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

The days since the incident at Silvertip all blurred together for Dragomir. He had fewer panic attacks since being moved from the cave, which served only to remind him of his captors, but they still occurred now and again, triggered by things that ought not have bothered him. The whisper of rain on leaves, maybe, or a glimpse of an errant shadow. His waking hours were fretful and his sleep was moreso. But he survived, and that was what mattered most to those he cared about.

To Dragomir himself, death would have been better. He always dreamed the same fear-filled dreams and he always woke in panic. When he was awake he was in pain; even the strongest aids the healers offered him only took the edge off. He'd given up trying to move and resigned himself to lying around, capable only of shifting his position with slow, excruciating movements. Already the lean youthful muscle he'd been building up was starting to waste. His cheek remained swollen and bruised beneath his dark fur, making his face seem incredibly lopsided. Even working his jaws to swallow hurt.

When he tried to recount the event, his tongue froze to the roof of his mouth and he couldn't find the words. It wasn't that he feared telling his family what happened to him, but it seemed taboo somehow. If he said it it would make it more real. Maybe they would find him again if he spoke of it. Whatever the reason, Dragomir remained mum about it, unable to bring himself to speak of it. He tried to keep his complaints to himself as well, but it was impossible. Everything hurt, he couldn't do anything, he was bored or he was afraid or he was tired but couldn't sleep. He had a lot to complain about.

So when Vercingetorix came to visit, Dragomir did not call him out for not being there like he might have before, but he also didn't hesitate to say, hurts so much, in response to his father's query. His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow and he turned his head away with a wince as the scabs on his neck pulled, eyes filming with tears.

Hurts so much, and Verx let loose a quiet, hiccuping sob, pressing his nose hard into the earth between his paws. I know, goufa, he breathed, tears making deep, dark rivulets through the fur on his cheeks. I'm so sorry you have to hurt like this. Daddy's so sorry.

But there was no number of apologies that could make this right. No number that could change the past. This image would forever be burned into the back of his mind, along with finding his son, carrying him to Kaistleoki. . . Would the nightmares ever stop for him? For, presumably, Dragomir?

Ai hod yu in, Vercingetorix whispered, coming as close as he could to where Drago lay without jostling him in the slightest. One touch could be excruciating -- god, he couldn't even hold his boy. . . I'll never stop loving you. No matter where I am. No matter what's happened. And Drago. . .

No. He couldn't promise safety, right? Nothing was guaranteed, nothing was perfect. And yet, what else was he to say?

I'll never let anyone hurt you like this again, he vowed, fervently, opening his tear-filled eyes and fixing them on his son's face. He stared like a man who once was blind, but now could see, greedily drinking in Dragomir's visage. Painting it forever in his memory. I'll never let anyone even get close to hurting you like this again.

For all the agony that Dragomir was suffering through, it was hard to watch Vercingetorix suffer, too. His abduction had rattled many things about him that were fundamental to his character—no doubt he would be changed when all was said and done—but Dragomir's empathy, which had little cause to show itself before now, would remain intact. The tears that dripped down his snout were as much for his father's evident pain as for his own hurts. What anger Dragomir had held toward Vercingetorix before seemed trivial now.

Ditto Aurëwen. It was perhaps too much to say that all would be forgotten, but this event was enough for him to forgive his parents their follies. He could have died. He might never have seen them again. In his moment of clarity, Dragomir recognized that losing them was the worst thing that could ever happen.

Ai hod yu in, he repeated, sniffling into the crook of one forearm and wincing as pain lanced through the side of his face. The assurances helped. He seemed permanently suspended somewhere between losing his mind with fear and being detached from himself, so assurances and real shows of emotion helped him keep his wits about him. It was a rare, quiet moment today where Dragomir was neither plagued by frightful memories or withdrawn into himself; it wouldn't last long, so he cherished it by stretching his neck toward his father and placing his jaw tenderly upon the ground.

You can't promise that, he said regretfully. No one could promise something like that. He would have believed it before, but now he couldn't. Sanguinus had tricked him and no amount of preparation on his parents' part could have stopped what happened. Just stay, Dragomir pleaded. Don't leave me again.

Hearing his son say that he loved him, too, was as sweet as any symphony. A balm to the ears. Vercingetorix might be bound for hell upon death -- he'd certainly given it his best effort -- but the one thing that would forever redeem him was that he'd created this boy. This kind, beautiful, loving, perfect boy.

Even if he was loath to take credit for that, the fact remained. Now, Verx needed to better live up to his own role in life.

I know, buddy, he replied sadly, frowning. Goddamn, if only it were still possible to placate Dragomir through fervent words! But he was too old now, and had experienced the horrors of the world.

My fault. My fucking fault.

Verx touched his nose, very gently, to the crown of Drago's head, taking in the scent that was imprinted on his mind, his heart. Only death could take me from you, he vowed, his voice a hoarse whisper. I'll never leave you, not if I have anything to say about it. But Dragomir. . .

He pulled back, his stare gimlet once more. Whoever did this to you, I'll find them. I'll make sure they never hurt you or anyone else again. That's what we gotta do in life. . .stand up for those we love, and get rid of those who hurt others for no reason.

It was the closest he'd ever come to a speech on morality, and it shocked even him as the sentiment left his lips.

Still, he meant all of it. Every word.

It was customary for Dragomir to pull away from touch, being strangely averse to it as he was, but he didn't even flinch when Vercingetorix's cool nose touched his brow. He let his eyes flutter closed, breathing out a hitched sob. He didn't blame his parents for what happened, not really. Deep inside he was certain that if they never left Diaspora, this never would have happened, but the reality was he could just as easily have been out exploring on his own and been tricked, whether or not they had stayed. It was no one's fault but his own, and despite all the hurt and fear and anger, Dragomir wasn't looking for a place to point fingers. If he was, then his father wasn't likely his first candidate.

Yet there was someone at fault, Dragomir realized. As Vercingetorix revealed his plan, the boy's mouth went dry. His heart beat hard in his chest and his hackles lifted of their own volition. Despite being Aurëwen's relatively gentle son, nurtured primarily by her, Dragomir housed his father's flame within him and he agreed with the sentiment that protecting your own was one of the most important things. But he was terrified, too; for Vercingetorix to leave again and not come back like the other times, or for him to get hurt pursuing vengeance against two wolves who were as immoral as his tormenters. He wanted to protest but his mouth felt like it was glued shut.

Until, at last, in a very tiny and cracked voice, Dragomir revealed, it's mom's friend. Th... th-the r-redback one. The effort to say that was monumental and he was immediately hit by a wave of regret and horror both, and with a shuddering breath he said, please, but he didn't know what he meant to ask for.

Had this been an old slapstick movie and not real life, there'd be a double (maybe triple) take, some sound effects, dramatic music. . . As it was, Verx just gaped at his son when he spoke -- mom's friend?! -- and then as Drago clarified, his face contorted into puzzlement. Red-backed. . .red-backed, red-backed, red-backed --

Um. . .Sanguinus? he asked, brows high. Well, fuck, that wasn't right. Either Dragomir was mistaken, or that son of a bitch was way more sneaky than he could have imagined. Still, he shook his head slowly, gently, frowning. No, that's. . . Drago, he was with us when we were looking for you. Sanguinus. He was around when you disappeared. It couldn't have been him.

Right? Still, he oughta have a talk with Aure about the company she kept. Not that his friends were any better, buuuut. . .

But the wolf looked like Sanguinus? Vercingetorix added. If so, that was a pretty damn good clue. Red backs weren't all that common, or so he thought.

The guilt that washed over him for uttering the name of his assailant was quick to turn to abject misery when Vercingetorix cast doubt on his claim. He could neither confirm or deny what his father said. He had been out cold for a while after Sanguinus slammed him into the tree, and it was several days before his parents found him at the bottom of the cliffs—who knew what webs Sanguinus wove in those in-betweens? Drago didn't but he knew he wasn't mistaken about the identity of his tormenter. Sanguinus had even said Aurëwen sent him looking for Dragomir.

Vercingetorix's lack of faith in his admission sank into his gut like a stone and immediately festered. His chest felt tight and his head felt woozy. All of his hurts seemed amplified, like fists slamming into him from multiple angles. Dragomir felt winded and began to breathe more rapidly, trying to extinguish the frantic burning in his lungs, but his eyes adopted a panicked sheen nonetheless as he curled in on himself and cried, IT WAS HIM! The wolf hadn't just looked like Sanguinus, it was Sanguinus. At least as far as Dragomir knew, and no amount of reasoning would convince him otherwise. Merrick had played the part too well and Dragomir hadn't known his mother's "friend" well enough prior to the incident to recognize the flaws.

He couldn't summon the breath or composure to say anything else; he was now fully hyperventilating with his head shoved down between his forelegs.

Just as Dragomir began to panic, so too did his daddy, albeit at a much lower level. His ears pinned back at the boy's shriek, his head shaking, no, no, no -- It's okay, it's okay, Verx assured him, relaxing his posture to look as non-threatening as possible. Shhhh, I'm sorry, Drago -- shhh. . .I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you.

It wasn't Sanguinus. But for the case of this conversation, and likely future conversations, it would have to be. And in the meantime, perhaps he would go and talk to the red-backed man.

I'm sorry, he whispered, slipping back into Trigedasleng. He hoped Dragomir would emerge again; right now the pup was curled up like a turtle in its shell, face hidden. Goddamn it. Why had this happened? Please forgive me. It's okay now. . .nobody is gonna get to you when I'm right here, right here. . .

And he'd stay as long as his son needed, too.

Dragomir's mind reeled through hundreds of images in that moment—the forest, Sanguinus saying Aurë had sent him, Sanguinus claiming he was going to stop coyotes, trekking along to the mountain, the cave, the black shadow with the sharp teeth, Merrick descending on him, the cliff, the edge of it disappearing past his eyes as he was thrown—and a violent trembling took residence in his aching rib cage, spreading rapidly to his limbs until he was quaking on the spot. His breathing was shallow and fast and there was a strange buzzing in his ears, blotting out the sound of Vercingetorix's voice and making it sound like he was underwater.

How could Vercingetorix explain Sanguinus' conspicuous disappearance if not for the fact the man knew he had failed and had fled?

He couldn't seem to get a deep enough breath to quell the frantic fluttering in his chest and his eyes were bright with anxiety as he turned his face to peek back up at his father. Vercingetorix's calm words were reassuring. It was enough to slow Dragomir's breathing a little, but the panic attack would take longer than that to pass. In the meantime all he could do was shake his head, it isn't okay it's not okay, and fight against the quivering of his body.

It wasn't okay. It would never be okay. So long as what had happened had happened (that obviously would never change) it wouldn't be okay, and they'd both have to live with it. But they'd both have to move on, too, and he was here to help.

I'm here, Verx vowed, his voice quieter than it had ever been before. I'm not leaving again. It's okay if you don't believe me, but I promise. I promise.

Only death. He was fucking serious. Because laying here with Dragomir had hammered home quite well that he'd failed his kids, and he couldn't keep going on failing his kids, not while he was alive. Not while they were around to protect.

I'm not leaving again, Vercingetorix vowed. It's okay if you don't believe me. Dragomir didn't, not really. How many times had promises been made and then broken in his life? But I promise. After a long moment in which Dragomir huffed breaths in and out through his nose and fought to keep both his imagination and his nausea under control, the boy nodded briskly. He didn't really believe it because he couldn't afford to be disappointed by his father again, but he accepted it. It was better than arguing about it, which might have seemed to him the better option prior to his abduction.

At last his breathing began to level out and things began to feel safer, and all at once Dragomir was overcome by a wave of exhaustion. He fought with himself for several seconds before asking, in a voice timid as a mouse's, can we just go to sleep? The likelihood of him actually falling to sleep anytime soon was extremely low, but he just wanted to close his eyes and not try to make an effort to be communicative when even the slightest reminder of his trauma set his mind right back into the cave.

Of course, he whispered, his own eyelids beginning to droop. Goodnight, goufa. Never doubt how much I love you. He drew his son tighter into his embrace, settling further into the earth. A good nap, he could get behind. Even better was a good nap with his beautiful, wonderful, living son.

It was nothing short of a miracle, and Verx would take care never to fucking forget it.