Redhawk Caldera The best ever death metal band out of Denton

Maybe @Fox?

There were days, hard days, in which Whip felt like nothing more than a ghost. A spectral presence, withdrawn and drifting along like a pale shadow beyond the veil of recognition. An invisible, forgotten child among his family, he reasoned. He had seen the anguish in his parents eyes over Ferret, a monster beyond comprehension, and over Jackrabbit (who was not even his real brother, but a replacement, in the first place), but what of him? What of their own silent child? What of Whip's unspoken cries for help and attention? Nothing.

He continued to withdraw, inwardly spiraling out of control with abandon. Yet, all his turmoil went unnoticed to the rest of his family. Instead they spoke of Ferret... Of Jackrabbit... Of Peter -- the children they had already failed, but not of the boy they were actively failing.

He would be invisible no longer. Whip would make them see.

His tattered fore limbs bled freely. His wounds, self-inflicted. A dappled trail of crimson was left in his wake, marking Whip's staggered path though the rendezvous site under the pale light of the moon. He winced, fighting back both the pain and the urge to cry out for help. A sound passed his lips, but it was merely a resigned whimper. He kept moving, biting his lip as he pushed further into the rendezvous site where he knew he would be found.

Peregrine was no mind reader, yet he was well aware there was something amiss with Whip. The boy was quiet and withdrawn no matter how much the Alpha male tried to engage him. He was out of reach. That didn't stop the father from noticing, trying or caring. But he wasn't sure what he could do. Whip's remoteness thwarted him at every turn. And Peregrine's recent feelings of inadequacy didn't help matters. If anything, his inability to touch base with Whip only further convinced him that he was an unfit parent.

When the swarthy wolf returned to the rendezvous site following a late patrol and smelled blood, he frantically tracked it and found Whip shuffling about with shredded legs. "What the fuck happened?" he blurted, looking at his son's face as realization slowly dawned on him. Peregrine was immediately reminded of Junior and it made his stomach drop in horror. "Why?" The word ripped out of him in a keening sort of wail. It both was and was not directed solely at Whip.

Like Peregrine, Fox felt Whip's withdrawn attitude, but hadn't been able to pull herself out of her own funk long enough to check on him. How had it come to this? They had done so well with their first litter, yet this one felt like a failure. Why was this year so different than the last? How had things gone so downhill that she could barely keep their family together? In fact, they hadn't managed to keep the family together at all this year. One of their sons had died, another had tried to kill Peregrine, and now one of them was being a fucking idiot.

"Whip, what the fuck?" she blurted out, coming up right alongside Peregrine. Instead of being concerned, Fox was furious. How could he do this? She and Peregrine had been through so much, so he decides the best course of action is to fuck his own shit up? How on earth did he think that was even a remotely good idea? Now they would need to find a medic to clean him up, and he'd be out of commission for a few days, so he wouldn't be able to help with hunting duties.

A voice sounded behind Whip, causing his march to come skidding to a sudden halt. He turned his head weakly, half-lidden eyes falling on his father. Just as Whip had hoped, he had been found. Yet, it did cause his heart to stir in the way he thought it would. The rush of gratification he imagined he'd feel in this moment of emotional triumph was absent. There was nary a ripple. Instead, Whip simply felt empty, just as always, when faced with his father's disapproving stare.

Why? In truth, Whip asked himself the same questions when the pain became difficult to bear. He had his reasons. The first: he wasted to feel something, anything, wether it be positive or negative, to take precedent over his growing emotional static. Second: this was a desperate cry for attention -- much louder than his previous bout of silence. Whip spoke none of this to his father, and in his silence he cast his gaze downward.

He considered himself closest to his father, for all intents and purposes. Though he hadn't dug deep into Whip's turbulent psyche, Peregrine had at least made some effort. Perhaps that is why, despite how hard Whip tried, he could not bring himself to resent his father. His mother, who had not once made the attempt to reach out (in Whip's mind), was a different story.

When Fox took her place at Peregrine's side and shouted with anger, Whip finally felt something stir. A smug, self-serving sense of satisfaction. "Do you see me now?" he mumbled under his breath while calmly refusing to meet his parents' collective gaze.

There wasn't a scrap of disapproval in Peregrine's gaze. (Leave that to Fox!) There was only surprise, horror and dismay there. "Why?" he said again, more quietly this time, notes of defeat and grief in his voice. Why would Whip do this to himself? Why would he let it get this bad? Why hadn't he said something? The monarch had already felt like a failure before this but now he felt... well, he felt not unlike that day when he had thrown himself down the mountain after Peter's death. A tremor wracked his body.

His ears fell back when Fox appeared and began shouting at their son. "Do you see me now?" Whip asked them dispassionately, refusing to look at them. Peregrine didn't intend to play good cop/bad cop with Fox but he couldn't help but ignore her fury and ask softly, "What do you mean...?" Whip hadn't been very present ever since Peter's death and they had all struggled with it. But they'd all been right here. "We're right here, Whip."

Fox rolled her eyes at Whip's response and let Peregrine get his word in, first. "We're all going through the same shit, Whip. This is not the way to deal with it. If you want to fuck your shit up, that's fine, but not if it means putting us out of a hunter while you heal. You know this means we have to get somebody to fix up your mess now, right? You're making it difficult for everybody around you. Is that what you want?" To be a burden, when he could most certainly act out in more positive ways. He could have brought them his latest kill if he wanted some attention, dammit. Frustration and anger was clear in her voice, but also, somewhere, was guidance.

"Ferret tried to kill your father," she said, casting Peregrine a brief glance before turning her attention back to Whip, "And now you're trying to hurt all of us with this bullshit?" Fox hadn't a clue that Perry was thinking good cop/bad cop, but she sure as hell was playing that part right now. "Is that the kind of attention you want, buddy?"

Whip shifted shakily in place on torn and broken limbs as he listened in distant silence. The difference in the reaction of his parents was both confusing and alarming. His father spoke first, voice steeped in compassion and fear. The boy looked down at his bleeding legs and wondered if he should  give in to his father's will and explain. Judging by his father's reaction alone, Whip was leaning toward the possibility. He'd get it. Dad would understand.

He was safe.

There was no time to explain before Mother, with all the anger she could muster, lambasted Whip for his manic, desperate cry for help. He made himself small as she made it perfectly clear to him that he was only a burden on their family. "I—" he started, voice hitching weakly in his throat. "No." This was not the attention he wanted -- in fact it was quite the opposite.

Fox's tirade made him flinch. Peregrine wanted to calm her down (for her sake as much as their son's) but he also thought she had a point. And maybe Fox would get through to him this way, even if it wasn't enjoyable for anyone involved. The Alpha was still struggling to understand why Whip had done this to himself, though he supposed that made him a hypocrite. Now his mind was clouding with memories of that day when he had been so broken by Peter's death that he had flung himself from a mountain in the halfway hope that it would kill him. His eyes closed.

They reopened a beat later. He had regretted that decision. Life was hard, really fucking hard, but it was still worth living. "Whip," he said quietly when it was his turn to speak again, "hurting yourself helps no one. I understand if you're feeling shitty but there are better ways of dealing with it than injuring yourself." Whip had just said this wasn't the sort of attention he wanted, so the patriarch asked, "What do you want from us, son? What do you need? You know we're willing to give you anything, right? We just can't read minds. We need you to tell us when something's the matter. And tell us what we can do to help."

She was fuming, there was no doubting that, but at least she'd managed to get through to him. At least in some small way. Peregrine played the good cop well, and now that they had Whip's attention, Fox managed to calm herself down and think slightly more rationally. Perry was right—they couldn't read minds—and she hoped Whip would understand that. It was a lesson he was going to have to learn sooner rather than later.

Her ears were wide open, and her expression had softened as she awaited to hear what their son had to say.

Fox, with all her righteous fury, soon fell silent. Peregrine on the other hand, continued to beg Whip to communicate -- or at least give some sort of reason for why he had done this. Truthfully, Whip could do neither in the moment. He felt like he was trapped in a fog, unable to collect any shred of coherent thought. "I just— I just—" sputtered Whip as he tried to tell his father something. Nevertheless, what he was left with was nothing. Whip began to sob and his words were drowned in a maelstrom of tears.

All the emotions he had suppressed after Peter's death; grief, fear, uncertainty -- they all welled up with a surprising intensity. Whip shut his eyes tightly, feeling as if he would be swept away on another wave of tears. He went straight to his father's embrace, burying his face into the scruff of his neck as he completely fucking lost it.

The silence that fell felt heavy to Peregrine. He resisted the urge to glance at Fox, keeping his jade gaze steady on his son's face as he waited. And waited. And waited. In the end, all Whip managed was some choked-off words and a gasping sob before he was plunging his face into his father's neck. Although taken by surprise, the Alpha was quick to touch his muzzle against the boy's neck and lift a foreleg to wrap around his slim shoulder. He embraced Whip, letting the boy vent out the emotions he couldn't seem to name or explain.

Over the boy's head, Peregrine finally did look at his mate. Concern and confusion simmered in equal parts in his gaze. He wanted to help Whip but he didn't know how. And he couldn't think of anyone else who could reach out to the stricken pup. He did briefly think of Sasha but the aspiring counselor had yet to make any impression at all upon the Alpha male. He wouldn't trust his son's mental health to someone unproven. He bit back a sigh, mouthing, "What do we do?" to Fox even as he grasped Whip all the tighter, just holding him.

How had their first litter been so easy compared to this one? Sure, they had lost their smallest, but at least he hadn't been... like this. Or like Ferret. Nightjar had his moments, but he'd never been an outright bully. Peregrine mouthed a silent question, and Fox replied with a bewildered ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. (Remedy's computer auto expanded that word, thinks that's hilarious, and is going to leave it like that.) But then something dawned on her.

"Whip, what do you say I take you and Gannet on an adventure to the north in a week or two?" she suggested. "We can get out of the caldera for a bit and learn about some good ol' Teekon Wilds history. And we can see your sister, Wildfire." Fox had promised her daughter that she'd come up at some point before their next litter was on the way, and maybe it would help take Whip's mind off of things for a little while. It would be an adventure!

Pushing further into his father's embrace, Whip continued to break down. Muffled sobs sounded though his father's fur as struggled, and failed, to regain his usual icy composure. The boy felt as if he had melted: emotionally, and physically -- for as his sorrow crashed over him, Whip had difficulty standing. His feet shuffled as he fought to stay upright. Whip soon faltered, knees buckling, but he leaned against his father for support. Peregrine did not say a word, nor did he need to. His support was evident enough in his actions. 

When it came to his mother and her offering, perhaps Whip would have been more surprised if he were in a better, less manic state of mind. This, was exactly the attention he sought. Unable to regain his wits, all Whip could do was nod weakly into his father's scruff. 

Yes.

Fox proposed an upcoming adventure. As Peregrine slid down alongside Whip, he looked to their son, wondering what he would make of her idea. He was a little surprised when Whip nodded. He felt a flash of relief and shot his mate a grateful, hopeful look. Maybe Whip just needed a distraction to get his mind off things. Perhaps a change of scenery would do him some good. Peregrine would cross his metaphorical fingers.

In the meantime, he gently began cleaning the wounds on the boy's legs. They should probably call a medic or something but Peregrine wanted to do this for his son. His movements were careful bordering on tender as he made sure the bleeding had stopped. "You'll be good as new in time for the trip," he murmured into Whip's ear, offering him a watery smile, before lapsing into silence. He remained pressed to the youth's side and would stay there as long as Whip needed him.

I think this works as a final post for me... although whistle if you want to continue! :)

I'm also good with closing out! *pretends to have a bar tab*

Thankfully, Whip took to the idea as well as she could hope for. Fox was already plotting their route with what little brainpower she had. She would take them up through Swiftcurrent Creek to see her old stomping grounds. She hadn't been there in _ages,_ though she was pretty sure nobody she knew lived there any longer. In fact, last she heard, nobody at all lived there.

Feeling at least somewhat settled, she also went to work on Whip's legs, trying not to berate him further for his clearly idiotic actions.