About a month had passed since Garroth's terminal prognosis.

Likewise, about two days had passed since Garte had been home.

This had meant that Zianna was left alone, taking care of three children under the age of five on her own. In taking care of all the boys throughout the day, and staying awake with Garroth all night, she was surviving off of little sleep. Amidst the chaos of tantrums, nap times, medical check-ins, Zianna hardly had a spare moment to inquire Garte about his whereabouts.

It was only in the middle of the night when Garroth was awake when Zianna would call Garte.

"Can you please call Daddy and ask him to come home?" Garroth would say between gasps and sobs.

Zianna would oblige and call without hesitation, especially since she was worried herself. With no answer and her only concern being soothing her pain ridden son, she gave up on several attempts at connecting with him. In her arms she would hold her four year old close. Between swaying, rocking, and whispering to him that he was alright, something always managed to calm him down.

But, it was the third night without Garte. Garroth was inconsolable and Zianna was the definition of sleep deprived.

"Why isn't Daddy answering, Momma?" Garroth asked.

The little one was spiking an almost dangerously high fever.  His movement was extraordinarily constricted due to the ache he was experiencing that was striking deep into his bones. With limited energy and movement, the only thing he had asked for was the comfort of being in the arms of his parents, more specifically his father.

"I don't know, sweet boy," Zianna said as another call went unanswered.

Exasperated and in a considerable amount of pain herself, she wiped Garroth's tears. She placed her hand ever so gently on the back of his head. Zianna was scared to death of hurting him in any way. At a loss of what to do, an idea sprang up in her mind.

Frantically, she dialed Derek. Her heart hammered violently as she waited for him to pick up. It wasn't that they didn't get along, but there was always a tension between them ever since he had pushed Garte to inquire about the origins of her third pregnancy. That being considered, she was also very aware of the fact that there was something going on between her husband and his best friend.

"Hello?" Derek's voice came through the phone.

Zianna, with an exhausted smile, turned towards Garroth. He was still crying and gripping her hand, as though he was begging her not to leave, too.

"Derek, hi," Zianna responded, hardly able to believe her desperate call had gotten an answer. "I hate to ask, but are you busy?"

The truth was, Derek wasn't. He was finishing up last minute work, halfway as an effort to distract himself. His goal was to have been in bed by midnight, but he was already awake into the young hours of the morning.

"No, no, what can I do for you?" He asked. He then realized what he had told Garte - he didn't want to hear from him until Garroth was dead.

Derek had since regretted saying such cold and calculated things. It was his pride, and his hate for the forever potion, that got in the way of him apologizing to Garte.

"Is the little one okay?" Derek asked frantically.

"He's okay, he's good," Zianna assured him. "It's Garte I'm worried about."

There was a pause in the conversation. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

"I don't know what happened between you and him," Zianna admitted. "Quite frankly, I don't care. He hasn't been home in two days; this is our third night without him. I know it's late - and trust me, I hate to ask - but can you please try and bring him home?"

Derek could hear the urgency in her voice. He could sense every emotion: fear, exhaustion, and the fact that she was incredibly done with the situation. He knew he couldn't let his pride get in the way of at least aiding a dying child and his mother.

He nodded to himself and then agreed verbally. The two hung up, almost in a rush. Zianna, beginning to put this worry behind her, knelt down to eye level with Garroth. The four year old grimaced in pain, but felt safer once he looked into the eyes of his relieved mother.

"Where's Daddy?" Garroth asked.

"Derek's gonna go get him," Zianna explained.

"What if he's sad and doesn't want to come?"

"That's not going to happen, GarGar," Zianna retaliated. "Daddy's not going to let you go another night without him."

"Promise, Momma?"

With hesitation, Zianna replied, "I promise."

While Zianna was alone in her effort of soothing her child, Derek was alone in his effort of trying to find Garte. It was by instinct alone that Derek was able to get in his car and begin driving.

He knew to go to Garte's office. Where else would the man have been? It was a simple drive that Derek knew like the back of his hand. The roads were desolate, dimly lit, and eerily quiet. This allowed for his own thoughts to creep in instead of the fight or flight reaction that comes with driving on a busy street.

The Ultima werewolf felt heavy in his journey there. He feared who he was going into that office to see. Would he see the emotionally numb man, trying to plaster on a smile and act like everything is okay? Or would he see a man who was visibly broken and suffering?

Derek shifted his car into park once he reached the parking lot. He turned the key gently so that the vehicle would turn off. The warm air that was just previously regulating the temperature stopped. As he stepped out of the car, the bitter cold slapped him in the face. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

The door, surprisingly, was unlocked. Derek walked inside to see the building completely void of anyone or anything. Computers were shut off, papers were neatly stacked. The only sound that was audible was Derek's footsteps on the carpet.

And so, he made his way to Garte's personal office. He hesitated before knocking on the door - he could sense that something was incredibly wrong. This was going to be no easy fight.

Derek knocked just loud enough for it to be heard on the other side. His knuckles tapped the door quickly. One, two, three, immediately after each other. He didn't figure he'd get a response from Garte, so he turned the knob and opened the door.

Within the office was Garte, sitting at his desk in a swivel chair. His body was facing left towards the window, but his tired face looked directly at Garte with hopeless eyes. Without a change in facial expression, Garte was the first to speak.

"What are you doing here?" He asked flatly.

"Zianna called me," Derek said as he stepped forward, but not too far. "Why aren't you at home?"

The question was gentle, comforting almost. At first Derek found himself angry at the fact that he was having to go in the middle of the night, but once he caught sight of the man he called his brother, there was no anger to be found.

"I've stayed long nights before. Why is she worried?" Garte asked. It was so incredibly nonchalant, that even Derek could tell he was just trying to fill the awkward space of silence.

"It's been three days, Garte," Derek stated.

Unbeknownst to Derek at the time, Garte hadn't realized it had been that long. The time had slipped through the cracks for him. Even with this realization, he tried to play it off.

"If she needed help, she could've called me," Garte explained while he stood up. He walked over to a file cabinet and pretended to shuffle through documents.

"That's all she's been trying to do, G," Derek responded with Garte's back turned to him.

With nothing else to say, Garte hesitated. As much as he pretended he didn't want Derek in his presence, it was an incredible relief to have someone there. His mind wouldn't let him show that, though. He was blocking any emotion from himself so that he could not feel the heart piercing sorrow.

"Go home, Derek," He said, still turning his back to him. "Both of us know you don't want to be here."

"Garte, c'mon-"

"Leave, Derek. You said you wouldn't help me until my son is dead, and he's not. So, leave."

"I shouldn't have said that, G, and we can hash that out later. Right now you need to go home," Derek explained.

"For what?!" Garte whipped around to look at Derek and shouted.

Derek was startled by the sudden change in pitch. Garte was never one to yell, even when Zianna confessed that Vylad was the result of infidelity.

"So that I can make funeral plans? Or sit my three year old down and tell him his big brother is dying?" Garte bellowed.

There was a pause. Derek was too stunned to say anything. He just kept staring at Garte's disheveled appearance. His wrinkled and untucked shirt, the blatant circles under his eyes, the facial hair only just appearing on his chin and neck.

"Or maybe so I can sit around and listen to you somehow convince me that there's no hope in the potion," Garte hissed through gritted teeth.

Derek stepped back and realized what he was witnessing. As tears formed in Garte's bloodshot eyes, he slowly formed the actualisation that he was witnessing the man's breaking point.

This was it. Garte Ro'Meave had reached his limit.

Garte leaned back on his desk as he found it impossible to stand. All the grief, all the anger, seemed to just hit him in one tsunami like wave. Through the agony and his holding back of sobs, he looked at the friend he had depended on for so many things for so long.

"He's supposed to grow up. All those times we said we wished he would stay little forever, and now he's not even going to go to kindergarten," Garte pressed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

Derek slowly walked over to Garte and stood right in front of him. He placed his shaking hand on Garte's shoulder that had carried too much weight for too long. To his surprise, Garte accepted the touch.

The werewolf found himself trying to make sense of the situation. He could have said it was meant to be, but it wasn't. Garroth was four. Four year olds are not meant to die.

He remembered all the times Garte would skip out of meetings, or business opportunities, to spend time with Garroth. Derek would be confused; he never put his kids over his work. "They're only this little once," the blonde businessman would explain, with such awe in his voice over the little baby he held.

Derek reminisced on every moment he could in regards to the little one. He was always somewhat envious about how Garte's kids would run up to him with hugs and begging to play. He wished Aaron would beg for him when he was upset, just as Garroth did with his father.

"He's going to die," Garte finally spoke up again. "He needs for his pain to be stopped. Why can't I make it stop?"

Garte spoke quickly, not even trying to hold back the trembles in his voice. He was drawing in sharp breaths. Derek recognized this: he was panicking.

As he drew his opposite, equally shaky hand up, Derek attempted to get Garte to look at him right in the eye. He realized this effort was futile. In recognizing that fact, all the advice he had been given on how to handle anxiety and panicking fled from him.

"Please don't make me go and watch him die," Garte begged both Derek and the universe.

It was now Derek's heartbeat that was hammering fast as well. He forgot everything he had ever done to help slow Garte's brain down. All he could think about was how Garroth's death would result in Derek attending two funerals.

"You don't have to," Derek blurted out.

Garte looked at Derek, utterly dumbfounded. The wheels that were turning much too quickly stopped.

"What...?" He let the question linger.

"You don't have to watch Garroth die," Derek explained.

He drew in a deep breath. His next words, he knew, would change the course of their actions for the rest of their lives.

"Let's do it. Let's use the forever potion on him."