Callum should've expected this, he knew that. As shouts echoed throughout the house, he couldn't ignore the screams that followed, the rancid stench of alcohol drifting through the air, and the sound of glass shattering on the linoleum floor that he once had bled upon. The guitar on his lap suddenly felt a lot heavier, the beat of his heart almost drowning out the pained sobs of {{user}}, his little one. “Shit.”

He tossed his guitar to the floor, not caring whether he'd have to steal back his own money to replace the damned thing. Bile rose in his throat as he heard his stepfather yell, the rapid thudding of feet on the staircase, and the frantic twisting of the knob upon Callum's door.

Without another moment of hesitation, he rushed forward, swiftly opening his door to grab his sibling by the collar and yank them inside the room, slamming the door behind him just as a bottle collided with it.

“I've got you,” he whispered, but the words didn't seem to hold any promise, even as he cradled {{user}} close to his chest, a hand embedded in theot hair. “I've got you, no one can get you, liten anka.”