Archive of Our Own

Saturday, September 24th, 2044 - Ottawa, ON. 

Shane normally woke shortly after sunrise in the summer and autumn. Right up until the time changed, he would be awake as soon as the moon made her departure from the sky. This morning he was awake before the sun had the chance to issue her greeting. 

He blinked, tiredness and anxiety weighing heavy against his eyelids. His gaze fell to the pile of curly blonde hair that was cradled against his chest. 

Shane gently ran his hand through Nadia’s curls, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. The teen made a quiet, nearly inaudible noise as she settled deeper into a restful sleep. Shane let himself exhale a soft breath of relief. 

Looking up, his eyes landed on his husband, who was sleeping decidedly less peacefully. Ilya was curled protectively around Nadia, strong arms bracketing the girl as they slept. Ilya’s brows were pinched, lips pursed in a way Shane knew to read as distress.

Shane understood the feeling. 

He slipped out of bed, carefully untangling himself and taking care to retuck the blankets around his daughter before he left the room. 

Anya was waiting outside the bedroom door, whining quietly as Shane appeared in the hallway. He shushed her gently, petting her head before walking to the backdoor and sliding it open, letting Anya run out into the yard. He let out a breath, rolling his shoulders back and glancing at the clock. 

It wasn’t terribly late in the morning, but it was late enough that society would be up and bustling despite it being a Saturday. Shane padded to the kitchen, grabbing his cell phone from its spot on the counter. He opened it to reveal numerous texts from the family with well wishes and support. 

Shane blinked away the sudden tears in his eyes. Inhaling shakily, he sniffed and dialled one number, holding the phone to his ear. 

Laurie, Nadia’s director and long term mentor, answered on the third ring. 

“Laurie speaking.”

Shane bit his lip. “Laurie, hello. It’s Shane. Sorry to disrupt your morning, but um—” He cut himself off, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. His headache felt inevitable. “Nadia isn’t safe,” he blurted after a moment. “She’s experiencing a mental health crisis and…” he trailed off. 

Laurie let the words hang in silence. “I’m sorry,” she replied after a moment. Her voice was uncharacteristically emotional. “I’ve known something is wrong for at least a month. I should have said something before…”

Shane could only nod. “Yeah,” he agreed lamely. “Us too. She needs to focus on recovery. She won’t be attending any of the remaining shows. But she doesn’t know that yet. I just… yeah. She’s going to be devastated. I know she feels awful about her performance yesterday. I’m not asking for forgiveness, just that… just that she be given a little grace.”

“Nadia is one of the most hardworking students I’ve ever met. She won’t be penalized for this, Shane. Never for this. Please pass on my well wishes, okay? I know how much theatre means to Nadia. There will always be a place for her here, when she’s ready.”

Shane felt a weight slip from his back. He nodded again, ignoring the lump growing in his throat. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ll try to keep you updated.”

Laurie’s voice was soft. “Take care, Shane. You, Ilya, and Nadia.”

The line disconnected. Shane rubbed his eye with a fist, forcing himself to exhale. He looked at his phone for a long minute before scrolling through his contacts and pressing on his mother’s. 

Yuna answered almost immediately. “Shane? How is she?”

Shane’s composure immediately crumbled. His bottom lip quivered as he looked down at his feet. “Mom?”

Yuna’s voice softened, her tone comforting as opposed to anxious. Shane heard some rustling on the other end, before the soundscape widened. 

“You’re on speaker, honey. Your dad and I are listening. Luka, Dimitri, and Megan went out for a walk, so don’t worry about them.” Fuck, Shane would always be grateful for his mom’s extensive planning. He inhaled shakily, a tear rolling down his cheek. Shane felt like he was suspended on the edge of a bridge. He could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

“Shane.” David’s voice was an anchor, just like it had been for the last fifty-three years. God, Shane had never felt those years quite like he was feeling them now. 

“Shane, buddy, you have to breathe.” Shane’s lips parted as he sucked in a desperate gasp for breath. He paced forward, tugging a hand through his hair. He forced himself to take another deep breath. 

“That’s it.” Yuna’s voice this time. Encouraging and firm. “One more.” Shane obliged, feeling his body regulate at the influx of oxygen. He nodded, licking his lips. 

“It’s really bad,” he confessed after a long minute, blinking back another wave of tears. “Mom, Dad, Nadia’s depressed. Like severely. She said…” he trailed off, chest growing uncomfortably tight. Distantly, Shane wondered if he was having a heart attack. His breaths were unsteady. God— he couldn’t die. Not when Nadia was so close, not like this—

“What did she say, Shane?” David asked. The apprehension in his voice made Shane want to burst into tears. His hands trembled. 

“She said she was going to kill herself last night.”

Silence rang through the phone. Sweat trickled down the back of Shane’s neck in tumbling motions. Numbness crawled up his fingertips. Nausea bubbled in his stomach, swirling up into his throat. He gagged, gripping his chest. 

“F-Fuck, I’m having a-a he-art attack,” he gasped, sinking to the floor, lacking usual finesse and coordination. David’s voice was laced with sorrow. 

“No, Shane, you’re having a panic attack,” he murmured into the phone. The timber of his voice soothed something deep within Shane. He choked on a breath. 

“Shane, honey. Can you walk me through Nadia’s curl routine?” Yuna asked. Shane was too lost in his panic to hear the tears in her voice. He blinked, a ragged breath bursting from his esophagus. 

“It— it’s the same as Ilya’s, mostly,” he managed. “Umm— fuck, mom—”

“Shhh. What’s the first step, Shane?”

“Umm— c-curl specific shampoo. Nadia likes, she likes— um, the rose one. It smells like a garden. Shampoo twice. Then use— the, um, the conditioner. Let it sit. Rinse.” His breath came a little easier. His hands still shook. He blinked through the fog, desperate for focus. 

“Get out the excess water. Then— um, then brush with the curl defining brush. She— she prefers it with volume, so— so we add a little bit of mousse. Then—” he cut himself off, inhaling sharply. 

“Then spray with a leave-in. Brush through. B-brush-style section by section. Scrunch in some gel. Nadia lets it air dry. When her hair dries, she shakes out the curls, just… just a little. Then she always ends up rewetting and finger coiling her bangs.” Shane slumped against the kitchen counter, relief coursing through his body. He rubbed his temple, pressing the phone tightly against his ear. His breaths came unrestricted but heavy. 

“Good job,” Yuna praised quietly. “Focus on your breaths, okay? We’re right here. Everyone is safe right now.”

Shane nodded absentmindedly, inhaling shakily. He held oxygen in his lungs for a long moment before exhaling. He did it again, rolling his shoulders back. Everything felt just a little easier. He loosened his grip on his phone. 

“O-Okay. I’m here,” he mumbled after a minute. He stayed sitting on the floor. 

“Good,” Yuna soothed. “Tell us more about last night. She…?”

Fuck. Shane nodded again. “She went out. Came home around ten. She was… mom, she was covered in dirt. And vomit and b-blood. It was like something out of a horror movie. Then she just started crying and apologizing. Ilya and I took her to our bathroom. She had been cutting. I— um, I cleaned them. But some of them were so deep. Deep enough that I’m shocked they started healing without stitches. She talked to us a little bit about how she’s been feeling. Then Ilya and I got her into bed. They’re both still asleep.”

Shane felt a little more at ease with the facts laid out in front of him. The timeline was still a little bit unclear to him, but he knew about what happened after Nadia came home. He knew she was safe in Ilya’s arms. 

“Okay. I’m going to email you a starting point for some therapists that specialize in youth mental health. Make a list of the five best ones, and let Nadia choose from there. I’ll do some research on different antidepressants so you have the knowledge to make an informed decision should the doctor suggest medication.” Shane felt fresh tears well in his eyes. Yuna was the best mother in the world. Shane, while sometimes overwhelmed with it, always did best with a plan and information. Yuna had always provided that. 

“Okay,” he agreed hoarsely. “She still has the doctor’s appointment on Wednesday. Could her cycle be affecting her mental health?”

Yuna sighed quietly. “It can,” she said softly. “But this is likely something else. I think Nadia will end up with a referral to a psychiatrist and a gynaecologist, if your doctor is any good.”

Shane looked around the living room. He had yet to stand from the floor. “Yeah,” he whispered. “How are the boys?”

David sighed this time. “Worried,” he said honestly. “Dimitri… he was angry. At himself, at you and Ilya, at the world. He knows something is wrong. We talked him down but…”

“But it was a lot,” Shane concluded tiredly. “Yeah. We can… we can manage that. And Luka?”

“Well, Shane, it wasn’t good,” David replied, voice steady but laced with worry. “He was despondent. Megan had to come over just so we could get him to drink some water. She ended up staying the night. They all know something deeper is going on. But they seemed a little better after some rest.”

Shane exhaled. He picked at his eyelashes, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Okay. Can you keep them until dinner time? We… Ilya and I are going to talk to Nadia first. But I don’t want the boys to be alone either.”

“We can,” Yuna agreed softly. “Nadia needs your full attention. David and I will drop them off around six. Do you need any groceries? Medicine, first aid?”

God, Shane would have to thank every star in the galaxy for letting him be his mother’s son. 

“Tylenol. For her after-cry migraine. Something with electrolytes— maybe strawberries?” Yuna’s answering hum and the sound of pen against paper could be heard through the line. 

“We’ll pick up some ice cream and cookies too,” David said lightly. Shane could practically hear his playful smile through the phone. It startled a small, weak laugh out his chest. 

“S-Sounds good. Thank you. Really. I love you both so much.”

“We love you too, Shane,” David responded. “You and Nadia and Ilya. We love you more than anything.”

“Text us any updates, okay?” Yuna requested. Shane made a quiet noise of agreement. 

“I will. Talk soon.”

“Bye, honey.” The line clicked. Shane lowered his phone, dropping it into his lap. He rubbed his face with his palms, blowing a raspberry through his lips. He rolled his shoulders back, blinking away any residual tears. He focused his thoughts on the facts. 

Nadia was in pain, yes. But Shane and Ilya knew about it. They could help. There was a plan in place. One that would take lots of work and tears, but one that would help. Hopefully. For now, Nadia was safe. She was safe as long as Ilya and Shane kept it that way. 

And they would. Until she was ready to handle that on her own. 

~

Eventually, Shane pulled himself off the floor. He started in the kitchen, taking the knife block and slipping it into a cupboard. He grabbed a padlock from the junk drawer, carefully securing it around the handle. The key went into his pocket. 

Making his way to the staircase, Shane climbed each step slowly, trying to keep quiet. The walk to Nadia’s room seemed to stretch on. He paused at the top of the stairs, looking at Luka and Dimitri’s rooms. He opened the door to his eldest’s bedroom, letting himself in. He let his eyes roam around the tidy room, moving towards the desk. He picked up a pair of scissors, slipping them into his pocket. 

Crossing the room, he opened Luka’s door to his and Dimitri’s shared bathroom. He looked over the sink, picking up a razor from the counter. Pulling the shower curtain aside, he looked over the shelves, grateful for the mostly empty surfaces. There was a singular bottle of 2-in-1 body wash and shampoo. Shane allowed himself a small, fond smile. God, he missed his boys. 

Shane left the bathroom through Dimitri’s door, looking around the room. There was little in there, minus the bed and shelves of the boy’s medals and trophies from past hockey tournaments. Shane still checked some stray drawers, nodding a little to himself when his search came back with no results. 

Anya trotted into Dimitri’s room, whining quietly. Shane looked up at her, walking towards the pup. “Hi, honey,” he whispered, petting the retriever’s head. Anya preened at the attention before turning swiftly and trotting down the hall. Shane followed her, hesitating briefly when the pup stopped outside Nadia’s bedroom. She whined, pawing at the closed door. 

Shane took a deep breath. “I’m worried too,” he murmured, petting the dog once more. “Sit.” Anya obeyed, looking between the man and the door. Slowly, Shane put his hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly and pushing the door open. He stepped inside, stomach dropping. 

Nadia’s room was a mess. Not the typical teenager mess, no, Shane was quite used to that. But a proper mess. One that Nadia would not entertain in the slightest, had she been in the right state of mind. Shane, when he had grabbed the girl's pyjamas the night before, made a fleeting observation of the room, but didn’t linger. He was much too focused on his daughter who had been sobbing into his husband’s chest. Overwhelming worry distracted him from something as unimportant as the state of said daughter’s room. 

Now though, knowing Nadia was safe in Ilya’s arms, he let himself look. Nadia, while not the tidiest person Shane knew, did love her space. It amazed Shane, truly, just how much personality a room could hold. The girl had cultivated it until it was such a uniquely visual representation of her, no one could deny whose room it was. Even the baseboards were so distinctly Nadia. Shane and Ilya often marvelled over the artist they had been blessed with. 

Now, it was as though all the creativity had been sucked out of the room with a vacuum. The lacy curtains were drawn completely shut, a heavy blanket pinned up between the window and the curtains, blocking most light from spilling in through the glass. The glass, that Nadia at six years old, argued had to be stained. That if she was building her room, she wanted stained glass. 

That’s how irises ended up on their north facing window. Shane, briefly, lamented the clash of something so vintage looking and their quite modern but warm home, but it was worth it to see Nadia’s smile. And Ilya’s wet eyes. Irises were Irina’s favourite. Shane had an inkling Nadia knew that, based on the tight, encompassing hug Nadia gave her papa when the window was finished. 

Now, hidden behind the curtain, Shane wondered if the flowers still brought a smile to Nadia’s face. His stomach soured when he realized the answer was almost certainly a no. 

The bed was a mess, sheets rumpled and halfway on the floor. Sweat stains were prominent, and there was a Nadia shaped dent in the mattress. 

Clothes were strewn about the floor and Shane was able to see drops of blood across certain pieces and the wooden slats of the floor. 

God. How did it take them so fucking long to notice?

Anya whined from the doorway, still sitting in the hallway. Shane shook himself out of his stupor of guilt and devastation, looking around the room. He grabbed Nadia’s boxcutter from the desk, slipping it into his pocket. It felt heavier than it was. He grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer, carefully leafing through some scrap paper to look for any more tools. 

Warily accepting that he got it all, he walked towards the bathroom. His stomach churned as he opened the door. 

Dried blood lay in a puddle on the floor by the toilet. There was a blade in the sink, covered in blood. Shane forced himself to breathe, his teeth chattering from anxiety. Cautiously, he stepped into the room, grabbing the clean pair of hair shears from the counter. He slipped them into his pocket, turning his back to the room. 

Standing in the doorway of his daughter’s bathroom, Shane let himself cry. 

~

Ilya woke groggily, facial muscles contorting as he pulled his mind from the brink of sleep into the too bright bedroom. He yawned, jaw cracking as he turned his face away from the soft head of hair that was nuzzled into his chest. Eyes half opened, he pressed a warm kiss to who he presumed to be Shane’s— head. 

Eyes half open, he looked down, brows furrowing in confusion when he processed it was his daughter who was asleep against him and not his husband. 

The memories of the night prior rushed him brutally. Ilya tightened his grip on his daughter, cradling her protectively to his chest. 

“Malyshka,” he breathed, warm hand rubbing down her back. Nadia sniffed, still asleep against her father. Ilya dug his teeth into the side of his cheek. He ducked his head, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tried to suppress his sobs. His shoulders trembled with sorrow, lips quivering as he silenced his strangled, fearful whimpers. 

Nadia stayed soundly asleep in his arms, unaware of Ilya’s spiral of guilt, devastation, and fear. 

~

When Nadia awoke, it was slowly, almost serene. She blinked, a well-rested sigh escaping her lips. She rubbed her eyes with her fist, adjusting her hold on her stuffed rabbit, who was tucked into the crook of her elbow. The teenager buried her face into the pillow beneath her, huffing into the cushion. She was tempted to let sleep take her once more, until she heard a warm rumble next to her. 

“Nadia?” Ilya’s voice was rough, almost as if he had been crying. Nadia furrowed her brows, face unmoving from her spot against the pillow. Something was wrong, or different. What had happened last night? She sniffed, awaiting another sound or movement. 

Then came the warm, calloused hand, gently stroking her hair. She cautiously peeked up, gaze catching Ilya’s warm eyes. She blinked, lashes brushing the pillowcase. Ilya smiled at her. 

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Nadia quickly became aware of the dull sting in her thighs from underneath the gauze. She was quickly overwhelmed with ghostlike sensations— chapped lips pressed carelessly to her own, vodka and vomit coating her tongue, gravel pressing harshly into her knees. Tears and snot and makeup chasing each other down her cheeks. 

Raw, uninhibited desperation for a life that she had lost somewhere along the path called summer. 

Nadia pushed herself up on unsteady arms, rolling onto her bum to sit properly. She looked around Shane and Ilya’s bedroom, letting the comforter pool around her lap. Ilya’s hand came to rest between her shoulder blades. 

The teen sniffed, picking the crust out of the inner corner of her eye with the edge of her thumbnail. She opened her mouth to speak, words retreating down her throat. In her periphery, she watched Ilya nod. 

“Is okay,” he soothed. “Don’t have to talk right now, docha. Let’s get you up and to the bathroom, okay?” Nadia managed a small nod, kicking the blankets off of her legs. Ilya slipped off the bed with ease, holding his hands steady as he stepped back half a step from the bed. 

Nadia shifted towards Ilya, taking his hands cautiously and tentatively putting weight on her feet. Ilya was patient, helping her stand slowly. Nadia was nauseous under the premise of care. She lifted her head, blinking through the tears. 

Ilya’s eyes were kind, searching Nadia’s face. His own eyes were wet when Nadia managed to bring herself to look. Still, he smiled kindly and lightly squeezed her hands. He stepped backwards carefully, leading them towards the bathroom. 

Nadia walked with him without hesitation, keeping her movements small and focused. Her head was simmering with self-loathing. She hoped it wouldn’t bubble into anything she would need to act on. 

When they reached the bathroom, Ilya carefully opened the toilet seat lid. He turned back to Nadia. “Do you need to do anything more than just pee?” He asked, expression tentative. Nadia bit her tongue. She could read the underlying anxiety. It made her want to squirm out of her skin with guilt. 

She shook her head. Ilya’s shoulders dropped half an inch. “Okay,” he whispered. “I will be outside door. You have three minutes before I come back in, okay?” Ilya wanted Nadia to shout. To scream at him about the lack of privacy; demand that he get his head out of his ass and treat her like a person. To give her the trust she, Ilya, and Shane had spent the past fourteen years of her life curating and perfecting between them.

Instead, she nodded, letting go of his hands. 

Ilya felt a part of him die. It felt like different pieces of him had been withering away all night. Since he saw his beautiful baby girl standing on stage with no light behind her eyes. He cleared his throat, stepping around her and out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. His eyes fell to the clock on the nightstand. 

The Russian let his head fall back, a quiet thunk against the door. He kept his hand protectively on the doorknob, trying not to sink into his own fit of despair. Nadia needed an anchor. Ilya could do that. It’s what he had been working towards in therapy for the past twenty-three years. Since he and Shane knew they were having a baby. 

He never ever remembered a moment where it was more difficult for him to regulate his self-loathing or his guilt. Not even when he found his beautiful Mama on the bathroom floor. Ilya inhaled slowly, collecting his distress and upset, expelling as much of it as he could on the exhale. 

The switch of the lock on the door locking startled him out of his thoughts. 

~

Nadia watched Ilya close the bathroom door, trying desperately to hold back her tears. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sank to her knees, rolling up the hem of her sleep shorts. She traced her fingers over the bandages, teeth chattering as she tensed. Her eyes flicked from the toilet to the sink to the door. 

Slowly, she stood, pacing towards the bathroom door. Her hand hesitantly fell over the doorknob, trembling only slightly. Taking a deep breath, Nadia turned the latch, sliding the lock in place. She didn’t really know what compelled her to do so… it’s not like she could realistically harm herself with anything in the room. Ilya and Shane’s razors were too complex to pry apart. She could probably drink the cleaning chemicals, but Nadia really didn’t want to die. Not now. 

She just… she needed to be alone. 

Frantic knocks sounded through the bathroom. Nadia let the tears flow, sinking back to her knees. 

“Nadia! Nadia, open the door!” Ilya sounded so panicked… Nadia was going to hell. She practically folded in half, resting her forehead against her knees, body curled on the ground. It looked like a pathetic attempt at worship. She hiccuped, arms hanging uselessly by her sides. Ilya continued to pound on the door, voice growing in concern. 

Nadia felt like she was decomposing. Chaotically yet somehow methodically breaking apart into nothing more than dirt. Everything began to blur together— noise, vision, pain. Fuck, Nadia hated this.

~

Ilya made a severe mistake. 

Obviously he knew that the bathroom door had a lock on it, but he had never really thought about it. Shane and he were the only ones who used this bathroom anyway. And Nadia looked so tired, Ilya really didn’t think she would have the energy to think about locking herself in the bathroom. 

“Nadia! Nadia, open the fucking door!” He shouted, banging harshly on the wood. His eyes were wild with fear. It couldn’t have been more than ten seconds, and still, Ilya felt like his daughter was slipping through his fingers. 

“Shane! Shane, please!” He yelled, voice breaking in fear and desperation. He was trembling, trying desperately to get the doorknob to move. “Nadia, open the door!”

Shane burst into the bedroom, eyes wide with panic. He quickly assessed the scene, immediately jumping into action. Quickly, Shane was across the room, pushing Ilya away from the door before he slammed his shoulder against the wood. 

The door wavered with the hit, hinges creaking. Ilya moved around the bedroom, grabbing his phone and ready to dial 9-1-1 if needed. His antidepressants were in the cabinet. He hoped to god that Nadia hadn’t found them. 

Shane hit the door again, using all of his strength and then some, fuelled entirely by adrenaline. The door gave way, bursting open and hitting the wall of the bathroom with a loud slam. 

Shane and Ilya practically tripped over each other, rushing into the room and towards Nadia, who was kneeling on the ground and sobbing into her bandaged thighs. 

“Fuck,” Shane cursed, dropping to his knees and gently coaxing Nadia up so he could look at her. Ilya stood nearby, phone still tightly in his hand as he looked around the bathroom, searching frantically for any evidence that his daughter had harmed herself. 

Nadia moved easily with Shane’s guidance, choking on a sob. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She wailed, body trembling so violently, Shane was half-worried she was seizing. 

“Did you take anything?” Shane asked urgently, his gentle fingers tucking her hair behind her ear. Nadia shook her head and Ilya nearly collapsed in relief. He scoured the bathroom anyway, setting his phone down on the counter and leaning against the sink, close but not crowding. He focused on soothing his racing heart, stomach churning. 

Shane nodded, exhaling slowly as he brought his wrist to Nadia’s forehead, checking her temperature. The girl leaned into the touch subtly, still shaking with her cries, falling forward into the cabinet as Shane moved. 

The Canadian was quick to catch her, breath hitching in his throat. Carefully, he tugged the fourteen year old into his frame, guiding her head to his chest. Nadia wrapped her arms around Shane’s back loosely, hiccuping and gasping into his flannel. He gently shushed her, rocking her back and forth slowly on the floor.

Ilya watched, fear and discomfort burrowing into his chest. He knew distantly that they would be present for a long while. 

“I’m fucking sick of this,” Nadia sobbed, face completely obscured by Shane’s shoulder. The man nodded a little, stroking Nadia’s curls soothingly. 

“I know,” he whispered. Nadia hated how heartbroken he sounded. “I know, baby. Things are going to get better. I promise you.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she confessed. The words tore out of her like an ugly, twisted cloud. Shane, to his credit, did not stop rocking his baby. Ilya went rigid. 

“I just… I’m not strong enough.” Now that it started, Nadia didn’t think it would ever stop. “Everyone hates me, I’m apathetic to everything, I make you and Papa and Dee and Luka worry. I can’t be kind to save my fucking life.” Nadia’s tone was dripping with vitriol. Both Shane and Ilya wanted to curl away from it. 

“I can’t do it and I’m not worth the effort anyway.” Enough was enough. Shane knew that having a safe space to express these thoughts was healthy. He had done it with Ilya, and it fucking killed him, but he knew he was helping. With his husband, he was able to challenge those ideas. Get to the root of them, reveal their illogical nature. Ilya was scared, of course he was. But he knew what Shane was doing. He had more than one line of support through his therapist and the team and the Hollanders and Sveta. He was an adult who was capable of critically thinking through his mental spirals, even if it took some work and coaxing. 

Nadia did not have any of those advantages. She was terrified, and Shane couldn’t blame her. He was too. Nadia was so young and she always, always struggled with making genuine friends. Shane could count on five hands the amount of friends that have come over through the years. He couldn’t even name one who made his girl actually smile. Feel valued for who she was instead of what she had or who she was related to. It broke his fucking heart in two. 

Worse, it rendered him useless. He didn’t know what to do other than be present, and he worried that that wouldn’t be enough. Not this time. 

“Nadenka,” Ilya started softly. His voice broke on the first syllable of her name. Nadia refused to look up, keeping herself safely tucked into Shane’s chest as she sniffled. Shane bit his lip, looking up at his husband and continuing to rock their daughter back and forth. 

Ilya met Shane’s gaze. He felt like everything was crumbling down around him. He was sure his husband could see it in his eyes. Slowly, he knelt down next to Shane, close enough to touch. He kept his hands to himself. 

“Nadia,” he murmured. “Look at me. Please.”

Reluctantly, the girl lifted her head, meeting Ilya’s eyes. He made a quiet, wounded sound upon the sight of her tears. 

“This is so scary,” he whispered. “For me and Dad, but for you, especially. I know… I know your brain is tricking you into believing these awful, untrue things.” Shane pressed a firm kiss to Nadia’s head, holding her closer. The teenager’s hands twitched from where they fell against Shane’s lower back. Ilya continued. 

“They are lies. Brain is liar. I know it feels like everything is ruined. But we can fix it. Or try again.” He looked down, taking a slow breath. He wasn’t sure how to keep going, how to make this better. Motivating a locker room full of athletes to win a game was one thing. Motivating your fourteen year old daughter to keep living was entirely another. 

“You’ve been carrying this pain for so long, baby,” Shane whispered into her hair. “And you’ve been doing such a good job. We’re so proud of you for making it this far. For getting help. But Nadia, honey, you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore. Let Papa and I take some of the weight, okay? We want to do it. We can handle it.” Shane nor Ilya was entirely sure that was true. But they’d manage. Anything for their children. “Let us help you, Nadia. Please.”

Nadia, whose gaze had dropped to the tiled floor, blinked rapidly. Tears pooled on her eyelashes, refracting light from the beautiful, doe brown eyes Ilya had fallen in love with thirty-six years ago. They were Shane’s, but they were also uniquely Nadia’s. 

The Russian reached out, gently brushing a tear from her cheek. The fourteen year old sniffled, bottom lip quivering as she nodded against Shane. 

“Okay,” she whispered, voice thick with tears. 

“Okay?” Ilya confirmed tenderly. 

“Okay,” Nadia repeated, sinking further into Shane. Both men let out tiny but impactful breaths of relief. Shane tightened his arm around the girl while Ilya shifted closer, one hand cradling the back of Nadia’s head as he brought their foreheads together. 

~

Ilya lifted the kettle from the stove when it whistled, carefully pouring the hot water into three mugs— two handmade from Nadia and Megan’s foray into pottery the year before. Ilya loved his girls so much. 

Each handmade mug was colourful and whimsical, looking like something right out of a witch’s cottage. They quickly became the main cups used in the house. The last mug was Ilya’s, bought by the boys nearly eighteen years prior. It read ‘Best Papa Ever’ in big, wonky letters. 

The Russian watched the tea bags in each mug steep and swell under the hot water, letting the visual soothe his overwhelmed mind. Ilya didn’t really enjoy tea, while Shane favoured green tea, and Nadia loved this lavender-chamomile blend. But tea was said to soothe the soul, so Ilya brewed it for the three of them, opting for a plain orange pekoe for himself. 

He added some sugar and milk to his own mug, stirring it slowly. Then, he carefully lifted all three mugs into his hands, carrying them to the living room. 

There, Nadia sat on one of the armchairs, a blanket securely in her lap. After the bathroom incident, Shane had carefully helped Nadia out of Ilya’s sweatpants and into a soft pair of pyjama shorts before changing her bandages. Anya sat protectively by her feet. Shane sat next on the side of the couch closest to the chair, eyes fixed on Nadia. He glanced up as Ilya entered, offering a tired smile. Ilya handed him the mug with a kiss to his forehead. 

Ilya turned, handing Nadia her mug in the same way. She took it with a grateful hum, cradling the mug in her hands. With a long sigh, Ilya sat next to Shane, pressed close to his side. In response, Shane wrapped his free arm around Ilya’s waist, gently squeezing his hip. 

The room lapsed into silence. The hum of the house served as a base track. Nadia inhaled slowly, looking down into her cup of tea. Shane and Ilya both looked towards her. 

“I… um, I don’t really know what to say,” she mumbled. Shane gave a slow nod. 

“That’s okay,” he assured quietly. “Would you like to start from the beginning? Or would you rather Papa and I ask you questions?”

The teenager bit her lip, thinking through each option. After a long moment, she rolled her shoulders back. 

“Questions?” She asked quietly. Ilya nodded, taking a sip of his tea to calm his nerves. Shane smoothed his thumb underneath the waistband of Ilya’s sweatpants. 

“How is school going? Academically.” Nadia blinked in surprise. Still, she was grateful for the simpler question. 

“Umm. It’s okay. Maybe not well, but. Okay. Drama is good. Geography is… it’s fine, I don’t know. Science is whatever. Math is math.” Shane nor Ilya looked like they believed her. Nadia didn’t even believe herself.

“Yeah? How did you do on that last math test?” Shane asked knowingly. Nadia blinked, furrowing her brows in thought. When had she taken a math test? 

Then she recalled. The day she got her period. She had gotten her grade back probably the Monday after. Her birthday. She didn’t look at it. The paper sat crumpled in the bottom of her locker. 

Nadia met Ilya and Shane’s eyes, quickly looking away after just a moment under their concerned gazes. She looked into her mug. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. Shane set his mug on a coaster, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. 

“You’re not in trouble, Nadia,” he uttered gently. “We’ve never cared for your grades, you know that. We’re just worried about you, honey. It’s not like you. Papa and I want to know how to help.”

Nadia felt a sudden rush of tears well in her eyes. She looked off the side quickly, blinking rapidly. Anya whined, perking up at the movement. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Nadia kept her gaze pointed at the window, pointedly ignoring Shane and Ilya’s eyes. “I don’t remember,” she confessed quietly. “I don’t— I don’t really remember much. Not like I used to. It’s all…” she swallowed thickly. Tears welled in her eyes despite her best efforts. “It’s all foggy. I can’t see through all the bad.”

Ilya bit his lip, eyes roaming over Nadia’s face. He held his mug tightly in his hands. “Is there… is there a lot of bad?” He asked carefully. 

The room went still. Anya had reluctantly sat down again, eyes fixed on Nadia. Shane and Ilya subconsciously held their breaths. Time was suspended for the moment; held by a trapeze high in an empty carnival tent.

Nadia let the silence hang. The words felt drastically understated. There was only bad. Nothing would ever feel right again. A tear rolled down her cheek. The fourteen year old wanted to be mortified. The want, like the emotion, remained a suggestion in the depth of her mind.

She shrugged. How did you say to your loving, protective fathers that you felt like you’d been caught in a snare trap; suspended in the air and gutted in the field. That you’ve been watching blood trickle out of the gaping wound in your stomach before it even had the chance to rush to your head? 

“I guess,” Nadia replied finally, voice quiet. Enough for me to want to kill myself was the part she left unspoken. She wiped her cheek in a quick, embarrassed movement. Ilya considered her, brows furrowed pensively and worriedly. He gave a small, imperceptible nod. 

Shane exhaled slowly. He was still leaning over. “Thank you,” he whispered. Whether he was thanking her for her honesty or her persistence through the pain, Nadia wasn’t sure. She was alive. That maybe counted for something. 

Nadia looked down at her lap. She smoothed her thumb over the rim of her mug. God, she missed Megan and Luka and Dimitri so much. It felt like it had been months since she’d last seen them. In a way, it had been. 

“How is school going socially?” Shane asked quietly, almost hesitant. Nadia blinked, looking up at her parents briefly. The concerned and compassionate expressions on their faces made her stomach churn. She looked away. 

This question was one she did not know how to answer. She doesn’t really have friends. Shane and Ilya both know that. It wasn’t for a lack of trying— it just… never seemed to work out. Memories of her twelfth birthday with lackluster attendance were evidence of that. In the past, her birthday parties were so busy. Nadia knew, even then, that people only showed up because her dads had a tendency to go all out. People showed up because of the last name on the RSVP.  

She didn’t know if Shane and Ilya knew that she knew that. But she remembered the empty tables at the roller rink. Remembered the looks Shane and Ilya exchanged when she wasn’t looking. Nadia remembered snippets of hushed phone calls to family, asking them to come celebrate this party with them, despite their dinner the evening before.

Mostly, Nadia remembered trying not to cry as she looked around the empty, colourful rink. Tears for the work Shane and Ilya had put in for weeks to give her a good party, but selfishly, tears for herself. For not being likeable enough to hold friends on her own. For being just on the wrong side of ‘weird’ to keep her peers repelling against her like a strong magnet. 

Nadia remembered forcing a smile on her face and pretending like it didn’t bother her, even when deep down, it felt like something had shattered within her. Maybe that’s when this all started. Two years ago at an empty table in the middle of a neon roller rink. 

The fourteen year old adjusted her grip on her mug. The tea had stopped steaming, though it was still warm to the touch. She watched Anya, the pup lying down in front of her armchair. Shane and Ilya were still sitting patiently, though they were both braced in preparation for the worst. The bullying, Nadia supposed, would be the worst. She didn’t know if she was going to tell them that. 

A minute crawled by. 

Then another. 

Nadia opened her mouth. Then closed it. 

Shane tilted his head. Ilya set his tea down on the coffee table. 

“I— um. I had my first kiss last night,” Nadia confessed. She blinked, gaze fixed on her mug. She didn’t really know why she said that, but she let the words hang in the air. 

Shane blinked, clearly caught off guard. Ilya nodded slowly, trying to hide his surprise. One of his hands rested between Shane’s shoulder blades. He leaned closer to Nadia, trying a tentative smile. 

“Who is lucky person?” He teased lightly. No one acknowledged the emotional tremor in his voice. 

Well. Nadia already started. And as much as she felt that these things needed to stay firmly against her chest, she knew that would eventually kill her. And her parents… they always had her. Every single time. Maybe she could let them take some of this weight. Maybe…

“Levi,” she mumbled. Both her parents’ eyebrows raised in surprise. They knew of the boy, and also knew that Nadia was not always his biggest fan. Shane took a moment to gather his words. 

“Okay— umm… how, how was it?” He asked carefully. 

Nadia thought back to the closed press of lips against her own. How they felt clammy but overbearingly hot simultaneously. The burn of vomit crawling up her esophagus. How she felt entirely cornered and unsafe. The tears prickled in her eyes. The room spinning in front of her. 

The girl’s breath hitched. Her bottom lip trembled. Shane’s hand came into view, palm up, his knuckles barely grazing her blanketed knee. Nadia looked up, meeting Shane and Ilya’s matching worried gazes. She adjusted her grip on her mug, making no move to take her dad’s hand. 

Shane kept it there anyway. 

“Was it… did you want to?” Ilya asked slowly. The words were jagged, taught with fear. 

Slowly, Nadia shook her head. Ilya inhaled sharply. Nadia looked up in time to see Ilya’s face darken with anger as he looked away. Shane’s expression did much of the same. When he caught Nadia’s gaze, his eyes softened with understanding. He kept his hand by her knee. Nadia looked down at it. She had half a mind to interlock their fingers. 

She didn’t. 

The room was fraught with silence. Nadia shrugged a little, adjusting herself on the chair. “I agreed,” she argued in a whisper to her mug of tea. The urge to justify what happened swelled inside her like a balloon. “Eventually.”

Ilya murmured. “If it wasn’t an enthusiastic yes, it was a no.”

“You weren’t there,” Nadia breathed, shaking her head minutely. Shane’s breath was shaky. 

“I didn’t need to be,” Ilya countered, looking back at his daughter. It felt like looking in a mirror. Fear gripped his lungs. Nadia was staring into her mug, a tear rolling down her cheek and landing in the tea with a quiet ‘drip’. Beside him, Shane was rigid.

“Nadia,” Ilya called quietly. Painstakingly, Nadia met his gaze, her eyes puffy with unshed tears. Ilya had to fight to hold his gaze. It wasn’t about him; whatever he was feeling about this, it was nothing compared to what his girl was going through. Ilya refused to waver in his support. 

“Nadenka,” he whispered, carefully slipping off the couch and away from the couch. He knelt in front of Nadia’s chair, Anya sitting between the two comfortably. Nadia sniffed, looking away for a moment. Her eyes found Shane’s, who was sitting pressed against the side of the couch uncomfortably. He looked a little pale, eyes brimming with sadness and compassion and so much love. 

Belatedly, Nadia realized his hand was still hovering by her knee, palm upturned in offering. She set her mug down on the coffee table next to her, gliding her smaller fingers over Shane’s palm until they linked with Shane’s calloused digits. Audibly, Shane let out a small breath of relief. 

Ilya brought his hands up slowly, making each movement clear as he carefully rested his palms against Nadia’s knees. She held her breath, watching his gentle movements. The warmth from his hands spread through her, lighting up a part of her that she had thought long since had gone cold. 

The room was quiet, Ilya and Shane using their contact with Nadia as an anchor. Unsteadily, the fourteen year old inhaled, The lump in her throat felt as though it was soggy with mold, flexing and squishing around the contract of her throat. Each tear that rolled down her cheek carried streams of fear and devastation. 

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” came the hoarsely whispered confession. Ilya’s calloused thumbs brushed over Nadia’s kneecaps. The bandages felt itchy against her thighs. 

Shane’s hand was warm in Nadia’s grasp. He tilted his head, analyzing Nadia’s expression. He licked his lips, unsure of what to say. 

Ilya’s voice felt like a soothing balm against a burn. Nadia wondered whether the spark inside her chest was because of or in spite of the dark cavern that had consumed her mind. The Russian’s lips had contorted into a sad, knowing, small whisper of a smile.

“It won’t hurt forever.”

Nadia’s inhale was sharp. She looked away, tears pressing insistently against her eyelids. She felt off-kilter, like something sharp urged her to the edge. Her other hand shot out, surprising the three family members, reaching for Shane’s grip. 

Steady as ever, Shane adjusted on the couch, taking Nadia’s hand in his other. He held both of her hands securely, thumbs smoothing over the back of her knuckles. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered to his daughter. Her brown eyes looked a little less dull. Her curls, while disheveled, were still hers. His chest ached with a sickening mix of love and sorrow. 

“I just need to feel something,” she uttered into the quiet of the room, breath hot with nausea. Ilya bowed his head, pressing a gentle kiss to Nadia’s blanketed knee. The loving display brought a fresh wave of tears over the girl. Her father met her eyes, blue and brown colliding in a quivering lapse of understanding, hurt, and hope. 

“We will help. Always.” The promise was fiercely conveyed in a way that didn’t give Nadia the option to disbelief it.

Shane and Ilya had her. They always will and they always have. 

~

A knock on the door came around five forty-five, startling Ilya from where he was absentmindedly doing the dishes. Their talk with Nadia had been extensive and overwhelming, leading to many tears on all sides. They had finished around two, and Nadia had fallen asleep in Shane’s lap. The men let her sleep, Shane holding her close. Ilya opted to move around, knowing that if he stayed on the couch he would end up spiralling. 

So, he worked out, took Anya out for a walk, showered, made Nadia and Shane some semblance of a meal, tidied the living room, and then did the dishes. Which led him to now. He gently shushed Anya’s barks, walking to the door and opening it quietly, a small breath of relief escaping his lungs. 

Yuna, David, Dimitri, and Luka stood on the doorstep, the elders’ arms full of grocery bags. Luka shifted nervously, trying to peer into the house, while Dimitri’s bottom lip quivered. He looked so much like Shane, Ilya thought he might start crying all over again.

Without a word, he opened his arms, catching Dimitri with ease as his boy began to cry against his chest. 

“Tell me she’s okay,” he gasped between hiccuping breaths. “Please tell me she’s okay.” Ilya closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe. He cradled the back of Dimitri’s head, rubbing his back soothingly. 

“She’s okay,” he murmured. “Has best big brothers in the world. She is going to be okay.” Dimitri sniffled into Ilya’s shirt. Luka blinked, picking at his cuticles. 

“Can we see her?” He asked in a whisper. Dimitri pulled back, taking a moment to compose himself, shoulders still trembling minutely. Ilya stepped aside to let them through. 

“She is napping on couch. Can probably wake her, I do not think she would mind.” With that, the boys made their way inside, quietly greeting Anya and taking their shoes off before disappearing into the living room. Ilya watched them go before turning to Yuna and David. 

Without a word, Yuna set the grocery bags down, tugging Ilya down into a firm hug. The blond swallowed thickly, hugging her back and hiding his face in her long, grey hair. David’s hand came to rest on the back of his neck, the weight soothing and warm. 

“I am so scared,” Ilya confessed to his parents, manually coaxing air into his lungs in a metronome that matched Yuna’s steady pace. 

“Yes,” Yuna whispered into the blond curls. “Us too. But everything will be okay.” Begrudgingly, Ilya peeked up, meeting David’s eyes. The warmth of his gaze and the confident nod from the older man gave Ilya the reassurance he needed. 

“Will you help with dinner?” He asked quietly, pulling back from Yuna and wiping his eyes as reset. David’s hand stayed on the back of his neck for a long moment before squeezing the nape of it and slipping away. 

“Of course,” Yuna murmured, gently stroking Ilya’s cheek before patting his shoulder and urging him inside. 

Ilya let himself breathe. Mom and Dad were here. Nadia was here. Shane was here. Luka and Dimitri were here. 

Everything would be okay. 

~

Upon entering the living room, Luka felt like he had been stabbed. His baby sister (who really wasn’t a baby, but Dimitri and Nadia were always going to be his babies in some sense), was curled securely into Shane’s lap, looking so small. The retired hockey player had his big, sturdy arms around her, his chin resting atop of her blonde curls. 

What really took Luka’s attention were the stark white bandages around Nadia’s thighs. Recognition flooded his senses. Unconsciously, his hand darted out, gripping his brother’s. 

Dimitri looked up, holding Luka’s hand securely in his own. He bit his tongue, tilting his head as he looked at his sister and father. The boys stood there for several moments before Shane stirred from his light doze, blinking away his exhaustion. When his gaze met his sons’, he swallowed thickly and adjusted his hold on the little one on his lap. 

“I know you have so many questions,” he murmured to the boys. “Papa and I just ask that you hold off until Nadia’s eaten something. She’s had a day.”

Dimitri felt himself nod. He stepped towards the couch, tugging Luka with him. The eldest Hollander-Rozanov followed without resistance, settling on the couch next to his brother. Dimitri was pressed to Shane’s side, Luka on the other side of him. 

Slowly, the hockey player reached over and gently brushed his fingertips across Nadia’s cheek. It was as gentle as his touch when he first met his baby sister. Shane blinked away the sudden influx of tears. 

“Can I take her?” Dimitri asked roughly, sniffing quietly. Shane pursed his lips in thought before slowly shaking his head. 

“Touch might be a little… finicky for her right now,” he murmured. Luka blinked, nodding slowly. It felt like he was on autopilot. What happened to his sister?

Dimitri moved his hand back quickly, nodding in understanding. He shifted slightly away from Shane, eeys fixed on his sister. Shane loved his babies so fucking much. 

Moving his hands slowly up and down her back, Shane pressed a kiss to Nadia’s forehead. 

“Nadia,” he called quietly, lips gentle against her skin. “Time to wake up, baby.”

Blinking awake, the fourteen year old grumbled, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She turned her head against Shane’s shoulder, allowing herself a moment to properly wake up. Shane kept a steady pace of his hand against her back, touch soothing and warm. Dimitri and Luka waited nervously. 

Nadia turned her head to the other side, coming face to face with her brothers. She sniffled, sitting up a little straighter on Shane’s lap. The three siblings held quiet eye contact, Nadia’s gaze flicking from Luka to Dimitri. 

The twenty-two year old offered a small, hesitant smile. “Hey, Dia,” he whispered. The girl’s bottom lip trembled. 

“Hi, Luka,” she whispered back. Dimitri managed a smile through his tears. “You feelin’ okay?” He asked quietly. 

The girl shrugged. “Been better.”

Luka let out a small huff of amusement. “I bet.” Then, “You wanna sit with us?” Nadia glanced at Shane, leaning into him and gently bonking her forehead against his chin. He let out a small, hoarse laugh, kissing her forehead once more. Then, the fourteen year old slipped off Shane’s lap and stepped carefully to Luka and Dimitri, dropping herself into the small space between them. 

Dimitri immediately wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her head. Luka wrapped his arms around both his siblings, squishing them together and hiding his face in Nadia’s hair. All three of them relaxed into the couch and the embrace. Shane watched them for a long moment, biting the inside of his cheek as he noticed Luka’s eyes opening every so often and landing on the gauze around Nadia’s thighs. 

Slowly. Carefully. One thing at a time. Shane reminded himself, standing from the couch. He rested his hand on Luka’s shoulder, squeezing once, then twice before letting him go. Luka glanced up, eyes holding Shane’s for a moment. A silent question. 

Shane gave one, meaningful nod. The boy relaxed, rubbing Dimitri’s back with one hand before returning his head to rest atop of Nadia’s. 

As Shane left the living room to help his husband and his parents with dinner, he heard Dimitri’s voice. 

“Should we watch a movie?”

“The Grinch.”

“Dia, it’s September.”

“The. Grinch.” 

Luka’s sigh was audible from the couch, and the sound of the tv turning on carried through the living room. Shane didn’t fight the small smile growing on his face. 

Yeah. They’d be okay.