Whitefish River the hamiltons move uptown

He relived finding Dragomir's body each and every night since that stormy day.

Every dream started the same -- with his warm bulk curled around them, merely days old, tiny and fragile. Rippled through scenes and scenes of spending time with them (the scant amount he had, damn him). And then he blinked, and Drago lay before him, broken, tattered.

And the rain fell.

Vercingetorix shuffled toward where his son was being tended to, his steps nearly as heavy as his heart. He had kept his distance, afraid to witness what could be the boy's last breath. He was a coward. He only knew Drago lived by word of mouth; otherwise, he was a silent shadow close by, just out of reach, just out of sight. He was useless, here. A failed father.

Hey, buddy, he whispered, dropping low next to Dragomir. He wasn't sure if the other was awake or sleeping; either way, he kept his voice low, hoping not to disturb him. He had to come, though. He had to face his fears, stay close to the boy's side.

He saw his son through a film of tears. The wounds were healing, slowly, but he knew Dragomir would always have scars much deeper than the flesh. He knew what it was like to bear the scars of trauma, and fuck. . .he didn't wish it on anyone, least of all his children. Verx was meant to protect them from those kind of scars, at least for a long while, and now --

How are you? he managed in a choking murmur, not sure of what else to say.

dated approximately a day or so after this thread -- for @Dragomir