Cringy A/N but hey y'all, ig i have a tumblr now and i'd love to have discussions with all of you if you'd be interested in following (pov im advertising my tumblr rn) it's ging-dong and there's not a lot on it right now but i'd love to hear from you guys!! 💕

TW: Mentions of death, vomiting, and decently graphic depictions of pain

There were so many days where Garte was so dazed he felt like he was dreaming the entirety of the past few months.

The next few days after Garroth was given the Forever Potion were exactly like that.

Michael agreed to erase the memories of Garroth's cancer from everyone after the potion was administered. However, Michael went back on his word and insisted that they wait. Garte, entirely bitter but hardly in a position to argue, bit his tongue and took his son home.

What Garte truly was not prepared for was the sheer amount of pain Garroth was in.

Even taking the little one out of the car once they arrived home was a painstakingly long task. When he went to unbuckle Garroth from his car seat, he was met with a shrill scream from the boy.

It was not a scream of defiance, but a scream of pure agony and anguish. The words Garroth couldn't say, the words that would tell his father that he felt like every bone in his body was slowly being snapped, were said in that single scream he let out.

Garte eventually took Garroth inside and laid him on his and Zianna's bed. Garroth's face was pale, and his eyes were sunken in. Though the green hue that surrounded him was gone, his veins were still obviously protruding from his skin. Garte placed a hand on Garroth's head and lightly stroked his hair.

"I'm going to try and get some work done," Garte stated, finding some excuse to let Garroth sleep. "You want to try and sleep? You might feel better when you wake up."

Garroth pain doubled up with the sense of fear. Though he didn't know exactly what had happened that day, he knew that hours before he was not safe where he was.

"Please don't go, Daddy," Garroth said faintly.

Garte's heart was shattered. What had he put Garroth through? Was it truly his fault that his son was lying on his bed, unable to move?

Suddenly, the workload didn't matter. Garte's vision was tunneled on his son that, though the cancer was gone, he didn't look much healthier.

"You've got it, buddy," Garte said, sitting down next to Garroth with his hand still on his head.

"Is Momma here?" Garroth spoke up.

"Nope," Garte shook his head. "It's just you and me for a couple days."

They never knew they shared this sentiment, but both the father and son were glad that it was just them for a while. Garte was glad, because he didn't have to explain the amount of pain Garroth was in to Zianna. Garroth was especially relieved that he wasn't going to have to handle his noisy little brothers being around the house.

Garroth reached his tiny arms out to his father. He felt so tiny and helpless in his situation, and only wanted to feel protected again. Garte picked up Garroth with incredible gentleness and held him close, relaxing against the headboard of the bed.

Garte could hear Garroth wincing with every breath. He struggled in breathing, blinking, moving. Everything only made the pain worse.

"Are you sure you want me to hold you?" Garte asked after a couple minutes.

"Mmhm," Garroth nodded, slowly drifting off to sleep.

"You've had quite the day, haven't you?" Garte kissed Garroth's head and stifled an awkward chuckle.

Garroth drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day. Garte never once left his son's side, unless Garroth were to ask for water or his blanket. In the times in between he just stared at his son with pure disbelief.

He was astonished that he truly almost lost this sweet little boy.

He was also astonished that he risked everything: his company, his friendships, his marriage, to save the little one.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Garte himself dozed off, anticipating for Garroth to feel better the next day. His dreams were haunted with the sight of his son dead on a table in front of him. Haunted by the thought of what if they weren't able to save him.

He was abruptly woken up in the middle of the night to Garroth stirring next to him. Once Garte's eyes adjusted to the sight, he could see Garroth in a cold sweat, thrashing about in the blanket as though he was trying to free himself.

Garte placed a hand on Garroth's chest, trying to signal that he was there, but it only made Garroth scream. It was that same scream, agonized and hurting.

"Garroth," Garte said quietly. "Gar, hey, what's wrong?"

Garroth continued to cry, with his tears drenching the pillow beneath him and the covers entangling him as he moved. He was internally begging his body to free him of the searing burning and sharp, stabbing pain he was feeling.

"Garroth," Garte spoke quietly, but firmly, as he pressed his son's tear soaked face towards him.

Garte managed to get Garroth to look him straight in the eye. Those big blue eyes told stories in themselves, and right now they were telling the story of a physical pain no adult bears, let alone a child.

"What's up, little man?" Garte asked. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Garroth mustered up enough strength to speak and try to calm down.

Garte sighed. He couldn't do anything. Michael had instructed that no pain medication was to be administered. But as he heard Garroth let out a high pitched whine as they were laying there, he was more than tempted.

He let Garroth's head go and reached for his phone to call Michael, to beg to give his son pain medication. But, as he was reaching, he began hearing Garroth cry harder than he's ever heard him cry. The boy was crying so hard he sounded like he was about to throw up. Garte dropped his phone and turned his attention towards his son once again.

"Hey, look at me," Garte told Garroth as he placed a hand on his son's chest.

Garroth attempted to take a deep breath as he painfully turned his head towards his father. Though his neck evidently did not break, the sensation was there as he faced Garte.

"You're okay," Garte spoke gently. "You're going to be okay. Do you want to try and sleep again?"

"Doctors are supposed to make you feel better," Garroth stated in a matter of fact tone.

Garte was only somewhat taken aback by this statement. He furrowed his eyebrows.

"Then why," Garroth paused to try and catch his breath. "Why did Michael and Zack and Elizabeth make me feel worse?"

Garte closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn't answer that question. He didn't think Zack or Elizabeth themselves could answer that question. Michael would outright refuse to give a response.

"Let's try and get some more sleep," was the only response Garte could think of.

"I can't sleep," Garroth explained. And it was true, he had tried when Garte had been asleep, but the pain was too unbearable.

Garte thought back for a minute. The one thing that would often get Garroth to sleep as a baby was to hear a heartbeat. Whether it was his mother's or his father's, he didn't care. They would place the tiny baby on their chests to let him hear a heartbeat, and it would immediately soothe him to sleep.

So, Garte laid down next to Garroth. He moved him, gently, so that his ear was pressed onto where he could hear his heartbeat. Something about it was nostalgic, almost, like he was living the life of a new parent again.

Garroth's body immediately relaxed. The four year old felt safe, and that security alone helped him drift back into sleep. He remained asleep for the rest of the night, until morning came and he woke up the same way, unintentionally hitting his father awake.

The next morning was more or less the same, with the thrashing and the crying. The only difference was that Garroth was actually vomiting that morning, so much that he couldn't keep water down.

The pain was too immense. He was throwing up from both the shock of the pain, and the amount of crying. Even as he was just laying there he felt a level of pain that an adult would die or go into shock from.

Garte saw this, and knew he'd be forever haunted by it. He also knew that he had the opportunity to save Garroth from this pain, to give him the peace that he so desperately needed.

He picked up the phone and called Derek.

"Hi, G," Derek answered. "How's little Garroth doing?"

"He's nearly dead, Derek," Garte explained quickly and frantically. "He can't breathe, sleep, he can't even keep water down. He's been screaming for hours from how much pain he's in. These aren't attention seeking screams, it sounds like he's being tortured."

"Slow down," Derek said calmly. "He's alright, Garte. You know what Michael said about it."

"He's not alright!" Garte explained, but then immediately remembered that Garroth was sleeping and then quieted down.

Derek bit his lip. He could tell that this was no anxiety spell, Garte was not being paranoid. This was a pure fear that could not be comprehended by someone not going through it.

"He's going to be okay," Derek finally responded. "Give it some time, and he'll feel better soon."

Garte looked around and his eyes landed on the counter that kept all of Garroth's strong pain medications. These were medications so strong that they were only legal with a doctor's signature.

"I have to give him his pain medication," Garte stated.

Derek froze. He shook his head, though over the phone that clearly could not be seen.

"Garte, no. Just take a breath and listen for a second; you know what Michael said about giving him medication. It will interfere with the potion and will make it highly probable the potion won't work. You don't want to take those odds, G. It's a pain he won't remember in exchange for his life."

Garte heard Derek's words, but could hardly process them. The medication was feet away from him, staring him directly in the face. It would take one pill and the pain would be gone, the fear would be gone. Garte slipped all possibilities out of his mind.

It was his fault Garroth was in this position. Had he taken Garroth to the doctor in the first place, had he pushed the pediatrician further, Garroth might have had a true fighting chance.

It was his fault the potion was administered. He allowed Michael to cause that amount of pain. He allowed Michael to kill his son. It wasn't even Garte who saved him, it was Zack.

He had to do something. He had to make things right.

"He's in agony, Derek. I have to."