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If you asked them to describe it, they honestly couldn’t tell you. They had become so used to it, used to the Bond, the ever constant itch that he was close, always present but never quite there, that they couldn’t quite describe it to you even if they tried. It was years of this persistent feeling, years of the constant nagging presence, that they had grown numb to the feeling. There wasn’t much you could do when you couldn’t figure out what it was or how to make it go away.
But then… that all changed. They spent those years wondering and wandering, following the feeling until they stumbled upon the ruined amusement park. He was so close, they could almost taste it. But it wasn’t him they ran into that cool night. No, it was someone else entirely. Someone who had some of the answers to their questions, someone who saw the rage and pain they kept to a constant simmer deep inside, someone who took their hand and guided them through the hurt and anger, all the way up until this moment.
The moment that they had been dreaming of after all those years of searching and fighting. All the sleepless nights, the bloodshed, the bared teeth. Stumbling home, exhausted, late at night to collapse on their couch, hoping they’d wake up in the morning to patch up their injuries. The hours spent curled in their love’s arms, soaking his shirts with their tears. The bloodstains on his couch they could never quite lift. The crude stitches that left their scars on their body.
The reason for all of this had a name: Quinn Foxx. Just his very name sent a chill in their blood. Was it fear? Rage? The two emotions had become so crossed in their life, they blurred into each other. They couldn’t tell between them anymore when it came to him. But really, do they even want to? It was that fear and rage that kept them alive all these years. The fear of death, but the rage of injustice and abuse that kept them fighting until the fight was finally fucking over.
Which was today.
Today was the day that they had been fighting for for the years that they spent hunting him down. Quinn had been caught and put on trial, and the verdict was execution. When they heard that word, they wept tears of relief. Finally, he would be served justice for the innocent lives he'd taken, and the others he'd irreparably damaged.
They didn’t know what they wanted, what they hoped it would be. On one hand, they hoped his execution would be slow and painful, as punishment for years of pain and torment. A slow, torturous death befitted a man who enjoyed putting someone through pain, and loads of it. On the other, they just wished that the vampiric council would just fucking cut his head off, get it over with and finally put a swift, concise, end to his reign of terror.
And they had the option to make that choice. When William summoned them to tell them of the news of his execution verdict, he promised that he could take their choice in his death and assure them a front row seat to his demise. But, in a move that surprised the both of them… They had declined. They turned down the opportunity to choose and decided to skip the execution altogether. Quinn had taken enough of them. He didn’t deserve their presence in his last moments, seeking out even a modicum of comfort in the control he had over them. He didn’t deserve to see the look in their eyes as he took his last breaths. He didn’t deserve to share the air they breathed, using it to spit words to hurt them until he could no longer speak. He didn’t deserve any more of what was left of them.
So, the day of execution came, and they waited around at home, their vampiric lover keeping a watchful eye over them from above a cup of coffee.
“You okay, Darlin’?” His voice rumbled after they paced from the front door to the living room to the kitchen for about the billionth time. “You’re wearin’ a hole in my floor.”
“Yeah.” Was their immediate response. Sam raised an eyebrow. “No.” They groaned, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.
Sam turned the corner, easing himself into his favorite armchair that sat right across from his couch. He didn’t speak, giving them the space to sort through their thoughts and feelings until they were ready to talk.
“It’s just…” They paused. “It’s just so hard. Waiting. Not knowing whether or not it’s done.”
“You could have taken Will’s offer.” Sam hummed gently. “I’m sure it’s not too late to get you to where he’s-”
“No.” They interrupted him. “That’s the last thing that I want.”
“Alright.”
A few moments passed, the werewolf on the couch closing their eyes and taking deep breaths.
“I’m kind of surprised you didn’t in the first place.” Sam admitted, and their eyes opened and focused on his.
“Honestly, I am too.” They leaned forward, pressing their elbows to their knees. “But I don’t regret it. I don’t need to be there, which is great because I don’t want to be there. He doesn’t get any more of my time and effort. He doesn’t get any more.”
The unfinished sentence spoke loudly through the now thick silence.
“...would I be able to feel it?” His Darlin’ asked quietly, eyes flitting down to their clenched hands. “Because of the Bond?”
Sam pursed his lips as he swallowed a mouthful of the lukewarm beverage, eyebrows knitting thoughtfully. “I think so.” He finally answered. “Your Core is connected to his through the Bond, and you used it to track the places he’d been and shed blood in. It makes sense that you’d be able to feel the bond end with his life.”
“Right.” They nodded, swallowing. “Okay.”
So it hadn’t happened yet. Given that it was still mid-afternoon, he probably hadn’t been left out to burn in the Sun. The wolf shifter suspected they would probably have felt that pain long ago. So they guessed it was probably a swifter execution. Beheading maybe. Or a bullet in the brain. Or maybe-
“Darlin’.” Sam broke through their thoughts. He rose to his feet before shuffling his way gently to the hunched figure on his couch. Kneeling to the ground, his hands reached for those of his lover’s. With practiced motions, his fingers kneaded at the clenched hands until they relaxed, and their nails withdrew from their palms. He had enough practice to recognize that they were in their head, anxiety eating them alive, driving their fists to clench until their nails cut into their palms with enough force to make them bleed. After a while, he became so experienced with their racing mind that he could stop the blood before it even began.
“You’re getting in your head.” He murmured, placing kisses on their abused palms. “You need to breathe.”
“I just-” The wolf shifter choked out. “I just want him gone. I want this over.”
“And it will be.” He insisted gently. “There’s not enough pretty words or fast talking that he can do to postpone this. Justice will be served, my love. William himself would do it if it came to it. And if not Will, then I’ll hunt the fucker down myself and rip his head from his body.”
The anger in his voice reassured them, but only slightly. It forced them to take a deep breath, releasing it slowly.
“I need a distraction.” They murmured. “It’s going to kill me just hanging out, waiting for it to happen. I need to have something to do.”
“Call one of your packmates.” Sam offered. “Maybe one of them is up for another Smash tournament.”
They laughed softly. “Are you sure about that? After the ass-kicking you got last time?”
“Hey, I never said that I was gonna be playin’.” Sam jested.
“Sure, ya old man.” They smiled, and took a deep breath. “Maybe Ash is up for some Halo or Among Us. Or I could get with Milo’s mate and play some Phasmo.”
“You do that.” He patted their thigh before standing up, his knees cracking and a soft sigh escaping his lips. “I’m gonna make you some food, because I know you haven’t had lunch in the time you were pacing around.”
“Okay.” They smiled. Sam returned their smile and leaned down to kiss their forehead.
“See you soon.” And he zipped off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A few hours passed like this. Sam brought his partner lunch in the middle of an intense round of Halo with Asher and his mate. They cussed and laughed and shit talked between bites of sandwich and chips and gulps of water. After Ash and his mate played a few rounds of Halo, Milo’s mate got on and played horror and strategy games with them until dinner. The hours were spent with the impending execution in the back of their mind, ever present but too distracted to dwell on.
It served well for the time being, lightening their chest for just a little while. But then, after dinner, the anxiety set back in.
Sam had drawn back the solar-proof blackout curtains around the windows of his home, and the wolf shifter watched the Moon rise warily. The Moon was rising and he still wasn’t dead. Or maybe he was, and the Bond hadn’t broken. Was that possible? Did they get the date wrong? Or review their decision and take back their verdict? What if he had somehow bribed his way out of it, or escaped their clutches and was on his way-
And then it happened.
One second their chest was tight with anxiety, the nail of their thumb lodged in between their teeth as they paced around their house with renewed frantic frenzy, the next…
Lightness.
It felt as if an all encompassing weight had been lifted from their entire being, in their body as well as their mind. It felt as if there had been a belt that constricted their chest for years that suddenly loosened, like they had been wrapped in blankets of lead piling down on their shoulders and suddenly, it had disappeared. The constant pressure in their head, that constant presence, that constant itch, had suddenly disappeared. Their mind, for once in so many years, was clear. It was only them in their head.
The sudden disappearance of the suppressed feelings swept through their body, the relief causing their knees to buckle. Sam shouted their name in concern, using his vampiric speed to catch them before they crashed harshly to the floor. He cradled them in his arms as their eyes wandered wildly, trying to make sense of what they were feeling, or more specifically, the lack of feelings. Had they really felt like this for so long? They gasped for breath, suddenly aware of how freeing it was, how easy it had become to draw breath in, and the silence buzzed in their head so loudly that they couldn’t hear Sam’s frantic questioning. He held them to him, trying to balance them enough to look in their eyes.
“Look at me.” He begged. “Are you alright? What’s going on? Darlin’, talk to me, tell me you’re alright.”
They met his eyes and nodded absently, still reeling from the swell of sensations, and he sighed with relief. They were still with him, and he held them to his body. And as the storm of relief started to abade, and the shifter made sense of what the hell just happened, and the tears started to pour from them. They clutched onto his shirt, relieved sobs wracking their body, and he held them close, rocking them back and forth soothingly.
“He’s gone.” They gasped out in between shuddering breaths. “He’s-He’s finally gone.”
And he understood. He looked toward the clock, and just as he had suspected, it was just after the stroke of midnight. The execution had been carried out, and he was no longer a looming part of their lives.
Later, they’d be able to tell him how it feels. Like all of a sudden, they went from slow motion to real time. That they could breathe and think and feel, and there wasn’t this constant weight on them. They could be alone, truly, and want to go somewhere without a compulsion to follow a trail of blood. That they were finally, finally, free.
But in the moment, all they could do was be rocked in the arms of their steadfast lover, soaking his shirt with their tears once again, this time from pure happiness and relief.
“He’s gone, my love.”
“You’re safe.”
“You’re free.”