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The morning air is heavy with the promise of rain as Katherine pushes through the undergrowth of the woods surrounding the hotel. Each step crunches on dried leaves and snaps twigs, the sounds unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn stillness. Three days. Three days since Abaddon has vanished without a word, without his dramatic exit, as usual.
The family has barely noticed his absence—not really their fault, as Abaddon is known for his disappearances, sometimes for weeks at a time. But Katherine feels it in her bones, a maternal instinct that has grown around the strange, eternal being who has become something special to her. At first, she tells herself she’s being ridiculous. Abaddon is older than civilizations—at least she thinks he is. He surely acts more childish, which leaves her to wonder at times if he’s just a little boy deep down.
She knows he doesn’t need her worrying. Yet here she is, flashlight beam cutting through the mist, calling his name softly into the trees. The woods behind the hotel have always been his territory, where he went when the weight of centuries pressed too heavily. Katherine has never followed before, respecting his need for solitude. But something is different this time. A wrongness that has kept her awake at night, staring at the ceiling of her room at the hotel, listening for tiny footsteps that never come.
The bear trap is almost invisible beneath fallen leaves and forest debris. Katherine might have missed it entirely if not for the dark stain spreading across the ground—blood, fresh and a deep dark red against the muted forest floor. Her heart seizes in her chest as she follows the trail with her flashlight, the beam trembling in her suddenly unsteady hands.
And there he is.
Abaddon is clawing and biting at his ankle like a cornered animal, his face pale even in the dim light. The massive steel jaws of the trap are clamped around his left ankle, the teeth of the device having torn through his sock and deep into the flesh beneath. Blood soaks the surrounding ground, and Katherine can see even through the frantic struggle. It takes a lot of effort for him to maintain consciousness, his breathing shallow and ragged.
“Abaddon,” she whispers, rushing to his side and dropping to her knees.
His eyes focus on her in an instant, and for a moment, she sees something she’s never witnessed before—pure, unadulterated fear and pain. “Matriarch,” he rasps, his voice weaker than she ever heard it. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve been looking for you,” she says, her hands already examining the trap. “What happened?”
Abaddon tries to shift position and cries out, a raw sound that seems to tear from his very essence. “I was careless. Walking without paying attention. These woods... They are older than me, sometimes. They demand respect.”
Katherine’s fingers trace the cold steel of the trap, feeling the mechanism that holds it closed. “I need to open this. It’s going to hurt.”
A humorless smile touches his lips. “Pain is a welcoming presence to me...”
“Well, it’s not to me,” Katherine counters, already working at the release lever. “You’re badly injured.”
He rolls his eyes, trying to put on a brave front. “Mortal wounds are... Inconvenient for beings like me. We heal, but the process is... Unpleasant and unfortunately time-consuming. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
Instead of responding to what he said, Katherine warns, “brace yourself,” positioning her weight against the trap’s spring mechanism. With a grunt of effort, she presses down, the muscles in her arms straining. The trap resists rust and time, having seized its mechanics. Abaddon’s hands dig into the earth, his knuckles white, his body rigid with anticipation of what was to come.
“Now,” Katherine gasps, putting her entire body into the effort.
The trap springs open with a metallic screech that echoes through the woods. Abaddon’s scream is something else entirely—a sound of agony that seems to shake the very trees around them. Katherine immediately pulls his leg free, her hands already working to assess the damage.
The wound is brutal. The trap’s teeth have torn through muscle and tendon, and she can see bone in places. Blood flows freely, soaking through the makeshift bandage she quickly fashioned from her sleeve.
“We need to get you back to the hotel,” she says, her voice steady despite the tremors in her hands.
Abaddon’s eyes are closed; his face shines with sweat. “C-Can’t... Can’t put weight on it,” he groans.
“You’re not going to like this, but I have to carry you,” Katherine says, already positioning herself to grab him. “Put your arm around my shoulders.”
Abaddon sighs. “Can this get any more humiliating?” It seems to be more of a rhetorical question, as he begrudgingly complies, allowing her to pick up his small frame.
Katherine huffs, adjusting her stance. “Ready?” she asks.
He nods, unable to speak through the embarrassment. The journey back through the woods is nightmarish, a slow progression of effort that seems to stretch into eternity.
By the time they reach the hotel’s back entrance, Katherine is drenched in sweat and exhaustion. Katherine carries Abaddon to her room, grateful that the kids are still asleep and won’t witness their return. Abaddon is upset enough, and it isn’t like she’s going out of her way to embarrass the demon any more than he already feels.
The moment they’re inside her room, she sets Abaddon onto the edge of her bed, his face far more pale than usual. Katherine immediately retrieves the first aid kit she stocked for him months ago, despite his protests that he never needed such things, as his body can heal on its own—still, she can’t just leave him like this.
“Let me see,” she says, kneeling to examine his ankle more closely in the proper light.
The wound looks even worse now, edges already beginning to show signs of an unnatural healing process—too fast, yet somehow incomplete. Katherine removes his shoe and his bloody and ruined sock before she cleans it carefully, her movements precise and practiced from years of tending to her children’s cuts and bruises.
Abaddon watches her, his breathing still ragged but more controlled now. “You’re not disturbed?” he observes, his voice quiet.
“Should I be?” Katherine asks, without looking up.
“Most would be. Seeing this.”
“You forget I’ve seen you completely limbless before. This is pretty tame in comparison,” Katherine explains, applying antiseptic that makes Abaddon hiss, but luckily he doesn’t lash out and tries to bite her. This time at least... “You’re injured. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” he murmurs, his eyes closing.
“Everyone needs help sometimes,” Katherine says simply, wrapping his ankle with clean bandages while knowing he’ll just rip them off later once he’s fully healed. “Even ancient, powerful beings who disappear into the woods without telling anyone where they're going.”
A faint and rare smile touches his lips. “I didn’t think anyone would notice,” he admits quietly.
“I notice everything about this hotel,” Katherine replies. “Including the things that inhabit it.”
When she finishes, she looks up to find Abaddon watching her with an expression she can’t quite read—something between gratitude and confusion, as if he were experiencing an emotion he hasn’t felt in centuries.
“Why?” he asks, the question hanging between them.
Katherine sits back on her heels, considering her answer. “Because you matter. To me. To my family. Because despite it all, sometimes you just need someone to clean your wounds and tell you it’s going to be okay... Even if you are a ‘big scary’ demon,” she teases lightly, a warm smile gracing her lips.
Abaddon’s eyes drift closed again, his breathing evening out as a rare exhaustion begins to claim him. “...Can I stay?” he whispers, the word barely audible. He looks so fragile right now she could never have the heart to tell him no.
Her eyes soften. “Of course you can,” Katherine says, helping him get into her bed and pulling the blankets over him. “I’ll be right back.”
Katherine retreats to her bathroom to get dressed in her pajamas before she slips onto the bed beside him, careful not to disturb the fragile calm settling over his features. Abaddon shifts to face her and instinctively moves towards her warmth in a surprise show of affection. He wraps his small arms around her, his cheek pressing against her breasts as though seeking reassurance. He blushes but mutters. “Don’t let go.”
Getting over her shock quickly, she smiles softly and replies, “never,” and lets an arm rest lightly around him, offering the steady presence he seems to need.
As she holds him, Katherine reflects on the strange family she has found at this hotel. As the rain outside finally begins to fall, washing away the blood trail in the woods but not the memory of what she has discovered. Even demons need a little tender love and care, just like everyone else.