Wade Mellark knew that there were two different kinds of screams.

The first scream, the one he heard most often, was a loud and quite pitiful wail. Usually emitting from one of his two youngest boys or on occasion, from his oldest. This was the scream that Wade – in all his gentle affection – had learned long ago to ignore. This type of scream was usually followed by a rather ridiculous parade of little boys: one explaining, one protesting and the last sobbing as if the world were surely coming to a sudden end. Normally resulting in a scrape or a black eye,;they were nothing to be overly concerned about – nothing serious.

The second scream was the one Wade was thankful he didn't hear more often, especially in a household of reckless little boys. This scream was undoubtedly the sound of real pain and was a genuine reason to go running to whichever child had uttered it.

The scream that Wade Mellark heard that Saturday afternoon was definitely one of the latter. And the chorus of panicked voices that came after it did nothing to kneed out the knot forming in Wade's stomach as he rushed to the door.

The sight that greeted him at the entrance was not pretty.

Rye, gasping, sputtering and pale was the first to approach. Wringing his hands as he went, he was the vision of panic. Behind him was Flax, white with fear carrying his five year old brother in his arms as he ran to meet his father.

Peeta, tucked tight in Flax's grasp, sobbed brokenly, one hand to his head as Wade leaped down the steps to his boy's sides. Reaching out, he quickly relieved his oldest of his wailing little burden, swallowing back bile as he caught a glimpse of the bloody lump near Peeta's right temple.

It was an ugly thing, and Wade had never much been able to stomach the sight of blood.

Pushing back a blood soaked lock of Peeta's bright blond hair Wade looked his eldest in the eye as the boy gripped a panicked Rye's shoulders tightly.

"Flax!" Wade probed, patience leaving him when his son didn't respond, instead staring dumbly at the keening five year old. "Flax! Answer me – I need to know what happened!"

Flax blinked slowly, licking his trembling lips as he followed his father up the steps and into the house.

"I-I don't know. We were climbing the old apple tree out back, Peeta wanted to climb too but Rye told him he was too little." Flax ducked his head, his cheeks flushed with shame. "I thought he was going to find something else to do, I wasn't watching… he climbed up and the next thing I knew he'd slipped…"

Wade paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to their main living quarters, shifting Peeta with one arm and placing a hand on Flax's shoulder with the other.

"I'm not mad Flax, I just need you to calm down so you can tell me exactly how Peeta fell alright?"

Flax raised his bright blue, tear-filled eyes to meet his father's, nodding silently as the older man clapped him lightly on the shoulder before turning away, up the stairs. Beside him, Rye's frightened pants had slowed.

"I didn't think he'd do it," the younger boy said pitifully. "I didn't think he'd take the dare…"

Flax didn't answer him; instead he followed his father up the stairs, listening as Peeta's little cries tore at him.

By the time both boys reached the small bathroom they all shared, Wade had propped Peeta up on the cracked edge of the old enamel bathtub and was holding and faded hand towel against the bloody bump. Peeta was only whimpering now, the initial shock finally wearing off. Behind their father, Flax and Rye stood still, necks craning to get a better view, their panic fading as it appeared Peeta wouldn't die after all.

"Does that hurt Peet?" Questioned Wade and he gently probed the swelling flesh on his son's temple. The little boy winced in response and Wade assumed that meant yes.

Peeta's lower lip quivered and his eyes were so pathetic that Wade had to bite back a chortle. Puppy dog eyes his mother had called it: Peeta's inherited gift and Wade's biggest weakness.

Pulling back the bloodied towel, Wade hissed as the blood continued to flow freely down the side of his son's face and quickly replaced the towel. Sighing deeply his gaze scanned the small faces around him, one beet red and shiny from crying, and the other two concerned and slightly curious.

"Well?" Rye asked, suddenly free from his fear and simply earnest.

Wade raised his eyebrows, looking down quizzically at his middle son. "Well what?" He asked in response.

"Well what are you going to do; is he a goner?" Asked Rye, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

This time Wade didn't even bother to hide his amusement, although he did reign it in at the horrified little gasp from Peeta. The five year old's fingers quickly found his father's sleeve and tugged desperately.

"Am I a goner Daddy?" He asked, his eyes full of seriousness as he looked.

Wade simply couldn't help himself, his laughed outright and kept laughing until tears were streaming down his cheeks. When the laughter died down and his vision cleared Flax's confused face met his, followed by Rye's voice "I guess that settles it, Daddy's crying, you're a goner Peet."

Somehow the seven year old didn't seem as bothered as he had moment before by this idea.

Peeta, now completely horrified and mouth hanging open sputtered a protest. "Tell 'im Daddy, tell 'im I'm not a goner!"

Wade wiped his eyes quickly, placing a hand on Peeta's small back in reassurance.

"No Peet, you're no goner, you'll just need a few stiches maybe."

If possibly, Peeta's eyes got wider and his jaw dropped further – after all, stiches, to a five year old, were a fate worse than death.

"NO DADDY!" He squealed. "Don't stick me!"

The tears were bubbling over again, and tears were the last thing Wade needed at the moment.

"Hey, hey there buddy, you'll be fine – stiches are no big deal – remember when Flax cut his finger, he got stiches too."

Catching on, Flax nodded readily and held out his pointer finger to his youngest brother, showing him the thin, white scar that ran across it. "See Peet, it's not so bad, I'm all better now and I have a cool scar to show all the guys."

This sentiment did little to cheer the youngest Mellark, but the tears stopped before they even started and that to Wade was something. Patting his youngest on knee, Wade kept one hand on the bloody towel as he tilted back Peeta's sweaty little head to get a look at his eyes. While sure, he was clearly coherent and alert, Wade wanted to be safer rather than sorry. Seeing no cause for alarm and completely regular dilation, Wade smiled, scooping up the little boy and head to the bathroom door.

Easing the cramp out his thighs from their crouch beside the bathtub, Wade glanced out the window, noting that the afternoon was getting late and the apothecary shop would close its regular hours soon. Not wanting to pay extra for an after-hours visit, Wade quickly closed up the bakery after depositing Peeta onto Flax's lap before heading out, three boys in tow to the far end of town.

It was a short walk, and little Peeta was kept entertained in his father's arms by Flax and Rye, who chattered on about how'd they'd have to teach their little brother to climb better.

They reached the shop with time to spare and old Mr. Newhaven was quick to rule out a concussion, much to Wade's relief.

The aging man, face set in a frown, worked quickly; giving Peeta a small butterscotch drop to suck on while he cleaned, stitched up, and bandaged the wound within minutes. Flax stood, watching silently with fascination and Rye asked countless questions that the old apothecary answered curtly. Peeta sucked contentedly away at his candy, and incredibly rare treat, only whimpered slightly when the needle pierced his tender flesh.

When it was over and the candy was gone, Wade settled up while Peeta chattered drowsily.

"Where'd you learn to sew up people Mr. 'Pothcary?" Peeta asked innocently. "Did your momma teach ya – did she sew up people?"

The doctor didn't smile, but answered quickly. "Yes, yes my mother taught me."

Bored by his answer, Peeta rubbed at his sleepy eyes, his train of thought altered. "My momma sews sometime, but she doesn't sew up people, she just sews my socks and the knees of my trousers." Peeta paused sadly. "She won't let me watch, I never get to watch people sew stuff."

Wade felt his throat clench, he knew all three of his boys felt their mother's emotional neglect deeply, but none felt it more than Peeta. Peeta, who'd asked before how come his mother didn't hug him or kiss him like Delly's mother or Madge's. Wade never had the heart to tell him, and he quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

Placing a hand on his son's small knee he shook hands with Mr. Newhaven, scooped Peeta up and left with his eldest sons behind him.

The sun was just sinking down past the tree as the tired procession made its way up the steps and into the modest Mellark home. Rye, who was always hungry, grabbed a dry ciabatta roll and slathered it with gooseberry jam as Flax poured himself a glass of warm cranberry tea – a Mellark family favorite.

Wade felt Peeta's little head bob limply on his shoulder, the boy's breathing deep and even and knew he was asleep. Supper could wait until later. Sliding Peeta's warm, sweaty body down, he cradled him like he would have an infant as he made his way down the hall to the boy's small room.

Gently he lay Peeta down, the little boy had yet to stir as Wade slowly pulled off his worn shoes, brushing his blond curls away from his bandage as he pulled the covered up around the child's chin.

Asleep, the picture of innocence. It made Wade's heart swell.

Bending down, he gently kissed his son's forehead before getting up and making his way silently to the door.

A crisis averted. For now.

So, another chapter is born... after several months. I really am sorry, but I hope you all enjoy this little chapter. Hopefully more will follow. :)