"I've learned that things change, people change, and it doesn't mean you forget the past or try to cover it up; it simply means that you move on and treasure the memories. Letting go doesn't mean giving up, it means accepting that some things weren't meant to be."

-Unknown

England, 1987

Arms wrapped tightly around his legs, the young teenage, doe eyed boy sat rocking behind a pair of cupboard doors. The small slits in the wood not shielding his eyes from the impossible terrorizing blood-fest that was happening in front of him. Alone and helpless he watched as his father shot round after round at the menacing creature, walking steadily forward, smirking when a bullet actually hit his body. His father stared in horror as it dug the embedded chunk of shrapnel out of his flesh and let it fall to the floor with a harsh laugh. It took the monster a fraction of a second to sweep the gun from his father's hands and slash its clawed hand across his father's neck before tossing him clean across the room as if he were nothing but a paperweight. It then turned to his mother, his sweet innocent mother who was left cowering in the corner after finding the time to shove her only son into the cupboard.

Her eyes grew wide as he approached, shaking her head in some sort of desperate plea.

"Please," she sobbed. "Please don't do this."

"It's already done," the creature growled, stepping closer and placing a hand behind her neck. He grinned before rearing back his head and expanding his mouth, swiftly coming down and making contact with her neck. The noise, a gut wrenching cross between a slurp and the monsters greedy moans. He drank deeply, and the boy watched the life vanish out of his mother's twitching body, the crimson blood flowing down and staining her porcelain skin and the once cream coloured carpet.

He clamped his hand down over his mouth in a poor attempt to stifle his tears and whimpering.

It didn't work.

The creature stopped his feed and slowly scanned the room with its impossibly dark eyes. It smirked when its gaze reached the cupboard doors and wasted no time snapping his mother's neck and jumping in front of his small hiding space. Ripping the door off its hinges he stared at the boy, breathing in his young maturing scent, tilting his head from side to side thoroughly enjoying the panic and terror in those big beautiful eyes.

"Not tonight," it whispered, stretching its neck and taking on a human form and squinting. "Tonight, Peter Carlisle, you live."


A/N: So if things work out right this will shape up to be a Peter/OC fic (really that man does deserve more love) I have some nagging plot bunnies but there will be a few more flash backs involved, but not so many that it feels like an episode of Lost. Hopefully you will enjoy, even if this is just a short beginning. Let me know, reviews are better than cupcakes with sprinkles on top!

-Shelly