Work Text:
Things are well.
It has been four months now since he passed, and the pain still feels unbearable at times, but overall, things are well. The mate he left behind that night four months ago now sleeps better than in the months before, and the broken decor in the house has slowly been replaced over the past few weeks.
Slowly but surely, they are healing. They aren’t doing well enough to stop their recurring reach for drugs or their self-isolating habits yet, but they are doing better to the extent that nothing around the house has been smashed to pieces in a fit of rage and frustration for some weeks now.
Though, compared to who they were when their mate was still around, perhaps they aren’t that well after all. When their mate - whose name they don’t even dare to think of as otherwise, the sheets beneath them would end up soaked in tears again - was still with them, they were so much better than they are now. Things felt right back then. When his voice was the one talking for seemingly forever until they fell asleep in his arms and when he stood in the kitchen to make their favorite meal.
Now, everything still feels wrong. Since the accident, nothing has been the way it should be. Now it is Vincent or his partner talking them to sleep to avoid the nightmares of that event, now it is delivery food every other day because the motivation to cook is gone. But after those four months, things are at least a little better.
Maybe they aren’t well, but they are better. His memory still haunts them, and the house still feels empty without his warmth and the joy he brought into their life, but they don’t find themself as angry at this these days. Just a few months ago, they’d scream at David to leave them alone or almost raise their hand against Asher when he’d bring up anything related to their mate just so he’d give them some quiet or when they’d smash a window, and let their blood run over and dry on the floor in anger at themself, but now they feel more exhausted than angry.
They can’t do “angry” anymore. Not with themself and not with the people trying to help them. Of course, that must mean that they are better - being tired of guessing and wondering whether things will ever be normal and well again is better than clinging on to that hope for dear life and getting aggressive with everyone who might suggest otherwise, isn’t it?
William still believes. David doesn’t, and they are so tired of it. Their alpha tries to get them to acknowledge that nothing will ever be the same again, which is the honest and expected thing of him to do. But William is so much like them that it is difficult to see things the way David does. It is more than likely that he is right - that Sam will never come back, no matter what his magic might have done to his body when he saved their life.
But William still believes, much like they do. And while that hope is still breaking them apart from the inside and slowly turning them into nothing but a shell of themself, it is also the only thing keeping them going. “His core should be the only thing that’s damaged,” is what he said, and it’s what countless healers are trying to prove and understand as their mate’s body lies in the basement. Unchanging and without decaying or rotting, he just lies there for healers to occasionally come and look at him.
William and those healers say that, in theory, he should be fine. That the healing magic he poured out of himself that night to save their life might have broken his core, but that he should be fine. That Sam should be alive.
Their hands ball into fists and clutch the blanket as they think his name again. How they wish they could say it again. Call out to him for some stupid reason, like a silly cat video they just have to show him, so of course, they’d yell throughout the house to get his attention like they used to do. How badly they want to whisper it against his skin as they wake him in the evening just one more time.
Things aren’t well. They’re better, but they’re still not well. They realize this whenever their thoughts get to them like this. Whenever they once again lie in bed wishing he was by their side and whenever the mere thought of his name or his voice has them crying into the pillow, and when the blanket gets too cold for their shivering body. This is the very reason they haven’t gone down into the basement with William or the healers in two months. Seeing him like this again would break them even faster - they know it.
Their sobs and hiccups echo throughout the empty house as they get colder and colder. It is on nights like this one when Vincent and his partner don’t have the time to babysit a fully-grown adult that they usually feel their worst. The house is empty and uncomfortable, the icy wind and cold rain don’t sound as calming as they once did, and the silence from within the bedroom is suffocating - not made any more bearable by their own sobbing as it is the only thing to cover up that silence.
They roll themself up and hide further in the blanket. They feel so alone that it is almost painful, and they wish for nothing more than to have their mate at their side just one more time.
How they wish that the door in the hallway opening and closing was their mate coming home to them.
How they wish those quiet footsteps were his.
How they long to hear his voice say just a single word to them.
The bedroom door opens slowly. They hardly notice amidst their sobbing and don’t say a thing to the person gradually approaching their bed. No snarky “You don’t need to point out the smell, David” or anything of the sort as the familiar, comforting presence moves to sit beside them. They fully surrender themself to his lecture and whatever else he came here for.
A warm hand finds its place on their shoulder, and their body shivers under the gentle touch. It doesn’t feel like David.
“Darlin’?”
They sob out loudly, and their body trembles at the sound. It’s his voice. Not David’s, not William’s - it’s their mate’s voice. It’s all in their head - they’re certain of it - but it feels so good. His voice is so close and so warm, his touch so calming and careful - it’s all they ever wanted.
“Darlin’, what’s the matter? Why are you crying?” He asks, his voice filled with worry, and they can’t help it anymore. They whip around to face their lover and reach for his waist, pulling their fragile body toward him and laying their head into his lap, crying even more. But they don’t feel as helpless now.
They know this isn’t real. They know it’s just their brain playing sadistic tricks on them, but they’d be damned if they didn’t indulge in this.
“Never leave me again,” they sob as their hold on his shirt tightens, “Don’t go- Please, please don’t go.”
They hear his breath catch at their words, and he puts a hand on their head, carefully stroking their hair. “I won’t,” he says, “I’d never do that to you.”
They sob and hiccup into his hold. Relief and happiness wash over them for the first time in months while his soft voice rings through the room.
“I missed you so much, Sam,” they tell him, his name coming from their lips for the first time since the accident, “And I never want to lose you again. So don’t go. I- I need you here. Stay with me.”
He hums in acknowledgment and pulls them from his lap to hold them properly in his arms. They quickly wrap their arms around his shoulders and their legs around his waist and bury their face in the crook of their mate’s neck. It feels to them like he could disappear any second, and they’re not about to let this perhaps final idea of being with him slip away from them.
It’s the drugs - they know that - and this feels too good to be true, but they push the thought away. This is all they’ve been wanting since they lost him. They can’t let that macabre reality set in now. There will be enough time for that tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
When he’ll be gone again. When his touch will no longer be carefully stroking their back or his fingers running through their hair. They sob and cry louder again at the idea and try to shove it out of their head. All they need is this moment. Whatever comes tomorrow will come tomorrow, they try to tell themself.
Eventually, they relax in Sam’s grasp on them the way they always do. With his soft hums and gentle touch, they feel safer than they ever have before. And as their cries subside and their head grows heavier, they stop fighting the urge to be awake. For the first time in months, they drift off into a gentle and warm sleep.
The next morning, things feel like they always have. They’d slept the whole night without interruption, which is a very rare thing these days, but they still don’t feel well-rested at all. Their head is pounding as they wake, and they find the blanket too warm for their liking. As they try to push it off of themself, they remember last night.
The feeling of their mate slowly creeps back under their skin, and a fond smile lies on their lips. In retrospect, it felt like a goodbye. A heart-wrenching one they hadn’t wanted to be a goodbye, but now it felt better. Almost like acceptance.
They push the blanket aside and move to sit up-
“Quit shovin’ me, Darlin’.”
Their gaze shoots to what they thought to be a too-warm blanket.
“…Sam?” Their voice is shaky and timid as they spot their mate. With his hair hanging over his eyes and his arms still wrapped around their hips, he looks like he’s always been here. It’s as if he never left.
“Yes?” His voice is rough and sleepy still, but to them, it sounds so fond.
“You’re still here?” They can’t believe it. He doesn’t look like he used to - like the four months of being comatose had been an eternity - but they know that it’s him.
“Of course, I’m still here,” he yawns, “I promised you I wouldn’t go.”
His hair is longer now, hanging in his eyes and tickling his ears in ways he doesn’t seem used to. His lashes seem thicker, too-
“Oh! Shit- don’t just jump onto me like that - I’m barely awake,” Sam gasps as they throw themself onto him and pull him into a tight hug.
-and his eyes glow in warm colors instead of the starlight silver they know. His aura feels different, but they know that it’s him. They know that he’s real.
Tired as he is, Sam can’t help the laughs that escape him as his Darlin smiles brighter than the sun and leaves kisses all over his face. “I love you,” they say between each one until they finally put a warm, longing kiss to his lips. Warmth engulfs them as they finally feel all of their mate again. His lips are as soft as they remember, and his hold around their waist is grounding and reassuring. There’s no greater joy to them than being this close to him.
Their skin tingles and a smile is plastered on their lips - they couldn’t get rid of it even if they tried - as they break from the kiss and look down at their mate. Their eyes lock for a moment in silence. They can tell that Sam has a hard time processing everything they are currently expressing and feeling, and they can’t blame him, but that fond smile on his lips is all they could ever ask for.
“I love you too, Darlin’,” he replies after a few moments of peaceful quiet.
Things are well now, they realize. As long as he’s here, things can be alright.