But . . . I should have. She was the same way after George died. She helped him work on the wagon a few times, you know, and then . . ."

Bonnie couldn't finish her sentence. She didn't have to. Lee knew how that story ended.

He swallowed thickly. He'd never been much good at sadness, at sympathy — and he was so angry all the time now that there wasn't room for much more than that, but Julie's heartbreak had left him feeling so heavy and weak at the same time that he wasn't sure he could stand to listen to anything else Mrs. Black was prepared to tell him.

And yet, he couldn't help but say, "But that wasn't her fault."

It was a struggle to keep his voice low from the strange indignance he felt, because it wasn't fair that Jules was beating herself up so badly, it wasn't fair that she was fifteen and feeling so awful about something beyond her control. She was so young. "She didn't kill Mr. Black anymore than she killed Charlie's boy."

Mrs. Black met his eyes again, her chapped lips twisting sadly like she understood his aggravation. "I know. But she doesn't see it that way. Maybe one day," she said ominously, eyes darkening a fraction with strange shadows. "But hopefully — hopefully that won't happen now, so she won't need to."

"What won't happen?"

Bonnie shook her head and waved a hand. "Nothing, nothing." She sat a little straighter in her chair. "Thank you — for coming over so quickly," she said then, and Lee knew it was his cue to leave.

He turned for the door and tried not to think about Bonnie turning so weird — weird like his mom and dad sometimes turned, too. Almost as weird as Old Quil Ateara as she dithered about the reservation and looked at the kids like she expected more out of them.

"Sure," he replied, trying to make his voice as light as possible. "No problem. If you need anything else—"

"I'll be sure to call. Thanks, Lee."

Lee sat in his car for a while after that, the engine running idly as he thought and thought and thought — about what Bonnie had said, how upset Jules had been, how furious he was at everything, all the damn time — and when he finally drove away he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of Samantha in his rear view mirror.

But when he blinked and looked back, she was gone.