A/N – So I got an extremely hostile, somewhat aggressive message from someone unhappy with the way this is going. I'll just say this: if you don't like what I write, well then, you appear to have a keyboard and fairly average grasp of the English language or whatever it is you speak at home (Douchebaggery? The language of uneducated and small minded dicks? Assholes-r-us?): WRITE IT YOURSELF. Alternatively, don't read it, nobody's forcing you. There is already plenty of worldsuck going on, you don't need to add to it by being a prick to strangers.

That being said, the rest of you seem genuinely nice, so thank you for being made of awesome. I apologise for the grumpy rant that does not apply to you. This is the last chapter.

In which Cain, well, yeah.

Cain POV – 12 years on earth

Wake up. Go to work. Go home. Don't cry. Day in, day out, constant fucking bullshit. Again and again and again and I'm just waiting for this endless fucking joke to end.

Get home and sit on the couch and stare at the walls, vodka in hand but I don't drink it. Can't be bothered. Opening it would take effort, and trying to drown everything out with it proved to be much worse once it wore off. Not worth it.

Someone knocks on the door, and I just wait for them to figure out I haven't bothered to lock it, would love to see someone try and rob me now, love an excuse beat the living shit out of something. Or just let them take it all, doesn't matter anyway.

"This place is a mess."

Encke. Fuck off.

"How would you feel?" then louder, "Cain? Are you home?"

And Keeler. God. If I have to see another happy couple I think I might throw up. Curl up and make myself as small as possible. I am the invisible man. Catch me if you can, but you fucking can't because no one can see me.

"Cain?" Keelers voice is too close now.

"Ca- oh, crap. Crap."

So they found me. Fucking great. Keeler sits down next to me, cautiously, puts a hand on my shoulder and in that moment I've never wished for so strongly to just die and forget about everything, not deal with the shit hole that is my life. Forget about Abel falling asleep at the fucking tree and not waking up again, about the funeral, about his father calmly informing me that it's all my fault his son is dead, and that I too am dead to him. And he's right. All my fucking fault. Couldn't even say three tiny fucking words when it mattered. Want to forget I even met him in the first place and I could go around being unhappy instead of having a gigantic fucking hole punched in me just so it could be plugged up with misery.

But I don't.

"Sit up. There's someone who wants to meet you."

Encke this time, and I know who they're talking about, that fucking kid they adopted and I don't care to meet him, not now, not ever. Doesn't need a fucking failure like me in his life. But Encke pulls me up into a sitting position, face level with mine and glaring. Leans into my ear and whispers: "Be nice."

Whatever.

Keeler looks down nervously, and I see the little person hiding behind his legs, peeking out at me.

"Cain this is, uh, this is Abel. Abel, this is Cain."

I groan and put my head into my hands; of course that's his name. What a cruel fucking joke. A tiny hand touches mine and I look through my fingers at a little black haired boy staring at me wide eyed and confused, so much like that stupid expression Abel used to always have on it hurts. Not an expression or euphemism, it physically hurts and I struggle for breath.

"Mister?"

Encke tightens his grip on my shoulder.

"Mister, you look sad."

"Well aren't you just an insightful little fucker."

"Cain!"

"Watch yourself..."

But tiny Abel just keeps looking at me, then opens his arms wide latches his arms around my legs. A hug. There is a tiny child hugging my legs. What? How did this happen? Then he pats my knee, reaches into his pocket and hands me the fuzziest, dirtiest, stickiest lollipop I've ever seen. Shoves it roughly into my hand, like all little kids lacking hand-eye co-ordination, and the stick jabs my skin and scrapes a shallow opening.

"It'll be okay Mister."

He keeps patting my knee and then Keeler gives me a proper hug, and Encke's holding my shoulder and tiny Abel is patting my knee, well, sort of slapping it now until Encke grabs his hand and stops him. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I can just forget about everything.

It'll be okay.