~trigger warning~

please skip to the first '#' if you aren't comfortable with scenes of domestic violence.

"Stay behind me," Nik said to Misha, murmuring the words as they stopped at the front door of their house. "Don't do anything." Two hours had passed since their curfew's end. Furious wasn't going to be a word apt enough to describe Romanov's mood.

Misha's thin fingers curled around his arm and Nik swallowed down his fear, pushing the front door open. Not a second passed before a flying book knocked into Nik's head, knocking his glasses cleanly off his face. Misha gasped in fright and Nik put his fingers to the point of collision, feeling the stickiness of his own blood on them.

"Late!" Romanov's voice rang in Nik's ears. He flinched and hunched in to make himself look smaller, shielding Misha with his body. "So damn late! Have you forgotten how to read the time, you brat? Get in! Close that damn door!"

The siblings shuffled into the house and Misha shut the door. Nik dared glance up to see his grandfather sitting in his favorite armchair, about ten bottles of diamohjin scattered everywhere around him and another uncorked bottle in his hand. The TV was on, displaying the news channel.

"What's this I hear about Clay's death, huh?" Romanov lurched to his feet, swaying under the alcohol's effect before stepping forward. "You going for the White Tigers, huh?" He slapped Nik with all his might, sending him staggering. "I brought them to the top! If you think you can bring them down on my watch, you're sorely mistaken!"

Nik steadied himself against a wall, the bitter tang of his blood in his mouth.

"Plus, why aren't you practicing chess, you brat? Think you're good enough to beat Azaelya Mae?" Romanov leered at him. "You're never gonna be good enough, you get that? If you think you're naturally good enough to beat anyone, you're damn wrong, you useless brat! You think you can beat her without practicing? You think you're that good just because you're a Chessmaster? You fucking bastard!" He struck Nik again, making him cry out and fall.

"You wouldn't even know how to play chess if it weren't for me, you brat! Who do you think you are, huh? Don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself? Did you forget what happened the last time you lost?" Romanov kicked Nik, and the breath whooshed out of his body. "Huh?" His grandfather's pointed boot colliding with last night's wounds made Nik scream, his eyes nearly rolling as he shielded his head with his arms. "You want this bitch to die too, huh? You want to embarrass me by losing again? You good-for-nothing piece of shit!"

Nik yelped as Romanov kicked him again. The sound shook Misha out of her frozen daze and she cried out, stepping forward and clinging onto Romanov's arm as he kicked Nik again and again.

"Get off me, bitch!" Romanov shoved Misha away from himself and Nik blinked as the barrage of blows stopped for a moment, coughing into his hand and staring at the blood that coated his fingers. His torso was on fire and piercing agony pumped through his blood.

Romanov put his boot on Nik's cheek, grinding his face into the cold hard floor. "You fucking brat! You good-for-nothing! You think you can take down the White Tigers, huh? You think you can win against Azaelya Mae? You're getting too ahead of yourself! I think you need a fucking punishment!"

He bent and grabbed Nik's hair, yanking him up and onto his feet. Nik staggered against him, unable to hold himself up. The world spun. His head throbbed. Misha cried.

Romanov dragged Nik into the hallway and in front of the basement door, shoving him towards the stairs, which tilted up to greet him. Dazed, Nik went skidding headfirst down the stairs, their edges cutting into his body. He hit his head on the floor when he reached the end and Misha screamed for him. He blinked at the sound, trying to raise himself up and collapsing instead. Everything spun around him and the coppery tang of blood stained his tongue.

Romanov's footsteps rang in his head as he clambered down the stairs and reached Nik. He dragged Nik to his feet again and shoved him further into the basement. Nik went staggering. His knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor. Romanov laughed and then his punishment started.

#

Someone was sobbing. There was a hand in his, soft and bony as it clutched onto him as if he'd disappear if released.

Nik came around, lashes fluttering. An entire plethora of pain collided with his conscious mind, making him groan and try to curl into himself, except he didn't have the strength. "Nik!" The loud cry rang in his ears, making his head throb. Nik tried to open his eyes again, but only one opened. The other felt swollen shut.

Bright light and dim figures greeted him. As his vision focused, he made out Misha, hunched next to him and sobbing. He also made out three other pale faces, blinking until he recognised Lorcan, Mikhael and Azaelya.

Licking his dry lips, Nik looked at Misha. Her sobs were making his heart pound. He tried to raise a hand to touch her face but couldn't, wincing at the pain the small movement brought him.

"Can you speak?" Lorcan asked, her voice quiet as if she could tell that his head was throbbing.

Nik's mouth felt like cotton. He swallowed hard. "Mi... Mish," he managed to say, throat burning with the effort. Misha heard him, much to his luck, turning towards him. "C... Come... here."

She threw herself into his arms with a gasp, and pain exploded all over his torso. A low groan reverbrated in his throat and he wrapped his arms around his sister, breathing in the sweet scent of her perfume.

"What happened?" Lorcan asked. Worry clouded her voice. "Nik, you nearly died. What the hell happened?"

Nik winced, understanding Misha's fear. He blinked, remembering Romanov's loud shouts and the beating he'd been given. "Late," he said, voice hoarse. "We reached home late. He found out about Clay... 'n was mad... 'cause I wasn't practicing chess."

"Fuck." Mikhael spoke. "What did he do then?"

Nik blinked hard. "Hit... me. Said it was... my punishment."

Mikhael broke into a string of expletives and Lorcan touched Misha's shoulder. "Mish," she said, voice soft. "Let me see to him again, Mish. His wounds are bad."

Mish refused to pull away until Mikhael touched her shoulder as well, and then she was in his arms before Nik could blink, sobbing into his shoulder as if the world was ending.

"Misha called us the moment he left," Lorcan said as she took out her herbal creams. "We came here at once." She dabbed the cream over Nik's torso, rubbing it into his bruises. "You have a concussion and several broken ribs. You nearly broke your wrist as well. Did he push you down the stairs?"

Nik nodded and Misha's sobs increased in pitch. Lorcan winced, her eyes dark. "That explains the wrist," she said, more to herself than the rest of them. "Well, you'll have to stay in bed for at least a day," Lorcan said to him. "I've performed a couple of healing spells on you; they should be doing their magic as we speak. However, you did nearly die of blood loss and pain, so I wouldn't recommend straining yourself even in the slightest until the worst of your wounds are taken care of."

Nik nodded. He didn't think he had the energy to get up, anyway. He studied the faces of the three, noticing dark circles beneath the eyes of all three of his crewmates. "Something happened, didn't it?" His mind was clear enough for him to speak properly; the healing spells were working.

Azaelya met his eyes. "I was ambushed last night."

"What?" Nik tried to sit up and groaned as pain exploded everywhere. Lorcan pushed him down with a stern shake of her head, scowling. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." Azaelya shook her head. "Alarik and Leven were with me. They protected me, but they were tipsy and got injured as a result."

"Fuck." Nik made to sit again and his vision spun.

"Nik!" Lorcan's tone made him flinch and bow his head in submissiveness. "I'll have to tie you down to this bed if you keep on trying to get up!"

He nodded, subdued, before looking at Azaelya again. "Are they okay? What's the extend of their injuries?"

"Knife wounds to the abdomen," Mikhael said, pausing his attentions towards Mish, who'd stopped crying but was still whimpering. He was cradling her in his muscular arms, having been stroking her hair and crooning gentle nothings into her ear while the rest of them talked. "Lorcan took care of that."

"They'll be healed in a day's time," Locan said with a nod. "Don't worry about it."

"Are you okay?" Nik asked, watching her. Lorcan made it a point not to practice magic too much; it sapped away her stamina.

His medic's smile was tight. "I'm fine. Better me feeling a bit weak than any of you dying." Frowning, she cupped his cheek. "At least try fighting back, Nik. You can't just keep on taking all his beatings without a word. Look at what it's doing to your body, if not your mind."

Nik looked away from the blueness of her gaze, glancing at the flipped down photo frame on his nightstand. "He'll hurt Mish if I do that," he said, voice just above a whisper. "I can't — I can't have that."

Lorcan followed his gaze and looked at the photograph. Her eyes dimmed and she removed her hand from his cheek. "Okay," she said, swallowing. "Okay."

Nik looked past her and at Mikhael, who rested his cheek on the top of Misha's head, his eyes closed as he held her as close as possible and rubbed circles onto her back. Mish let him hold her without a sound of protest, her own arms wrapped around him like a vice. He couldn't let her get hurt. For Mikhael's sake as well as his own.

Nik looked at the last person in the room. Azaelya's green eyes were stormy as she cast her eyes over Nik's torso, lower lip pulled beneath her teeth. His gaze wandered back to Mish, taking in the desperate way with which she clung to their friend.

"Here," Lorcan said and held out a vial of familiar bright green potion. "Have this and sleep. We'll take care of Mish."

Nik looked at her, his fear and vulnerability shining in his eyes. Lorcan just gave him a small, sad smile, and he closed his eyes and took the vial without any objections, uncapping it and downing it in a single gulp. Sleep consumed him within moments.

* * *

Sorry it's been so long without an update! I'll try to be more - shit man what was the word -punctual! from now on.

See ya!

*goes to sleep*