Work Text:
It’s only practice from his formative years that keeps Higgs perfectly silent as he jolts awake, tears in his eyes. He squeezes them shut, feeling a stray tear run down his cheek, then opens them slowly, looking over to gaze at Sam. He’s in their king-sized bed, curled up on the other side. They rarely sleep tangled together, not for lack of love, but for their own need for space. Sam’s never going to enjoy being constantly touched or spooned. That’s fine.
Right now, it’s the space between them that’s keeping Higgs safe. Waking up alone from nightmares is easily-charted territory. He doesn’t even need to think as he gets up silently, creeping along the room, keeping his pace even. Not too slow, lest it looks like he’s guiltily sneaking out, and not too fast as to alarm anyone. Adrenaline courses through his veins. His heart - hideous, beating heart - pumps so loudly he feels it’ll wake Sam up. Their room is dark, but Higgs can see every damn crease in the sheets, every stray shoe or piece of clothing he could trip on. Everything needs to be left exactly as it was. It’s as if he was never here. If there’s no evidence of his existence, he’ll be safe for another hour.
Sam’s not a heavy sleeper, but that’s alright. Daddy wasn’t one either, and Higgs managed just fine. It’s child’s play, quite literally, to get out of the room, every creak in the floor accounted for and avoided. The door opens just enough for him to slip out, and closes without a sound. He’s careful not to let in too much light, making sure any that enters the room stays carefully away from the eyes. It’s all muscle memory. Barely takes fifteen seconds.
When he makes it to the kitchen, the space directly outside their room, he lets out half a sigh. But he’s not safe yet. Through the kitchen, past Lou’s bedroom - she’s sleeping soundly, a half-second pause to listen to her easy breathing confirming it - and into their storage room. The door is easily opened, and perfectly silent. Higgs greases it Monday nights as part of his household chores.
There’s plenty of boxes in here, old storage containers from Sam’s old porter days and Higgs’ occasional jobs for the neighbors. Large metal shelves dominate the rest of the free space. There’s neatly organized food storage, equipment, and clothing, all tucked away for some desolate future. Both of them have found it hard to forget the extinction that almost was.
Higgs slots himself into a space, three feet across, between one of the far shelves and the wall. Here, he’s surrounded by two solid walls and one edge of the shelf. As he sits down and brings his knees up to his chest, he reaches for a blanket placed on a lower shelf for this exact purpose and pulls it over his shoulders and just over his hair, leaving his face shadowed. Only then does he let himself breathe. In a brief moment of lucidity, he congratulates himself on still being able to cry perfectly silently.
Truth is, Higgs had nightmares long before anyone ever granted him limitless power. Long before he realized he had any power, over the dead or over his life. And they don’t stop, either. Not even when he talks to anyone about them. His grip on the blanket tightens as he thinks about his dream. It wasn’t even anything special. Just the same old nightmare of being back under that steel sky and not being able to run fast enough. Not being able to dodge fast enough. Being too damn small to do anything. It doesn’t take long for Higgs to forget he hasn't left, still half-asleep in the corner of the storage room and wide awake in Daddy’s shelter.
“Higgs,” a voice thunders, and Higgs stiffens underneath the blanket, breathing shallow and slow. Don’t move and they can’t see you. Any good prey knows that. He hears footsteps walk down the hall and pause in front of the storage room door. Did he close it all the way? Oh, God, if he didn’t, he’s going to catch hell just for being out of his room, forget hiding -
“Higgs, it’s Sam. I’m coming in,” Sam calls out, and the door opens as the lights in the storage room flicker on. Higgs watches, completely frozen, as he makes his way across the room, and looks up, his eyes still adjusting to the light as he studies the face above him. Sam sighs, but he doesn’t look mad.
“C’mon, Higgs. You ready to go back to bed?” Sam says, offering a hand to him. Higgs looks at it carefully, then studies Sam’s face again before taking it. Sam grunts quietly as he helps Higgs stand up, taking the blanket off his shoulders and efficiently folding it and putting it back in place. He then reaches for Higgs’ hand again and takes it in his own, squeezing it gently. The two of them walk out of the storage room, Sam flicking off the lights and pausing by Lou’s door.
“She’s asleep,” Higgs murmurs, and Sam peeks a head in the room and smiles a bit at their daughter. Sam closes the door, and Higgs tries to stifle a flinch at how loud it is. From the way Sam turns to look at him, he didn’t quite succeed. He tries for a sheepish smile after, and Sam returns it with a small one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They walk back to their bedroom. Inside, the lamp on Sam’s nightside table washes everything with a pale blue, and Higgs notes the way everything is laid out once more.
“Quit that,” Sam says, not unkindly, and lets go of Higgs to turn off the light and go lay down on the bed. “Come back and sleep.” He pats the bed next to him. Higgs obliges, scratching at the back of his head and moving to sit next to him, not quite laying down yet.
“Quit what?” Higgs asks, a teasing smile crossing his face this time. “Quit bothering you? Hate to break it to you Sam, but that’s what you signed up for when you invited me to move in with you.”
“Overthinking,” Sam replies, cutting past Higgs’ bullshit as he always does. Higgs drops the smile and lays down, pulling a blanket over himself and staring up at the ceiling. He wants to tell Sam that he can’t, that every step he takes when he wakes up is carefully calculated by someone from the past. That his way of studying rooms or reading faces is as ingrained into him as breathing.
But he can’t, for two reasons. The first being that saying as much would be revealing all his cards. Being that open, as he lays in the bed next to the man he was just terrified of in a half-asleep state, is far too painful at the moment. He may as well rip his heart from his chest and hand it to Sam.
The second is that Sam already knows, and is already puzzling over it in his head, so there’s no point in repeating it. Thus, Higgs’ has already lost his theoretical card game. Sam is both dealing and counting the cards. He’s stacking the deck while Higgs is -
“You’re still doing it,” Sam says, not so much interrupting his train of thought as sending it hurtling off the rails and into oblivion. “Keep it up and I’m gonna make us read the book on cognitive behavioral therapy again.”
“Nooo,” Higgs whines, relaxing against his pillow. “Sam, that was so boring. Especially since we’re not allowed to make any CBT jokes around the baby.” Sam snorts once and reaches out to hold Higgs’ hand again, and Higgs takes it readily.
“Damn right you’re not,” Sam murmurs, and closes his eyes. “Want to talk about it in the morning?”
“Yeah,” Higgs says, his voice barely above a whisper. He stares at the ceiling again, listening to Sam’s breathing even out, and is quietly impressed when his thoughts are all about the psych books they read together in an attempt to start resolving their decades worth of trauma, and the admittedly helpful skills he picked up. Sam’s not nearly as wordy as he is, but when he speaks, it’s worth hearing, Higgs thinks. He promptly sticks his tongue out at himself for being so sappy.
With Sam’s hand in his, Higgs falls asleep. In his dreams, the sky is blue and wide open.