Chapter Text
Nathan… doesn't really know what he's doing, anymore. Well, he knows what he's doing right now. Right now, he's taking a walk in the forest surrounding the hotel. The failing hotel. The hotel he stupidly bought, because he always does things, and never thinks them through. The hotel that, no matter how much he repairs, always seems to fall apart. The hotel that he does not have the social skills to run. Or any skills to run, really.
He sighs, running a hand down his face. The forest is nice, at least, if a bit spooky at the best of times. But it's good being out in nature, taking a break. It's been non-stop work recently, and, well, the hotel will manage without him. It isn't exactly like they ever even really get guests.
He almost doesn't notice the hole in the ground, lost in his thoughts as he is. It's deep, and looks out of place in the forest. More importantly, there's a child in the hole. A very small child, from the looks of it, although he can't tell their gender from the long, matted hair covering their face and odd, tattered clothes. They look like something straight out of the 17th century, and it's… odd. Very odd. The child themself looks gaunt and deathly pale, the strange clothes practically hanging off their stick-thin frame.
Nathan crouches down, concern etching itself onto his features. Why the hell is there a child in the middle of the woods? And a very neglected, strange-looking child, at that. He's barely in the right head-space to look after himself at the moment, let alone anything else, but he can't just leave the poor kid there. He clears his throat and extends his hand.
"You ok there, kid? I'm Nathan." The kid flinches awake, and scurries away from his out-stretched hand. He seems terrified. Not for the first time, Nathan wonders what the fuck has happened to them.
The kid opens their mouth and tries to speak, but all that comes out is a scared, dehydrated-croak. Nathan's worry increases tenfold.
"Alright, bud, I'm gonna get you out of this hole, and we can go find your parents, ok? I'm gonna help you." He has no idea if the child even has parents, much less if they'd be the kind of people he should return them to, given the state they're in. Now that he can see their face, he sees the deep eye bags practically carved into his cheeks, which are far too sallow for a young… boy? Nathan decides to go with boy. The boy has made no move to approach his hand, though, which isn't helping the whole situation. He really doesn't want to forcefully grab such an obviously terrified child, but if he won't come with him willingly, he doesn't have much of a choice. He can't just leave him here.
"Kid, c'mon. I'm going to help you, I promise. I just need you to grab my hand so I can get you out of this hole, and then I can get you a drink, and some food. Does that sound good?" The boy finally makes eye contact with him. They're a wide, bright blue, and the whites of his sclera are visible around the iris. He nods, timidly, and reaches for his hand with trembling, small fingers. He hadn't really meant to offer to take the kid home, just straight to the police, but… he looks so pained. And he can't take it back now. He'll just get some food in the kid, and then take him to the police.
The boy grasps his hand, loosely at first, and then the grip is suddenly vice-tight. He pulls the kid up, and he's frighteningly light as he lifts him from out of the hole he must've fallen into. He doesn't let go of his hand, and Nathan can't help but feel warmth swell up in his chest. It feels good, helping him. He feels more purposeful than he has in months. Years, maybe.
The two traverse the forest slowly, as the boy keeps stumbling and tripping; although it is admittedly unsurprising, given the state of him. Nathan fills the silence with steady chatter, talking about his sister, and the hotel, and how he's been finding the town so far. The boy doesn't make any attempt at a response, but he seems comforted nonetheless. After a several minute long trek back to the hotel, he opens the front door hastily, and makes his way to the kitchen, the boy panting with exertion despite the relatively short journey. His skin seems even more pale and clammy than before, and he seems increasingly unsteady on his feet.
Nathan pulls out a chair, and motions to it. "You go sit down, ok, bud? I'll get you a glass of water, and then some food." The boy nods, but looks at the chair oddly. He clambers onto it shakily, and sits with his knees pulled up to his chest. In the bright light of the kitchen, the boy only looks more unwell, and unease is starting to coil in his chest. The clothes are really weirding him out, and from his own unfortunate experience, he is beginning to suspect the boy might've been in a cult of some sorts, or at least some kind of very extreme religion. Mormons, maybe. He rips his gaze away, though. He needs to get the kid some water.
He grabs a glass and walks over to the tap, filling it about halfway. If the boy's so dehydrated he can't even speak, then the last thing he needs is to throw up from drinking too much, too fast. He walks back over to the boy and hands him the glass, which he clutches awkwardly before looking at him again. He seems so… lost. It's surprisingly relatable. Nathan wonders if he's waiting for permission, and while it's incredibly sad if he is, he can't say he'd be shocked. He nods, just in case. "Go on, drink it, it's fine."
The boy nods quickly, and downs the water in seconds. Some of it splashes up and clings to his chin, which he collects on his fingers before licking it off. Fuck. He's not sure he wants to know what happened for the poor boy to get like this. He's looking at him hopefully, now, but Nathan knows he needs to pace himself. He's just not sure if the kid knows.
"I'm sorry, buddy, but if I give you too much water you'll throw it all up. I'm going to make you some food, and you can have another glass then, ok?"
The boy looks at him saddly, but nods, and then looks away, his eyes darting across the room quickly, as though properly taking it all in. He stands up, looking through the cupboards for whatever he has that's actually edible. There's some turning-stale bread, an almost-empty jar of jam, and a very-empty jar of peanut butter; some incredibly out of date cereal, and a few cans of various soups. He sighs. Curse his unhealthy eating habits.
He decides on a can of tomato soup and a jam sandwich. He doesn't know how much will be too much, really, but the soup can get some much-needed water into the boy, and he's hoping that he'll stop if he feels like he's about to be sick. He dumps the soup into a pan and gets the hob on after a few tries, before turning to the counter and un-sticking two slices of bread, spreading a thin layer of jam between them, and cutting them neatly in half. The soup is luke-warm by the time he's done, but he decides that's probably for the best, in case the boy burns his mouth, or finds it overwhelming. He turns the gas off and pours it into a bowl, carrying that in one hand and the sandwich in another as he walks over to the boy, placing the food in front of him. He replaces the food with his empty glass, taking it over to the sink and re-filling it (Again, only half-way) and putting it back in front of the boy.
The boy is scarfing down the sandwich like he hasn't eaten in weeks, which, with a pang, Nathan realises he might not've. He spares him a guilty glance, crumbs stuck to his cheeks, before picking up the second half and devouring it with similar appetite. He takes a quick break to eat the mess on his face and down his water, before turning to the soup, lifting the bowl with unsteady, stupidly small hands and drinking it down. Nathan watches fondly, but the worry coiling in his gut since he stumbled upon the boy has only been increasing, and he's quickly realising he doesn't really know what to do past this. He settles on seeing if the boy can talk. He seems to understand him, at least, so that's a good sign. Even if he doesn't quite understand how to sit on a chair normally.
"So, bud, you feeling any better?" He asks, keeping his voice calm. He can't scare him now.
The boy nods.
"Can you… talk?" He adds, with no idea what he'll do if the boy can't.
"Yes." He rasps. His throat is still sore, evidently. It's understandable. He's just glad he's not mute.
"Do you have a name, kid?"
"Abaddon." The boy — Abaddon, answers. Shit. Well. All signs are pointing towards cult, currently. That's… not good.
"That's a cool name, Abaddon. Why were you out in the forest all alone, buddy?" He feels like he's overdoing it, but he can't help it. Abaddon just looks so sad. So scared. He just wants to be comforting.
"The ri— the ritual failed. They didn't… need me anymore. They left me in the forest. I— I shouldn't have left, they might come back. I need to be there if they come back." Abaddon replied, voice scratchier than sandpaper, increasing in speed and volume as he spoke. But fuck, that was horrifying. And it was definitely a cult thing. God, why did those things keep finding him?
"Shi— shoot. Ok, Abaddon, that's— that's— you did the right thing coming with me, ok? You could've died out there." He says, voice losing it's composure. God, god, fuck, how the hell was he meant to deal with this?
Abaddon shakes his head. "Todd says I can't die. I'm going to host the great demon Abaddon, High Prince of the Dark Realm."
That is so messed up. Shit. They named him after the demon they were going to sacrifice him to? Fuck. Fuck. Stay calm, stay calm. Abaddon needs him now.
"Is Todd your dad?" He asks, fighting to keep his voice calm. To keep from telling this poor child how wrong this all is. He knows it doesn't help.
"No, he leads my cult." Well, there's that answered for good, he supposed.
"Do you know your parents?" He continues, barely holding on to hope that there might be anyone Abaddon knows that isn't out to hurt and control him.
Abaddon shakes his head again. "They killed my mother when I was born. I do not know who fathered me."
He swallows. He doesn't have any good options. Taking Abaddon to the police undoubtedly means a lifetime of foster homes, of parents unequipped to deal with the irreperable trauma this kid will've endured. On the other hand, he's hardly got the money to take care of himself, let alone a messed-up kid. But a voice in the back of his mind is yelling, and it's telling him that this is the best he's felt in as long as he can remember. That he knows, to an extent, what Abaddon's going through. That while he could find good parents, the chances of anyone adopting him are slim-to-none, and he has no guarentee of being placed in a good foster home. That maybe this will give him purpose. That he could really help someone.
"Abaddon, how would you like to stay here for a bit?" He says slowly, trying not to let the hope creep into his voice.
Abaddon's eyes widen. "No, I need to— I need to go back to the forest, they're— they'll look for me, they'll come back for me!"
"We're really close to the forest here, buddy. You can just stay with me for a bit, just until Todd and the others come and find you, ok? I'm sure they'll figure out you're here. But it can't be nice staying in the forest, huh?" Please let this work. Please.
Abaddon's eyes search his for a long moment, before he squeezes them shut and nods harshly.
"Ok." He says, voice horribly small. "I— I didn't like the forest very much. I can stay with you until they find me."
Nathan lets the smile stray onto his face. He's going to save Abaddon if it's the one good thing in his life he does. He will not let that cult get to him.
"Sounds good, Abaddon. Do you want some more water?" Abaddon perks up a little, at that. He nods his head vigorously, then winces.
He smiles, and grabs his glass. He's going to protect this kid.