Acheron had finally stopped screaming.
Originally, it wasn't the kind of medicine Eron had craved, but as soon as he felt the fog settle over his thoughts, the cool, numbing and merciful feeling spread. He didn't fight it; instead, he welcomed it.
And then he was gone.
Kai was already in motion. Bandages, disinfectants, antiseptics, everything came out of the bag in swift, practised movements. He snapped on a pair of gloves, then handed extras to his parents and siblings.
"No bare hands," he said tightly. "Gloves on, all of you."
He instructed Oaklen to fetch warm water and towels. Ivy ran to the nearest linen closet, grabbing the first bundle she could get her hands on; it didn't matter if it was new or old.
When she returned, Kai was already cutting the blood-soaked clothes from Acheron's limp body. She froze. Bruises were blooming, angry purples and sickly blues, across his pale skin like poison beneath the surface.
Ivy's hands trembled. She bit her lip to hold in the sob.
"Mom," Kai said without looking up, his voice clipped. "Go sit with Lena and Cam."
"I'm not leaving him," Ivy said flatly, her voice cracking. She knelt beside Acheron's head, dipped a cloth into the warm water, and gently wiped the blood from his cheeks.
Kai didn't argue again.
He worked methodically, inspecting each wound with clinical detachment. Most were shallow abrasions, easily cleaned, but the deeper slashes on Acheron's thighs would need stitches. Kai retrieved his suture kit, found a clean needle, and began to thread it with swift but sure fingers.
Kai's hands were moving quickly but still neatly and efficiently.
Ivo had been silently assisting, holding gauze, cleaning cuts, but when the first stitch pierced flesh, he went pale and bolted for the nearest bathroom, unable to keep the contents of his stomach.
Kai didn't flinch. His focus never wavered. One by one, he closed the wounds, tying each knot with care. Then he moved to Acheron's feet. The soles were sliced open, but thankfully, the cuts weren't deep enough for stitching. Still, they'd bled heavily, and shards of glass were still embedded in some spots. He removed them with tweezers, steady as ever.
The last wound was the bite on Oaklen's arm. It was ugly, torn and raw, but relatively minor compared to the rest. Ivy gently dabbed at it with a cotton swab, her eyes still red, though her tears had long since dried.
Kai administered a broad-spectrum antibiotic, then paused with the painkillers in hand. He hesitated; this wasn't just any patient. This was his baby brother, and a drug addict.
He stepped away, pulling out his phone, and dialled his mentor, Dr. Blois.
The older man answered, slightly groggy but immediately attentive. Kai relayed the details of all of Eron's injuries, treatments, and vitals, his voice low and controlled, though his knuckles were white where he held the phone.
Dr. Blois confirmed that Kai had taken the right steps. He advised a low dose of painkillers, just enough to keep Eron asleep, but cautioned against increasing the dosage, no matter how much he might beg for it when he woke.
"Don't let him manipulate you," Dr. Blois added gently. "Even when it sounds like pain."
Just before hanging up, he reminded Kai to check Eron's gland. The trauma, combined with the still-healing tissue, made it especially vulnerable.
When Kai returned to the living room, the scene had changed. Oaklen and Acacia had cleaned the worst of the blood from the floor. Ivy and Ivo were gently easing a clean set of pyjamas over Acheron's bandaged limbs.
With Oaklen's help, Kai carefully tilted Acheron's body to check the gland at the base of his neck. Still intact with no new bruising or any tearing.
He exhaled, for the first time in what felt like hours.
Oaklen carried Acheron upstairs, his arms firm but gentle. Ivy moved ahead, pulling down the covers. She helped settle her son into bed, tucking him in as though he were still the little boy who used to cry after thunderstorms. She slipped in beside him, pulling his head to rest against her chest. Her fingers threaded through his silver hair, soothing strokes over a scalp that hadn't known peace in a long time.
Oaklen didn't want to leave either. He dragged a chair closer to the bed, then changed his mind and pulled the small couch over entirely, positioning it at Acheron's side.
That night, he wouldn't sleep.
He would keep watch over Ivy and over Acheron. He needed to protect what was left of his family and fight to hold the pieces together.
***
Acheron found himself in that suffocating darkness again.
It was thick and clinging, like tar crawling over his skin. It slithers up his spine, swallowing him whole. There was no ground beneath his feet, yet somehow, he stood, bare, cold, and trembling. His Omega collar felt too tight tonight, cinched high against his throat as if someone had fastened it one notch too far.
Footsteps echoed slowly and deliberately. A drag straight through the mire. They came from nowhere... and everywhere.
Then the voice.
That voice.
Low and sickeningly sweet and deceptively calm, like a poison wrapped in silk.
"You really thought you could run from me?"
Acheron spun, chest heaving, but the dark yielded no shapes or any escape, only pressure. The air thickened until it crushed his ribs in an icy vice.
"All that pretending… those pathetic little paintings, the happy family. None of it matters."
The void shifted. A figure began to form, peeling itself from shadow like a second skin. He stood tall.
It felt impossibly real.
It was Hadeon.
His eyes burned like live coals, Bright. Smug and Predatory.
He smiled. That stupid smile.
Wide and so wrong. Yet Familiar.
"You'll always be mine, Acheron."
Acheron stumbled backwards, arms flailing, but the void had no edge and no end. There was no floor beneath him or any gravity. His legs buckled, leaving him floating in the weightless horror of his deepest fears.
Hadeon advanced, fluidly and monstrous. The sound of his steps echoed through Acheron's bones. His voice slithered up beside him, hot against his ear.
"Do you remember how it felt? When you let me inside your mind? When your body stopped fighting… and started needing me?"
"I made you, pet. You were born from my hands. You belonged to me."
Acheron screamed, but no sound came out. Just the rasp of panic and a silence too loud. He clawed at his collar, pressing it against his throat, tightening the straps around her neck.
Hadeon's hand reached out, fingers cold and skeletal, cupping Acheron's jaw with mock tenderness.
I'll bite you. Right here—"
He tapped Acheron's neck with one pale finger.
"Then you'll finally be mine. No more pretending."
His mouth opened, jaws unhinging unnaturally wide, revealing a cavern of teeth.
He lunged.
Sterling white and razor-sharp fangs rush towards his throat.
Acheron screamed.
He felt the bite before it landed, his skin tearing, and his nerves screamed out in pain—
Something ripped.
Acheron bolted upright in bed, his lungs seized. His heart throbbed like it wanted to escape his chest.
He couldn't breathe.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't move.
His collar constricted against his throat, soaked in sweat. His hands trembled uncontrollably as they clawed at the bedsheets. His body was drenched, every inch of him slick with panic, his legs tangled in the blankets.
"—hhha—!"
He gasped, choked on air, and coughed violently.
The room was dimly lit. Revealing his bedroom and home, it was safe and real. But the nightmare still clung to him like oil.
"You're safe. You're safe. You're safe."
He repeated it in his head like a broken mantra.
The phantom pain still throbbed at the base of his neck. Somewhere, deep in his gut, the craving stirred again. Sharp, hollow and starving.
Then—
Warmth.
Ivy stirred beside him, pulled from sleep by the sound of her son's unravelling. She didn't hesitate. She reached for him, arms wrapping around his trembling, sweat-slick frame. She pressed his head to her chest, fingers tangling in silver hair.
"Shh, my heart. I've got you. I've got you."
She rocked him gently, whispering comfort and fierce love into the air between them. Acheron gripped her shirt with shaking hands, burying his face against her collarbone. For this moment, the echo of Hadeon's voice fell silent.
Eron's pounding heart slowly settled.
Oaklen sat beside him on the edge of the bed, his hand moving in slow, steady circles across Acheron's back. On his other hand, he offered a cup of lukewarm water, which Eron accepted with trembling fingers.
Then, quietly, as if the words might shatter the room.
"He tried to mark me… more than once." His voice cracked softly, sounding broken.
Ivy and Oaklen froze; shock gripped them both.
Up until now, Acheron had never spoken of what he'd endured, not directly. Everything they knew had come second-hand through Dr. Pace. But this... this confession bled straight from the wound.
Eron kept his eyes on the cup in his hands, staring through the reflection on the plastic surface. Shame bloomed in his chest like poison. Shame that he didn't fight harder. Shame for not speaking up sooner. For being manipulated so deeply by someone so vile.
So stupid.
"I still feel his breath on my neck," he whispered. "And it terrifies me."
Ivy's fists clenched, fury sparking to life like fire catching dry grass.
He dares to touch my son?
She had to quickly swallow her rage, smoothing her expression as she leaned closer.
"It's okay, baby," she said gently, voice tight with emotion. "We're here now."
"He will never get near you again," Oaklen added firmly. His voice was unshaken and certain. He pulled Ivy and Acheron both into his arms, holding them as though he could shield them from the past with the strength of his embrace. Eron tried to hold it together, but something broke, and for the first time since he was a child, Acheron cried in his parents' arms.
He didn't know how long they stayed that way. Or how long he wept. But eventually, the tears slowed. His breathing evened out. His voice came hoarse and raw, cracking on every word.
"I want to get stronger." He wiped at his face. "I think I need to join a DAA group."
Ivy's breath caught.
They had tried many times to get him to support, and every time before, he'd insisted he could handle it alone. But now, after last night's relapse, he saw the truth for what it was: he had been trying to slay a dormant dragon with a dull blade.
Ivy couldn't stop the tears of relief. Those few words, spoken with so much courage, filled her with a hope that swelled in her chest.
He was choosing this.
Choosing life.
Choosing himself.
He was going to make it.
Oaklen moved quickly, calling the number Dr. Pace had given him. The group leader had already been briefed on Acheron's unique situation and was ready to receive him with care and discretion.
A few days later, Eron stood outside a large community centre on the edge of the city.
The centre was modest, with a row of quirky shops attached, each storefront painted in cheerful pastels and adorned with colourful banners and bright fonts. A temporary sign had been planted beside the main entrance. Its letters were playful and almost too cheery:
'Lollipop Society'
Drug Addicts Anonymous
Below it, a bold black arrow pointed down the corridor toward a rented hall.
Acheron hesitated briefly. His stomach has been twisting and turning all morning.
He hated places like this. Especially hated all the attention and the way people looked at him, just because of his appearance. But he found the stares even more invasive now as their haunted eyes always stayed glued to his scarred neck. He hated how exposed he felt.
But still, he had to do this.
Even if his legs trembled beneath him, even if his heartbeat tried to convince him to turn around, he had to walk forward.
Ivy appeared at his side without a word, her presence grounding. She wrapped her arms gently around his shoulders, careful of his wounds.
"I'm proud of you, Erie," she whispered. "Even if you just sit and listen… that's enough."
Acheron nodded once, pressing his lips together. Then, with a breath that scraped through his ribs, he took a step forward.
Shaky and with a limp, but still forward.