Work Text:
Sam stared at the ball of light, floating off the floor infront of him as he sat on his bed.
He didnt quite understand what it was. It was a ball of pure light, yes, but there was a green glow to it. It was menacing in its own bitter sweet way.
Because it did light up the room. Sam couldn't tell if this terrified him more or if it calmed him down. It was his creation. He had made it from his hands out of pure panic when the lights went out.
Yet, even if a part of him feared it, he made no move. He stayed completely still. His chest hurt because of all the crying he had been doing, alone in his dark room.
Sam hated the dark. Well, maybe not the dark specifically, but more so the possibilities of what could be in it. It made nights without a night-light impossible to sleep in, because he was overwhelmed with fear. Even the dumbest of things he imagined, he feared would happen. Even if they seemed impossible.
But now he wondered if they werent impossible.
If crazy things could happen now.
Because wasn't the light infront of him crazy in its own way? He shouldn't be able to make it. It shouldn't be able to exist. It defies the laws of.. everything. Yet here it was.
Sam looked at his hand. The same thing that made the light. What was it? What could it be called? Why was this so weird?
He was alone in his room, unsure of what to do. The light practically stared at him. Sam never imagined he would find a light scary. But what felt worse was that he had created it. Like he had some sort of power, like something out of a movie or a game. He didnt try to touch it.
Who would be stupid enough to touch pure light?
...
Tom hadn't tried to touch the light. Sam hadn't tried to make it either.
A while had passed since Sam had learned about his power, which was what he called it now. He kept quiet about it, because wasn't that the best thing to do until he figured out what to do about it?
Well, it didn't last long.
Sam heard arguing. His mom and Tom, his unfortunately step-father. Whenever Tom got mad, loud and violent things happend. Things Sam hated.
Sam snuck down the stairs, admittedly nosey about what was going on. Like maybe what they were fighting about this time.
Sam didn't have much time to process the sight infront of him. Tom holding a knife, Connie backing away. Sam was stunned for a moment, frozen in place. Then he rushed forward.
Everything happend too fast.
There was a bright blast of light, then screaming. Sam took a few steps back, only to see Tom's hand not looking quite right. Connie ran to Sam, guiding him away at the door.
"Sam, grab my phone." Connie said, trying to keep calm despite the panic rising in her voice.
"Mom- I didn't mean to!" Sam cried out.
"Grab my phone!" Connie raised her voice, but it lacked anger. It was more so filled with panic, and maybe a bit of fear. Was she scared of him? Or Tom?
Sam ran and grabbed her phone with shaking hands, his mind replaying the events. He hadnt meant to use.. whatever it was that he had. She would believe that, right? Would something bad happen to him?
Was it selfish he was only thinking about himself rather then the man he just burned?
Connie called 911 and told Sam to go to his room. He obeyed, rushing up the stairs, nearly tripping, but getting up nonetheless.
For a while, he was in his room. He could hear the sirens outside, and looking out his window, he could see the ambulance head off in the distance. Sam looked at his hands. The same ones that created that light. The same ones that burned his step-fathers hands off.
The same hands that would unkowingly be of major importance in the future.
The same hands that would eventually be forced to mercy kill.