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Sam’s time in the Cage lives in a little lockbox at the back of his mind, safely padlocked shut and tossed at the bottom of a very large, very deep lake.
Tonight, though- tonight Sam is nursing a large glass of whiskey in the quiet dark of the library because the seal cracked, and a nightmare seeped in. He’d forgotten how vibrant they were- how real they felt even after he forced himself awake, skin crawling. It’s nearly the same dream every time- the Cage, Lucifer, agonizing pain.
Sam downs the liquor in his glass, then refills it from the decanter he’d placed on the table.
“Well don’t you look miserable.”
Sam’s eyes lift at the voice and then widen at the sight before him. Rowena, dressed down in a blue silk matching pajama set, leaned against the entry to the library. Her pale face is completely free of makeup for the first time in his memory, and her red hair was tied in a long braid over her shoulder, a white ribbon holding the strands together. She looks…deconstructed, in a way. So different from how he saw her in the light of day.
The thing he recognizes at once, though, is the haunted look shading her pretty eyes.
Wordlessly, Sam extends his full glass of whiskey towards her- she looks at him for a moment, calculating, before she pads barefoot across the concrete floor and takes the drink from him. Their fingers brush, electricity zinging through Sam at the contact, and his eyes fall to the elegant line of her throat as she swallows the liquor without so much as a wince.
With her back resting against the table, Rowena settles beside Sam- they trade the glass back and forth, Sam occasionally refilling it, until they’re both just north of tipsy. Rowena studied him, head tipped to the left, pressing the empty glass to her flushed cheek.
“What does he say to you, when you dream about him?”
Sam blinks at the question, and then ponders it, fingers stretching out against the tabletop.
“Mostly things from when I was in the Cage with him,” he finally answers, lifting his eyes to meet hers. Something about her gaze is as tender as a fresh bruise. “It’s like…a loop of my worst memories. Every little thing I dislike about myself, every horrible thing I’ve ever considered my fault- he uses it like acupuncture needles, jabbing them into all my pressure points.”
Rowena’s hands tremble slightly as she pours another fingerful of whiskey, then downs it in a single shot. Her lips twitch, almost in amusement.
“He sounds so real,” she says, but her voice is soft and rough, torn from her throat. “It takes me so long to realize it isn’t happening again- that I’m not back in that room, watching him burn me alive.”
Her shoulders roll in a shudder, fingers flexing around the glass in her hand, and Sam gently tugs it from her grasp, setting it beside the now-empty decanter before his fingers curl around hers. Rowena tilts her face towards him, studying him through half-slit eyes for a moment before she shifted her hand until she could lace their fingers together. She squeezed, and Sam’s stomach jolted.
“How do you get yourself back to sleep?” Rowena asks softly, and he can tell she’s genuinely asking. She looks exhausted, as physically and mentally drained as he felt, and for just one night, he decides to make a selfish choice.
“Come with me,” is all he says, and keeps his grip on Rowena’s hand as he got to his feet and started back down the hall towards his room. Rowena follows, for once in her life quietly obedient, and when Sam tugs them into his room, shutting the door behind them, she arches one elegant eyebrow.
“This is your bedroom,” she says, and that gets a small chuckle out of Sam.
“Incredible deduction skills,” he teases, and Rowena rolls her eyes, but it’s a fond motion. “We’re gonna lie down. It’s easier to not be alone.”
“Samuel…” Rowena starts, and Sam shook his head- cupped her soft cheek in his palm, thrilled when she leaned into his touch.
“It doesn’t have to be anything but two people sharing a bed,” he promises, and Rowena purses her lips briefly before she nods, just once.
They settle under the covers, and Sam reaches into his nightstand to pull out the latest book he’d been attempting to read- some runner’s memoir that was at the top of every bestseller list. It was a little boring, but it usually helped him drift off, especially on nights like this.
The space between him and Rowena lessens as he started to read aloud, and by the time he’s three pages in, Rowena’s slipped under his arm to press her ear to his chest. His voice rumbles softly in the dim lighting of the bedside lamp, his pace and cadence slowing as Rowena’s breathing evened out until he knew she was asleep. Her body, small and soft and lax against him, radiates warmth, and Sam finds his blinks coming slower and slower, the same sentence being read three times before he yawns so loudly his jaw cracks.
Sam sets the book aside, clicks the lamp off, and wraps his arms around Rowena as he buried his nose in her hair. He drifts off to the scent of lavender and another person’s warmth against his own.