Work Text:
When the broadcast ended that night he had stormed out of the studio, ready to go home, make coffee, curl on the couch with his cat, and just. Get away. Forget tonight happened at all. He had thrown the headset on the table, and he knew the words coming out of Ben’s mouth were something about being gentle with the equipment. Out, he needed, out. The door to the studio slammed with too much force; he knew it before he could hear the sound. Maybe instead he would be hitting the punching bag in his garage. But, the outside door didn't crash closed behind him, meaning-
“Sammy! Wait!” behind him, he could hear gravel crunching; Ben running. “Sammy! Jack-in-the-Box Jesus! Hold-” His hand grabbed for purchase. This is how it would be then.
---
Sometimes, Ben forgot the man sitting across from him in the recording booth, was the same man who punched Mayor Grisham, but it was moments like now that you were brutally reminded and it made him pause. Sammy had spun on his heels with pointed precision, and a look that could only be described as wild. His hands sat at his sides clenched into fists, and whether he knew it or not his feet told you he was ready to fight. Sammy’s hair was falling out of the bun he had hastily tied up earlier in the night, and the breeze blowing it out further only made him look more… menacing.
“Ben. Don’t,” spit out, like the words pained him to say.
He took a deep breath, and stood his ground, “No! You, don’t!” in retrospect he knew this wasn't a smart answer, so he grabbed tighter, desperate, fingers digging into flesh; taking the lack of flinching or pulling away as confirmation that this was okay.
“Ben,” more pointed, but with less venom.
“Sammy,” Ben matched him, tightening the grip on his wrist.
“Ben!”
“What! Jack-in-the-box Jesus, Sam-”
And then he deflated, all venom gone, his shoulders sagging, “I can’t do this again. Ben, please.”
Ben couldn’t keep up tonight, and it was infuriating. He didn’t know what was going on, just that the call from Lily had set something off in him (not to even mention the emails, or therefore lack of). Another landmine to avoid in the complicated and mysterious life of Sammy Stevens, just like “Shotgun” Sammy, just like the real reason to why he came here, just like- “Sammy, what can’t you do again?”
“I’m sorry,” then just like that, the venom was back, “She just-” He turned around, yanking his wrist away in the process and screamed, loud and pained. Something so out of place in the sleepy landscape around them. He was storming again, off towards the sleek bike parked not far ahead.
---
“Hold up!” Gravel was crunching behind him again, but this time it gave him pause.
---
When he had called out this time, Sammy hesitated, and his heart ballooned. He caught up with him, “Sammy, dude. What’s going on?” Soft, hesitant, not unlike approaching a wild animal.
This time when Sammy spun around it was the Sammy Ben knew. The one he had spent the past two years across from in the recording studio. The look in his eyes was still wild, but behind it… it was just… tired. His impossibly tall frame didn't make him imposing, but somehow smaller, younger than the grey hairs at his temples would point to. His fists were still clenched, but it was more nervous tick, then of the anger from before. “Ben, I can’t…” His head tilted back, and just... Stared up. Stared up at the fading stars like they held all the answers he needed, and the balloon popped.
Second passed, moments passed, minutes maybe, and Ben waited. Knew that if he opened his mouth, or left. Something would crumble, slip out of his fingers and fall away. “I came here to get away from this.” It was so quiet, that Ben almost missed it. He stepped forward involuntarily, leaning into the sound.
“Ben…” It was here that Ben realized stepping forward was a mistake. When Sammy moved, he froze. He was caught, all of a sudden too close to him, trapped under the intense gaze of the other man. Beautifully hazel, and…
---
He was crying, he knew it, knew it before he looked down at Ben, but this knowledge didn't stop him. If it was anyone else he might have, but Ben wasn't “anyone else.”
---
He started again, the tears collecting at the corners of his eyes, “Ben, I can't do this, not again. I came here to get away from this.” The tears turned hot and angry, and he turned away, spitting the words into the gravel under them. “And then she just, shows up.”
Suddenly there were hands clenched around Ben’s biceps, and once again he was caught under the other man's intense gaze. “Ben, you have to understand. You have to. I’m not like that anymore. Please, you have to understand,” Sammy’s voice was messy and choked. His eyes wild, and pleading. The shiny tracks of his tears were barely visible in the dusky light. “Please,” Desperate. His strong hands were digging a little too hard into Ben, but if this is what he had to take to make him believe him, he would accept these bruises happily. Anything to get Sammy to stop crying. To stop Sammy from looking this wrecked.
Ben, was lost, but he could understand, vaguely. He reached up to cover the hands on his arms, to tug them down between them. “I know, man. I know,” He was squeezing all of his emotions into those hands held between them, willing Sammy to trust him.
Sammy was looking at him, his brow scrunched, and it took all it had in him to not reach up and smooth it out. He wanted the Sammy he had at the beginning of the broadcast, tired, but laughing, light and easy. “Sammy, I don’t get what happened before you came here, but the Sammy in front of me now? Doesn't seem like the Sammy she was talking about. People can change, Sammy, and you don’t have to tell me what happened before King Falls, but I know enough to know you’re not the same.”
With that, he let out a long sigh, his shoulders sagging, the crease in his brow gone, his hands relaxed. “Okay.”
Ben squeezed his hands again, before letting go, and just like that. Sammy was gone. A smear of purple and silver between the trees, and distantly Ben wished he hadn't let go.