Content Warning: heavily implied child ab*se, alc*holism, and mild language (one instance). If you feel uncomfortable with this, please don't read this chapter.


Garten's father was in a bad mood. And that was never good.

The eldest Longtreader hunched in the chair, trying to avoid attracting his father's angry attention, awaiting scoldings and pain that his mother failed to stop. Of course it was a weekend. He couldn't escape to school, and Jupiter would be suspicious if he appeared out of nowhere on a Saturday. Garten had, after all, said he was spending time with family this weekend.

"Boy!"

Garten's head snapped up, staring at his father with wide eyes. He wasn't drunk, Garten deduced, judging by the rather clear look in his father's eyes. But it would only be a matter of time.

"Get to the market and get me some whiskey," the Longtreader snapped, shoving Garten towards the door. Garten gritted his teeth, biting back barbed retorts that would definitely land him in trouble.

"I'm going, old man," grumbled Garten under his breath, gagging from the obvious stench of alcohol permeating the air. He was very aware of Whittle hiding on the stairs, silently begging him not to do anything stupid.

Garten reluctantly walked down the dusty road. He hated leaving his brothers alone with that monster. The young buck sighed and rubbed his neck, his wrist still stinging from his father's tight grip.

"He didn't even give me any money," grumbled Garten, his stomach twisting. He knew what he had to do when this happened. As much as he hated stealing from unsuspecting vendors, but if it kept him and his brothers unharmed for a few hours longer, it was justified in his mind. Besides, who other than Garten's father bought alcohol willingly? It was practically a curse.

The market was busy. Of course it was. This was both an advantage and disadvantage. More witnesses if he was caught, more of a chance to slip away and blend into the crowd if he got away.

He walked over to a vendor selling whiskey and wine to the older folk. Garten wanted to get the worst whiskey ever, something that would make his father choke in disgust, but the fear had him slipping towards the most expensive bottle.

While the vendor dealt with a few other customers, Garten tiptoed to the bottle, carefully lifting it out of its crate. It was small, about one serving, but it would keep his father satiated until tonight. But by tonight, Garten would be locked away in his room with his brothers. Safe.

"HEY!'

A familiar voice immediately activated Garten's fight or flight. Being spotted by the prince himself, one of Garten's closest friends, would not be a good look for him or the Longtreaders. Not that he cared about his father's reputation.

Perk was right behind him, as well, a confused look on his face.

Jupiter tackled Garten to the ground.

"Jupiter!" spat Garten, hacking out some dust. He wriggled a little, throwing Jupiter off him. "It's me!"

"Garten?"

Jupiter froze, a small cut on his hand. "Why are you..." he trailed off, staring at the shattered bottle of whiskey.

"None of your damn business," Garten retorted angrily. He stared bitterly at the shards of glass that held a curse and a blessing. His father would be angry. And he would hurt his brothers and his mother if he was angry.

"Garten," Perk piped up. "You can talk to us, you know?"

Garten gritted his teeth. "I don't need your help."

He crouched down and inspected the shards of glass. The eyes on him were annoying and made the back of his neck prickle.

"Garten Longtreader!"

Garten's muscles clenched in panic upon his mother's voice. "Hey mom," he said quietly, standing up.

His mother. His tired, resentful, wonderful, amazing mother. So many words could describe her, bitterness and joy and grief all mixed into a combination of emotion and words. His mother, a whirlwind now, away from the oppressing household, but a quiet rainstorm in the house, eyes morose and sad.

She sputtered when she saw his disheveled appearance, and a guilty looking Perk and Jupiter. "What are you doing?" she demanded. But she knew the answer. She knew the answer the minute her eyes flicked down to the shards of glass.

"I'll tell you what's happening!" shouted the buck who owned the shop Garten had stolen from. "He tried to steal my finest whiskey!"

Garten rolled his eyes. "It was hardly your finest," he snapped.

"Garten," warned his mother, narrowing her eyes.

Why couldn't she be like this when his father raged on and on? Garten thought bitterly. Why couldn't she stop him? Why was she staying with him?

"We're going home," she said quietly, her voice still firm and steely. She was putting on a show, Garten realized. A way to show that she thought she was a good mother. And maybe she was, but all Garten felt was pure anger towards his family.


His father hadn't stopped shouting since the two of them had gotten home.

Whittle and Wilfred were deathly silent. Wilfred was reading a book he'd picked up from the library, some type of silly children's story that he found comfort in. Garten hated reading them. Why did all the characters have good fathers? Even fictional rabbits had better parents than he did.

He hadn't heard his mother speak since they'd entered the house. She always shut herself in when she entered the dimly lit rooms, eyes suddenly wary and broken of the monster she called her husband. She even still had the audacity to wear the wedding ring.

"He wasn't always like this," she'd once whispered to her oldest son when he'd been away on a business trip. When he hadn't been under the grip of alcohol as much. When he hadn't lost his job, forcing all of the financial problems onto an already overworked Mrs. Longtreader. "I know he's still in there."

Garten had privately disagreed. His father wasn't capable of change. It was as simple as that. If he could change, why didn't he? Why didn't he start becoming the father they needed?

"Garten," Whittle whispered.

"What?" Garten asked, a little more harshly than he intended. He sighed at Whittle's frightened expression.

"There's someone in the yard," the kid whispered, eyes wide and peering out the window.

A confused expression crossed Garten and Wilfred's face and the two of them hurried to the window.

Garten's eyes widened.

A very familiar black buck, who looked more than livid, Jupiter, and a few soldiers were standing on the lawn.

"Who is it?" Whittle whispered.

"It's Lord Captain Helmer," Wilfred whispered back in wonder, eyes watching as Helmer stomped to the door, out of the sight of the window. Jupiter was talking quietly to one of the soldiers.

The shouting downstairs stopped. There were a few hissed curses.

The three brothers scrambled to the door as quietly as possible, creeping to the stairs so they could hear the conversation.

From Garten's line of sight, his mother was sitting stiffly on the dining room chair, transfixed on a picture on the wall. A smile-really, more of a grimace-contorted her face. An attempt to be a picture perfect wife.

"Yes?"

Oh. Garten's father was nearly drunk. Which meant he had had alcohol in the house with him. Which meant Garten had gotten him into trouble over nothing.

"Sir," Helmer grated out. "We're here to conduct a search on your house."

Garten's eyes widened.

"Why?" demanded the buck roughly, his words slurring together.

"I'm the Lord Captain of the army, and the Prince requested it. Do I need any other reason?"

"Yes. I know my rights."

"Very well, then," Helmer said drily. "Your son was caught attempting to steal alcohol. Naturally, he's too young to drink. And his general reaction to the whole situation clued us in that he might not be safe here."

"Garten..." whispered Whittle, panicked. "What if they don't find anything? Dad's going to..."

"I know," Garten whispered. "Come on, we'll climb out the window."

"What?" Wilfred said, eyes wide, a little louder than he intended.

There was a sudden silence from the argument Helmer and his father had been holding.

"Hmph," Helmer said, crossing his arms. "Get your children to step outside on the lawn while we conduct this search, sir. And if you lay a finger on them, justice will be served."

"Boys!" their father snapped, anger evident in his tone.

Garten felt like he was walking to his death. He hurried Whittle and Wilfred out into the cool night air, shooting a worried glance at his practically dissociated mother. His father's grey eyes glared back at him, blocking the view of the kitchen. He flinched lightly, darting into the night air.

"What are you doing?" he hissed to Jupiter.

The fool blinked, eyes wide. "Your dad..."

"I have it handled!" Garten snapped.

"No, you don't!' retorted Jupiter. "I can't believe this," he muttered. "All those bruises, that broken arm, your constant excuses. You've been lying to me, Garten." He whirled around to face Whittle and Wilfred. "Did he ever hurt you?"

Whittle blinked. "uh," he said, glancing at Garten. "Yeah."

Jupiter looked like he was ready to commit crimes. "That son of a-"

"Jupiter!" Garten's voice cracked.

His friend stopped.

"You can't," Garten pleaded. "My dad-" why was he crying? He can't cry in front of Whittle. "-he's the only thing keeping my mom grounded."

"Yeah, by hurting her!" retorted Jupiter. "He's making it worse!"

"I can't lose my dad," Garten choked out. "I can't."

"He was never your dad," one of the soldiers said softly, peering down at Garten. "No father would do this to a child."

Wilfred hugged his knees, staring up at the moon. "Garten, I think you should listen to Jupiter."

Garten looked despairingly back at the house, where voices continued to rise. Helmer had clearly lost his cool. The buck sank to the floor, tears pooling in his eyes. In just a day, the normal routine of his life had been destroyed. He didn't even know how to feel about this. Should he be happy that his father had criminal evidence against him? Should he be terrified that his father would get away?

"Garten," Whittle said quietly. "Mom will be fine. Okay?"

The background blurred, and Garten reached up to scrub his tears-


Garten snapped his eyes open.

He hated walking in the citadels' camps.

At least one person smuggled in a drink and that deteriorated.

"Garten?"

"Yeah?"

"You good?" Wilfred asked, furrowing his brow. "You kind of phased out."

"I'm fine," Garten laughed, smiling easily at his brother.


me? writing a serious author's note?

Ok, but seriously. I find it hard to believe that it was JUST Sween's rejection that sent Garten spiraling. I personally believe he had multiple problems (mentally, emotionally, etc.), and Sween's rejection was just the cherry on the cake and the final push he needed (not in this reality tho lol). He always rubbed me as a little out of it, with his-dare I say it-delusions of the whole war, which only suggests that something messed him up in his past. Kinda wish SD Smith would elaborate on this in upcoming books.

Anyways, in terms of Garten's childhood-I'm telling it in disjointed bits that probably won't align until the end of the story, but that's how I remember my childhood lol-bits and pieces that barely have any context to them.

also, for the LOVE OF ME, i could not write 'bitterly' correctly for like ten minutes.