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It didn’t take a genius to deduce that drinking and smoking one’s problems away usually did more harm than good to a person. But Santiago Fernandez was no genius, and had never exactly been the sharpest tool in the shed. This was why, for the second time that Sunday, his head hung on the toilet as he once again threw up the contents of his stomach. At this rate, it was a miracle how the boy hadn’t died of alcohol poisoning yet- he had his Latino heritage to thank for that. 

The time spent with his friends had done him good in a twisted sort of way. Just like he’d hoped, his boys were by his side no matter what. Sure, they all shared the same sentiment at him becoming a dad so early on: dread, horror, amusement, worry, concern, disbelief…  But in the end, they’d been nothing short of supportive. Even if he would never admit it any time soon, Diablo had never been more grateful to have The Alphas. They’d promised each other they’d be there for each other in the good, the bad and the ugly, and they were certainly making true to that. It made all the negative feelings about his issue just a little easier to handle.

After much fighting, Santiago finally managed to get up from the bathroom floor and trudge to the shower. He let the stream of warm water bring him some sort of comfort and relaxation, before exiting it a while later. Still feeling miserable, the devil of Kings made his way back to the bedroom, where he pulled on some boxers and got ready to call it a night. The young man eventually fell backwards on his bed and shut his eyes, willing himself to sleep and praying that tomorrow would bring a better day.[/color][/indent][/indent]