The Twilight Series belongs to S. Meyer, no copyright infringement is intended. We're just playing with the characters.

Warnings: Rated M for language, mild violence and sexual content along with the punishment of a tribal elder.


Dear Billy

In a small community, there is always that one person everyone goes to for advice. Usually it's someone who is a respected citizen and holds some type of title within the community. Or it's someone who has not only wisdom due to their years but also experience. La Push was no different than a hundred other small communities around Washington.

The person the people in the small reservation in Northwest Washington went to for advice was Billy Black. He was not only the tribe's chief; he was a respected elder and tribal council leader. Along with Old Quil and Harry, he was responsible for ensuring the tribe's histories, stories, and legends remained an important part of daily life within the tribe.

He also had his own fair share of experience. He had been widowed when his wife died in a car accident; leaving him to care for and raise three children by himself; two of which were girls. That in itself was a daunting task but somehow he managed to raise his children, Rachel, Rebecca and Jacob without issues. Both girls graduated high school with honors and received scholarships which would help them to have promising careers in whatever fields they chose. His son was a bright kid with an uncanny knack for automotive engineering appreciated by all the residents in the community.

Billy's long battle with diabetes put him in a wheelchair due to debilitating neuropathy but it didn't slow him down. He continued to maintain his active role in the tribe. His role as an elder expanded when the legends of their tribe came to fruition; his son and friends along with other youths of the tribe being blessed or cursed—depending on who you talked to—with the ability to phase into wolves in order to protect the tribe. As a result of circumstances beyond his control, Billy buried his best friend Harry and helped to comfort the family Harry left behind. The hardest part for him was the fact he had to keep everything that was going on from his other best friend, Charlie.


Billy picked up the small note that had been left on his porch. Sometimes people were brave enough to ask him in person for advice but those that weren't, they knew if they left a note on his porch, he would answer it. Opening the note, he read the contents:

Dear Billy,
I need some advice. There's a girl and I'm in love with her. She's beautiful, smart, and wonderful, well, except when she yells at me for being a slob…I can't help it that some mornings my aim just isn't very good. I doubt she's ever tried to pee with a hard-on—but I digress. How do I get her to notice me?
Confused and In Love

He chuckled softly as he finished the letter. He recognized the handwriting but at the same time, obviously the sender didn't want him to know, otherwise they would have left their name. It took some time but he finally came up with what he thought was the right advice:

Dear Confused,
If you're missing the toilet, chances are she's already noticed you as you mentioned her yelling at you for it. I'd try asking her out to dinner and perhaps you should take care of your little problem or practice better aiming to start. Or you could just clean up after yourself.
Billy

It had been three months since Jake and Embry had graduated from high school. Both boys expressed a desire to move out and be on their own but it was hard to find a decent place in Port Angeles near the woods which was private and at a price they could afford. So that was how Jake, Embry, and Leah ended up moving in together. For Leah, she wasn't sure whether this was a step up in the world or a downgrade. The only good thing about the situation was that it got her out of her mom's house. Her step-dad Charlie was usually making out with her mom on the couch and her little brother, Seth, was always hanging out with his imprint Amber.

Living with two boys—wolf boys—was just as trying on her nerves as dealing with the couple-fest at her mom's. Embry, thankfully, was neat and cleaned up after himself. But there had been more than one time that Leah ended up nearly falling into the toilet because Jake forgot to put the seat down. And there were the splatters on the lip of the bowl. She understood he was 6'7" tall and the toilet was made for an average-sized person but if he couldn't aim, he should just sit down.

She railed at him for weeks, screaming obscenities and throwing things at his head. He just stood there like a moron, taking her abuse. So, when things changed, she was understandably confused. Suddenly, he started cleaning up the bathroom and no longer forgot to put the seat down. Her anger towards him softened and she found herself enjoying his company; actually seeking him out and wanting to spend time with him.

One day after a horrible day of work at the hospital, she came home and found the table was set for two. A dozen red roses were sitting in a vase in the center of the table which was illuminated by a couple of candles. Jake came into the room and told her to go upstairs for a shower and to change as dinner would be ready soon.

He made his dad's famous spaghetti which was really just plain old noodles and a jar of Prego along with garlic bread and a Caesar salad. After that night, she saw him in a whole different light. It was the day Leah Clearwater fell head over heels for Jacob Black.


Billy rolled his wheelchair onto the porch and saw the small folded square of pink paper blowing in the breeze. As he picked it up, he recognized the perfume. His wife, Sarah had done the same thing to her notes; it was something that both his girls remembered.

Dear Billy,
I met this guy and we have this freaky love at first sight connection. He's really good looking, great in bed, and can be very sweet—but there's just one thing about him that drives me absolutely nuts.
He will not SHUT UP! EVER!
His friends call him Motormouth. I think sometimes he just talks to hear himself speak because half of what he says is nonsensical bullshit. How do I get my boyfriend to be quiet?
Desperate To Get Him To Shut The Fuck Up

He laughed at her words. His daughter had a temper to rival his wife's. He had wondered how Paul had managed not to end up losing any body parts since imprinting on her. He decided to keep his response simple and to the point:

Dear STFU,
Silence can be golden, but in order to communicate your annoyance, you must speak up about his talking habits. Perhaps, he's simply hyperactive or nervous in new situations. Try to encourage quiet time with just the two of you by watching a movie, cuddling, or other couples only romantic activities. If that doesn't work, try duct tape.
Billy

Everyone knew Paul Lahote shot off his mouth. The entire reservation commented on what a cocky little bastard he was. Rachel Black had finally had enough of his babbling. He was constantly trying to impress her by mentioning what he thought were his best qualities, talking himself up, and making himself sound like some big hero.

The particular afternoon when she finally decided, enough was enough, he was in between patrols. She put a bag of popcorn into the microwave and popped a DVD into the player. It was a movie that had come out six months ago, involving spies with just a hint of romance. She cuddled up with him, hoping to have some quiet time.

She had chosen the wrong movie; he had seen it before. As the opening credits started, he was already telling her in detail what he thought was good about the movie and what sucked. As the first action sequence rolled across the screen, she already knew the plot of the entire movie and he had ruined it for her. Then he had the nerve to compare himself with the actor on screen, describing everything he'd do to make the movie better.

ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH!

Escaping from the couch with the excuse of using the bathroom, she crept out to her brother's garage and rummaged around his tool bench until she found what she was looking for. She curled her wrist behind her back so he wouldn't have a clue about the dull, solid gray roll in the palm of her hand.

"Hey, baby!" he greeted her as she returned, tilting his head back on the couch. "You missed the best chase sequence. Two tanks exploded and a jet got blown up. They found the little syringe that-mph!"

There was a squealing shriek of adhesive separating from the roll of duct tape right before his words were cut off as she slapped in down on his mouth, running it around the back of his head and attaching it to the other side. Luckily, Jake had the easy tear kind of duct tape and she quickly tore it away from the roll.

"There!" she yelled in his face, his deep brown eyes reflecting his confusion at her actions. "Maybe now I can hear myself think!" She tossed the roll down onto his lap, watching his knees jerk together to deflect it from unmanning him completely. She watched the rest of the movie in blessed silence.


Another note arrived on the Black porch, this time the handwriting was difficult to read. He wondered as he struggled to read it, if it had been scrawled in the dark or if the person writing it was under some type of time constraint. It was during a time like this, he wished he would just give in and buy a pair of readers:

Dear Billy,
Don't get me wrong, I love my imprint. She's wonderful, kind, and does her best to help make our motley crew of wolves and imprints feel welcome. But how do I go about telling her that I really don't like muffins? I'm all muffined-out. In fact, if I have to eat one more muffin, I may just go out and allow a vampire to kill me.
Wishing for a Different Breakfast Bread

Poor Sam. In Billy's mind, he too felt it was time something was done about Emily's muffins. Not only was he sick of them—they weren't good for his diabetes either. It was as though the only food options available these days at pack meetings were muffins. Gone were the days of having a good old-fashioned barbeque. He pondered on the right words to say when the idea suddenly came to him:

Dear Muffin Hater,
This is a difficult topic for any man to approach with the love of his life. While you should be grateful your significant other takes the time to cook for you—having the same food over and over can get boring. It is no different than what you do in the bedroom. Perhaps, it's time to spice things up a bit in the bedroom and then bring up the topic regarding the merits of other breakfast breads: danishes, donuts, cinnamon rolls, and even plain old toast.
Billy

Sam Uley was going to try and take the advice he had been given. So, one day after work he stopped in a sex shop in Port Angeles, Ambrosia to pick up a few things to spice up their bedroom life. He purchased a bottle of warming massage oil, a black apparatus that had feathers on one end and soft, rubber strings that he supposed could be used as a tickler or whip, and a small vibrator.

The girl at the counter barely glanced at him as she placed his purchases in a black plastic bag. He paid cash, not wanting any evidence of the transaction on their bank account. Living in a small community where most of the residents used the same bank, it wasn't uncommon for someone to receive someone else's mail and open it up before they realized it. The last thing he needed was the pack ribbing him about his and Emily's sex life. As far as he was concerned it was just fine but if spicing things up helped her to realize the benefits of making something other than muffins he was all for it.

That evening he was nervous and had difficulty concentrating on her overview of her day. Thankfully, she didn't notice his distraction and continued to tell him about some new cookbook she and Kim had found. After dinner they relaxed and watched TV. As it got closer to the time when they would go to bed, he reached over and stroked her arm, enjoying as she shuffled closer to him and her skin broke out in goose bumps.

It wasn't long before they were pulling at one another's clothes, kissing passionately; he easily picked her up and carried her to their room. He helped her remove the rest of her clothes and then tugged off his own before joining her on the bed. He was more than ready to bury himself in her moist heat but he remembered the things he had bought earlier that day.

Reaching into the nightstand, he pulled out the massage oil which he opened and placed a few drops on his fingertips. He used his oiled fingers to massage her breasts, watching as her nipples crested immediately at his touch. She moaned and writhed beneath him, her hips thrusting upwards. He grabbed the bottle a second time, adding another few drops to his fingers before he reached down and stroked along her slick folds.

Leaning down, he kept up the rhythm of his strokes on her clit as he laved the flesh of her neck. His mouth trailed up towards her ear and he nibbled on her lobe; his hot breath fanning her hair. He murmured to her, "Em, you know what I love? I love cream cheese danishes."

She didn't answer him back but continued to writhe beneath him. Her hand reached down to lock around his wrist and he thought she was encouraging him. But that wasn't the case; she was speechless in pain, writhing underneath him, trying to get away from his touch. Her breasts and pussy were on fire. She had no idea what he had put on her but it felt like she was being bitten by hundreds of fire ants.

It took her threading her fingers into his hair and pulling on his shorn locks before pulled away enough to look at her. Her face was contorted into a mask of pain. He lifted off her and that's when he noticed the bright red, raised rash on her chest. He picked her up and brought her to the bathroom to help her wash it off. The special night he had planned was ruined.

It took a visit to the emergency room at the Forks' Hospital for a prescription of steroids and antihistamines along with daily oatmeal baths to soothe her allergic reaction. She barely said a word to him and a week later he got the book thrown at him, literally. He reached down to the floor with one hand to pick up the book she had thrown at him while he rubbed the sore spot on his head with the other. Looking down at the title he realized maybe instead of taking Billy's advice he should have just listened to her. In his hand was a new cookbook. Emily Young had been planning to surprise him the entire time.


Billy wheeled himself out onto the porch of the house to get his daily newspaper when he found another sheaf of paper, this one torn from a college ruled spiral notebook. He unfolded the paper, examining the jagged, excited handwriting inside.

Dear Billy,
I have a best friend that is like a brother to me. In fact, everyone THINKS we're brothers - twins actually - just because he does everything exactly like me. If I skateboard, he's into it. If I like 100 Monkeys, so does he. It's starting to annoy me! People are starting to treat us like we're joined at the hip and I just want the freedom to be myself! How can I get him to stop copying everything I do?
Just Me and My Shadow

Billy chuckled. If he didn't know any better, he'd have sworn his daughter Rebecca had written this. Rachel used to stalk after her older sister, mimicking everything she did. That had lasted until they were of school age. He knew exactly how to advise this young person.

Dear Friend/Twin #1,
I have some experience with raising twins and they both drove the other crazy playing the "Shadow Game" copying each other. Remember that your "shadow" is your best friend at heart for a reason. Imitation is one of the most sincere forms of flattery. If he continues to bother you, you can always mention that he should pick out hobbies and activities of his own interest to share with you. That could do the trick.
Billy

Collin was sick and tired of the "twin game". Brady wanted to do everything with him. Colin didn't go out of his way to be like Brady, but somehow they got lumped together with everything. They were the same age, same height, same build, and same complexion. He and Brady were loosely related as distant cousins, but some people got them confused as if they were twins.

Colin had only started to notice how much Brady annoyed him recently. If he got the new Nickelback CD, so did Brady. When he bought a chin-up bar to keep in shape, so did Brady. Anything Colin did, Brady would copy. They had even phased into werewolves on the exact same day! And now Colin and Brady had been more in tune than ever, being inside each other's heads in wolf form.

The breaking point for Colin had been last weekend when his mom had taken them shopping to get him some new school clothes. Everything he had tried on, Brady did too until at one point Colin's mom had cooed, "You boys look like twins! I'm getting you both those shirts!"

Brady was stoked about it but Colin had resented it. He didn't want Brady to have the same shirt. He wanted to be his own man without a shadow to follow him around.

This afternoon he had made plans to go to his new friend Bobby's house and he didn't invite Brady to go with. In fact, all day at school Colin avoided Brady. He ate lunch with the band nerds down in the band hallway. He showed up late to the class they shared together, and stayed late to talk to the teacher about detention, just so that he wouldn't have to talk to Brady between periods. After the last bell, he skipped going to his locker as it was right beside of Brady's.

When he got to Bobby's that afternoon it was a very unpleasant shock he got when he saw Brady with the rest of the guys. Brady had a controller in one hand, stuffing his face with corn chips with the other and he had chirped a friendly, "Hi!" to Colin as if nothing was wrong. As if he belonged, right by Colin's side the entire time.

Colin had stewed all night over what to do about his clingy, needy "twin". The next day he was at his locker when Brady came along, chatting about how much fun they'd had the day before.

Colin grabbed his books and slammed his locker door shut. Brady's locker reverberated in the same manner a second later. Colin clenched his jaw. "I have to get to trigonometry." He hitched his messenger bag across his body and watched as Brady duplicated him with the exact same bag only a different color.

Something inside Colin snapped and he spat out, "Hey, Brady, you wanna play Shadow?"

"Shadow? What's that?"

"Shadow? What's that?" Colin mimicked him.

"Dude," Brady rolled his eyes. "What are you five?"

"Dude, what are you five?" Colin rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Brady turned and headed for his class.

"Whatever," Colin turned and headed for his class.

For the remainder of the day, Colin felt a surge of childish triumph whenever he managed to make Brady angry by copying everything he did. He ate exactly the same thing at lunch, in exactly the same manner. He followed Brady to the bathroom and mocked peeing while Brady went. He never let up the entire day. Finally at the end of the school day his friend had enough.

"Will you quit that?" Brady slammed his locker door shut.

"Will you quit that?" Colin slammed his locker door shut.

"You're not funny!" Brady shouted. Colin shouted his words back at him.

"I hate you!"

"I hate you!"

Brady pulled back his fist and punched Colin in the jaw. Colin's head snapped back for a moment before he reached out and slugged Brady back. Their fists became blurs as they punched each other. A crowd of students gathered around them egging them on with the cheer "Fight! Fight! Fight!" until finally a teacher managed to break them apart and send them to the principal's office.

Oddly enough, somehow during their scrapping, Brady and Colin had managed to land their blows in exactly the same places which gave them exactly the same injuries.


After the incident with Brady and Colin, Sam called an emergency pack meeting. Too many people had been burned by Billy's advice and it was time to stop him before someone ended up seriously hurt. Emily had only just started talking to him after a week of silence and he didn't know what was worse—the quiet solitude or her non-stop nagging.

As he glanced around the room, Sam sighed loudly. Brady and Colin were sporting identical black eyes, giving them the appearance of a pair of thieving raccoons. Paul's hair was starting to grow back but he still had a bald patch where he had to cut and remove the duct tape from his head. Embry was shooting daggers at Jake and Leah, who were canoodling together. Sam wasn't completely sure but he had an inkling of why Embry had murder on his mind.

He cleared his throat several times to call the meeting to order. "I want to thank you for coming here on such short notice. It's come to my attention that there is something that needs to be urgently addressed." His gaze swept the room before he continued.

"While I respect certain members of our tribe - not only because of their position, but also because of their age — something must be done about Billy Black. I can no longer allow him to dole out advice to anyone."

There was a moment of silence before nearly every person in the room cheered in agreement. Their excitement was short lived as it was interrupted by Jake's protests.

"Wait…what? You can't do that…I don't understand," his voice lifted above the rest, confused about his pack mate's reactions to his father.

"If Rachel hadn't asked for your dad's advice, I'd still have a full head of hair," Paul snarled, casting a thunderous look at Jacob.

"Yeah," Brady and Colin seconded. "It's all his fault," they chimed together before they began to pick a fight with one another.

"Boys, knock it off," Sam ordered. "It must be done, Jacob. I'm sorry but he has to be stopped before his advice ends up killing someone." His felt his stomach clench in fear as he remembered Emily's allergic reaction. It had only been a skin reaction but the doctor had warned if she had accidently ingested any; she could have died from her throat swelling shut.

"I can't help it that none of you understood his advice. His advice worked out just fine for me," Jake gestured, waving his hand between him and Leah.

Embry's eyes widened, his nostrils flared and he choked as he responded, "Sure, sure, Jake. It worked out fine for you. Did you give any thought to how it's affected me? Every single night—and I mean every single night, if it's not you grunting her name, it's her yelling yours. I haven't gotten a full night's sleep in months. I've had to take to sleeping in the woods in wolf form to get away from you two. Don't even get me started on the stench either. The whole fucking house reeks like you two and sex. I can't take another second of it."

Both Jake and Leah had the decency to blush at Embry's words. So, maybe Billy's advice had helped Jake get the girl but once he had her, he forgot about everything else, including his best friend. He sighed, knowing in his heart that his dad must be stopped.


A plan was quickly formulated and Embry volunteered to implement it. Paul borrowed some of Rachel's makeup, Sam made another stop at the adult store in Port Angeles, and Brady and Colin spent the last of their lunch money on roll of pink camouflage duct tape. Embry showed up to the Black house on Saturday afternoon and knocked on the door.

"Hey, Billy," he greeted serenely. "So, Jake's busy today but he asked me to bring you to Charlie's."

"Thanks, Embry. I appreciate it. It's a big game today; the Mariners are going up against the Yankees! I hope they whip their asses today."

Embry helped Billy wheel out to his car and once Billy was situated in the passenger seat he tucked Billy's wheelchair in the trunk. The drive to Forks to Charlie's house didn't take very long and he made sure to make some small talk, so Billy wouldn't get suspicious. Finally, he pulled the car to a stop about a block from Charlie's.

"Embry, what's going on? Charlie's house is just up the road."

"I know," he answered. "I'd like to tell you I'm sorry but I can't…"

He grabbed Billy's wheelchair out of the trunk and put Billy into it. Then, he grabbed the supplies he had been given and got to work. He checked over his work and satisfied with the results, Embry pushed Billy in his chair that last block. Sam had followed him in wolf form to Forks and had changed back so he could follow Embry in his car. He knew they would have to make a speedy getaway—though a small part of him didn't want to miss out on the excitement but one never knew if Charlie had his gun on him or not.

He slowed down once he got to Charlie's walkway; putting the brakes on Billy's wheelchair, he whispered in his ear, "Don't even think about giving any member of the pack advice ever again Billy if you know what's good for you. If you think this is bad, you don't want to know what else we can come up with."

With those final words, Embry darted to the waiting car and hopped in. Sam honked the horn several times before peeling away. The two of them were only able to restrain their laughter for mere moments and once they were down the road a mile or so, Sam was forced to stop as he couldn't see the road any longer—tears accompanying his laughter.


Charlie was in the midst of throwing a few more beers into the fridge when he heard the incessant honking of a car horn. Damn kids he thought to himself when mere moments later, he heard someone peeling away. It was the sound reminiscent of rocks and dirt flying up in the air and no doubt hitting his police cruiser. He cursed to himself because he had just gotten it detailed the other day. Charlie stormed out onto his porch, hoping to catch the license plates of the idiots who dared to mess with his police ride.

His eyes widened in shock when he saw his best friend Billy, taped to his wheelchair with pink tape. The tape was wrapped around his arms and legs tethering him in place to his chair. Charlie's fuzzy brown eyebrows drew together, his questioning gaze slide upwards as he wondered why Billy wasn't saying anything.

It was then Charlie noticed the blue ball in Billy's mouth, black leather straps securing it firmly into place. It also appeared Billy had two black eyes drawn crudely onto his face and filled in with kohl. Rushing down to his friend, Charlie quickly undid the strap holding the ball gag in place.

"Jesus Christ Billy, what happened to you?!" he asked in concern as his fingers set about removing the duct tape.

"Nothing—nothing at all," Billy answered, his cheeks crimson red.

"You look like someone beat the hell out of you. How'd you get here? I don't see Jake. Who did this to you?"

Charlie ripped the duct tape holding Billy's left wrist down. With his hand free, Billy reached up to wiped at the eyeliner hat Embry had smeared around his eyes.

"Nobody. I don't want to talk about it Charlie. Just get me free and let's go watch the game."

"Oh," Charlie answered giving him a pensive stare. Billy returned the look. They had known each other a long time and this was not a can of worms they were prepared to open between them. If Billy didn't want to talk about it, Charlie wasn't going to pry.

"Well, let's get inside, the games about to start." With Billy mostly free of the tape and seemingly unharmed, Charlie made his way to the back of the wheelchair so he could push him up the walkway and into the house. It was then that he noticed the sign taped to the back of Billy's chair:

You will be stopped at all costs. This is just the beginning. Do not give advice to anyone at any time or anywhere.
From your disgruntled advice seekers

Charlie couldn't help his reaction. He burst out laughing. His eyes filled with tears as he bent over in mirth. Billy just never learned, did he?

"What's so funny," Billy asked.

"This," he responded as he handed Billy the piece of paper. "I thought Harry told you years ago to stop giving people advice. Don't you remember the time Sue kicked him out of the house for a week because you told him if he didn't think the house was clean enough, he should buy her some cleaning products so she'd get the hint?"

"It's not my fault he gave them to her for Mother's Day!"

"What about your advice to me? I told you I was gonna cut that tree outside Bells' window down when I found out she was coming to stay with me. You told me it would be bad luck because Renee and I planted it when she was born. So, instead I followed your advice. I roughed up the window making it so it would be noisy as hell if it was opened and made sure to clean my gun when that Cullen kid came over."

Billy gulped nervously as he wondered where his friend was going with this. Charlie continued, "It didn't stop that little fucker from bringing a goddamn oil can to grease up the window. Nor did my gun cleaning keep him away from my daughter—though I suppose it would've helped if you'd given me the all the information. Maybe you could have told me that he was a vampire from the get-go and was going to dazzle her."

Billy's eyes widened in shock as his mouth opened and closed rapidly which gave him the appearance of a guppy out of water. "How did…you…know," he sputtered.

"I didn't become Chief of Police because of my looks alone."

"You do realize vampires don't need to climb trees right, Charlie?"

"You do realize that your advice is dangerous to society, right, Billy?"

The End