Hi, I'm Remi! ~ 2002 // he/she // lesbian // Dutch ~ This is just stuff I write for fun. I post of whatever fandom I’m feeling! @therandomfandomme is my main! I have an AO3 account as well :D ~ I used this picrew to make my icon!
I have an AO3 account under the same name, which you're free to check out
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i was talking with my partner about my fic im writing and how many k words it is and then my mom comes in with 'you have a counter of how many gay words you're using??? you have a goal for that???' and im fucking dying lmao
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, now that it’s on the table that Sam is slowly cracking under keeping suicide watch for Jamie, they realize they can’t go on like this. But where to go from here isn’t an easy decision to make either.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 12: We’re Alright, There’s Time to Put the World to Rights
Sam barely skips a beat, before he’s pulling Jamie into a hug – a tight one, the kind where neither of you can breathe, but letting go feels impossible, even when all your muscles cramp – and he squeezes out: “Of course, I do. I love you so very much. You are my best friend, Jamie.”
Jamie stands there motionless for a moment, before hands come up to hug him back. The tears that had already been leaking from Sam’s eyes are matched by Jamie as he clings right back. Sam wonders if anyone has told Jamie that he’s loved recently. Wonders if he is even capable of believing Sam means it now.
“I- I- I- Me- Me too, I- I too.” Jamie swallows, unable to get the words out, but he tearily manages to choke out: “You’re my best friend too.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Sam cries, not letting go. He doesn’t even care Jamie couldn’t say it back, he knows people struggle and he knows Jamie wanted to. That he’s trying. That he means it. That he might believe Sam means it too. He hopes he does. Jamie deserves to know he’s loved.
“’m sorreh for scarin’ ya. That’s- Tha’ were a real shit thing to do,” Jamie whispers back.
“It’s okay,” Sam says, even though it’s not. It’s only okay because Jamie is here now. If it had ended any other way, it wouldn’t be okay.
“’s not,” Jamie says what he couldn’t. “It’s not. You- I- This week’s been awful for you and I just keep makin’ it worse.”
His voice is filled with self loathing and Sam hates it. He hates it with a passion. He shakes Jamie, still not letting go of the hug as he replies: “You don’t make it worse. It’s better with you. You didn’t ask to feel this way. You didn’t even ask me to keep sticking around. I want to, Jamie. I’ll tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe it.”
The words make Jamie cry more again and he buries his head in the juncture between Sam’s shoulder and neck, shoulders shaking, while the sobs remain quiet. As if he learned not to cry too loudly when he can. Learned his tears are too much.
“I want to be here. I want to be here with you,” Sam repeats, just because it seems like Jamie needs to hear it again. “I’ll always be here. I care about you. I love you.”
“Thank you,” Jamie wobbles with a tight voice.
“Of course,” Sam assures him, placing one of his hands on the back of Jamie’s head to cradle him close to him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Still sorreh for saddling you wi’ all this,” Jamie confesses softly, shielded from Sam’s reaction by being hidden away in his arms. “I’m sorreh I stressed you out. I did- I didn’t mean to.” His voice cracks too.
“I know you didn’t,” Sam soothes him. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”
“But you’re not,” Jamie wobbles. “You’re tired.”
“And that was my own choice,” Sam reminds him. Besides, with the adrenaline spike after that stunt Jamie just pulled, the exhaustion has faded a little.
“It’s still unfair,” Jamie says, still hiding, not meeting Sam’s eyes and not stepping back from the hug either. Sam’s not going to make him let go when he doesn’t want to. Jamie can use all the comfort Sam can provide. And if he’s honest, the hug is making him feel better as well.
“You just need a little more attention right now,” Sam says. “We’ll shift back some other way in the future. That’s how friendship works. I don’t mind. It’s not unfair.”
“No, it is, ‘cause you’ve been all stressed, while I- while I-” Jamie starts, then falters, before he confesses in a whisper: “While this is the best week I’ve had since I were nineteen.”
Nineteen. That’s four years ago. This week, Jamie has tried to kill himself, written suicide letters, got abusive voice mails and texts from his dad, and was listless for days. Yet it’s the best week he’s had in four years.
Subconsciously, Sam hugs him tighter again and his voice is filled with passion when he says: “I’m glad I made it better. It’s not unfair. That’s what I wanted.”
“You’re always so nice to me,” Jamie says wetly, more tears soaking into Sam’s shirt.
“You deserve kindness,” Sam replies softly, squeezing his own eyes close when Jamie’s shoulders hitch at that.
They stand there locked in a hug for a good few minutes, neither of them saying anything more, just soaking up the fact that the other is real, that they’re here. Still here.
Sam holds on until Jamie let’s go, watching him closely as he steps back and wipes his eyes. They’re downcast and it takes a moment for new tears to stop welling up. When that happens, Jamie clears his throat and sticks his hands under his shirt, gruffly saying: “Uhm, sorreh ‘bout that, mate.”
It’s so fucking ridiculous that he’s trying to save face now. Fucking toxic British lad’s culture, Sam thinks, rolling his eyes internally. He straightens out his own shirt, then wipes at the place where Jamie’s shirt holds Sam’s own tears, as if brushing off some dust. Imitating Jamie’s voice, he parrots back: “Sorry, ‘bout that.”
Jamie blinks at him for a moment – finally meeting his eyes again – before he huffs out an amused breath. It’s not quite a laugh or even a smile, but it’s a start. “Yeah, yeah, got me there.”
“A little,” Sam smiles. Then he offers: “Should we go back down and drink some tea?”
“Uhm, yeah, I’d like that. Ta.”
Neither of them speak much as Sam puts on the kettle and pours them both some tea. He still doesn’t entirely get the hype, but he does appreciate the soothing nature of a warm beverage. He can see how such a ritual would take hold in such a dreary and drab place as England.
After they’ve taken their first sip, Jamie breaks the peaceful silence. “I still don’t like you stayin’ up for me. We got a match comin’ up and you felt bad today. I don’t- I don’t want tha’. We can figure something else out. You can tie me to the bed?”
Sam had known this conversation was coming, but he still would have preferred to leave it behind them and never speak of it again. “I know you don’t like it. And I am still not tying you to the bed.”
“Would be easier, though,” Jamie says.
“You said you didn’t like it. I’m not doing it,” Sam refuses, putting his foot down.
Jamie bites his lip, then tries: “You can also believe me when I say I’m not gonna to owt if you’re ‘ere. That you being ‘ere already helps.”
“I do believe you.”
“You jus’ don’t trust meh,” Jamie sighs.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says, because he also wants to trust Jamie to be able to keep his word. “I want to, truly. I just don’t know how I can.”
“Do you know why I drive like tha’?” Jamie asks suddenly, in lieu of responding directly to what Sam has just said.
Unsure but curious, Sam says: “Uhm, no?”
“Me granddad on me dad’s side killed ‘imself before I were born,” Jamie says, eyes glazed. “Drove his car right into the other lane. Killed this lady while he were at it. Me da were in the car wi’ ‘im. Lucky only his leg were crushed.”
“Oh my god, Jamie, that is awful,” Sam says, feeling out his depth at what else to say.
“I mean, yeah, I s’ppose,” Jamie shrugs, still staring off into the middle distance. “Fucked leg got me dad on disability, fucked hospital who thought he were drug seeking put ‘im on the booze.” He suddenly looks at Sam again: “I spend so many fucking nights as a teen, sitting wi’ the dick, while he were pissed out of his mind, hopin’ he wouldn’t stop breathing. I’m not doing that to some else. Neither of that shit.”
“Did he- Do you think he wanted to…” Sam can’t bring himself to finish the question, his mind painting a vivid memory of what Jamie’s childhood had been like.
“Maybe,” Jamie says, looking away again as his tone turns bitter and wry. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Got all me best parts from ‘im, didn’t I?”
“He didn’t make you,” Sam says fiercely. “He had nothing to do with who you are. You’re a great person and he can fuck off.”
Jamie blinks in surprise, then hunches in on himself.
“I’m not lying, Jamie. I mean it,” Sam repeats, moving so he can catch Jamie’s eyes as he does, so Jamie can see he is truthful.
“You’re nice, Sam,” Jamie says, not accepting it, but not refuting it either.
Sam decides to take the win and adds: “And I am sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Cheers,” Jamie sighs, looking as exhausted as Sam feels. “I didn’t say it so you’d pity me. I jus’- I mean it when I say I’m not. Swear down.”
Sam’s face softens, though he smile is sad. “I know you don’t want to. And I know you never will on purpose, but Jamie…” He puts his hand on Jamie’s shoulder, making Jamie glance up at him. “You can’t control how you feel. You didn’t want to back in the hotel either, but that didn’t stop you. You actively planned for it, you even attempted it. If I hadn’t been fast enough, you would have swallowed those pills right in front of me. You would have done it. No matter how badly you don’t want to, you will in the heat of the moment. You can’t help it, but you will. So, do you understand why I can’t?”
Jamie’s face fills with shame and it’s obvious he’s fighting down the urge to cry again. He rubs his eyes aggressively. “I hate this. I hate that me brain’s like this. That I can’t fucking- I don’t know? Turn it off or some shit.”
“I know you do,” Sam comforts him, rubbing a hand over his back like he’d done when Jamie had gone quiet.
He definitely counts it as a win, when Jamie sags against him, leaning into the comfort instead of pushing it away again. Jamie takes a few deep breaths, before he pulls back and stitches his cracks back up. With dry eyes, he levels Sam a look and says: “But you can’t stay up.”
“Jamie…” Sam starts.
“No, I know,” Jamie cuts him off before he can make his argument again. “You can’t let me sleep on me own, I get it. But this?” He tugs at the skin under Sam’s eyes, pointing out the bags, “Also can’t go on.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Sam says helplessly, because if he had answers then they wouldn’t be in this situation right now. “I can’t watch out for you and sleep at the same time. We already tried that.”
Jamie shutters as he looks up, something clicking in his eyes that Sam can’t place, but he can tell by the way Jamie locks his jaw, that he has decided something and won’t be swayed. Somewhat apprehensive, he waits until Jamie speaks. “I could tell.”
“What?” Sam is sure he didn’t hear that right. All this time, Jamie has been adamant no one else needs to know. That Sam can fuck off and let him kill himself in peace, rather than let anyone else in on what is going on with him. Too scared of what might happen with him if anyone other than Sam knows.
“I don’t fucking like it,” Jamie exclaims, throwing his hands up. “But you are Mr. Stubborn, like actually, I mean. And I don’t want you fucking yourself up ‘cause I ain’t right in the head.”
“And you’re sure?” Sam checks. He doesn’t know why, he should just be embracing it after all the times he pushed Jamie to do exactly this, not give him space to back out. However, he has to. Jamie is doing this for Sam, not himself. Sam doesn’t want Jamie to blame him for this one day.
“Scares the shit outta me, but yeah,” Jamie says after a beat, swallowing compulsively again.
“You told me, you can do it again,” Sam encourages him.
Jamie grimaces at him, not encourages in the slightest. “Tha’ were different.”
“How so?” Sam frowns, not sure how it would be different.
“I mean, either you were gonna help or I were gonna kill meself,” Jamie shrugs, having the decency to look a bit uncomfortable at the admission. “Nowt much to lose, you get me?”
Sam is a little happy that Jamie thinks he has something to lose now, because if you have something to lose, you have something to stay alive for. But he doesn’t focus on that. “It will be different, yes. But it will be different, because I am right there. You’ll have back up. You don’t have to do it alone.”
“Cheers,” Jamie gives him a weak smile, before he rubs his face: “Jus’ different when you’re not numb and floaty. I know it’s fucked, but it’s mad comforting to be on that edge. It don’t feel so big, y’know. Like you don’t ‘ave to deal wi’ it all for long anymore.”
The words choke Sam a little and it’s his turn to swallow, hoping to get the lump far down enough to speak. In a sense, he can understand. Without consequences, things are not as big anymore. He just doesn’t love that Jamie’s way out is turning to suicide. “We’ll make sure we get it right,” he finally manages to get out.
“Dunno how we’re gonna do tha’,” Jamie doomerizes. “Not like I made meself popular and not everyone’s as nice as you. They won’t care, Sam.”
“Yes, they will,” Sam insists, because he can’t have Jamie thinking that they won’t. Just because Jamie can’t see the seriousness of it all, doesn’t mean others won’t either. Football culture might not be very open to being touchy-feely, but Ted is influencing them all. Richmond won’t turn their backs on Jamie if he asks for help.
Jamie gives him a skeptical look, but doesn’t argue. Sam doesn’t think it’s because he’s conceding, it’s more that he doesn’t think it’s worth it to make Sam see that no one will care, because Sam will not believe him. Mr. Stubborn, indeed. Instead, Jamie says: “Dunno who to tell, though. Feels right awkward with all the lads.”
“We’ll figure it out together,” Sam promises, nudging Jamie softly as he adds: “We have the whole night to figure it out. They cannot be mad at one of us, if it is both of us, right?”
Jamie finally smiles at that. “You’re a fucking menace, you know tha’, Obisanya?”
“I try,” Sam shrugs. “Now drink your tea.”
“Yes, sir,” Jamie winks, taking another sip.
As they drink, Sam thinks. This is a delicate matter and they’ll have to pick wisely. From what Sam has gathered, Jamie has probably never told anyone when not in crisis. And he believes that no one will care, that Sam only does because he’s above averagely nice.
If whoever they tell reacts even slightly weird, Jamie will take it as evidence that he’s right. Maybe even argue Sam should drop the whole thing, since this other person doesn’t take it seriously, so Sam shouldn’t either.
That cannot happen. No, they’re going to pick very carefully.
So, Sam mulls over all their options. The obvious one is Ted. He’s their head coach, who has profiled himself as someone that is kind and open, as well as not allergic to emotions. If it were anyone other than Jamie, Sam wouldn’t hesitate.
However, Ted has been weird about Jamie from day one. Sam hadn’t realized it at the time, since Jamie was mean and stand off-ish about the whole thing, but there has always been this friction between them that he can’t place. This fundamental misunderstanding. And even without that, the past few check ins that the coach has had with Sam, haven’t given him much confidence in Ted’s ability to react well to Jamie telling him this.
Still, if Jamie wants to tell Ted, then Sam will support him… and stand right behind him, making threatening expressions, daring Ted to say anything that can even be slightly misconstrued as not entirely compassionate and kind.
Regardless, it does put Ted out of the running for now. Beard is also a coach and thus an authority figure, but he’s a bit of an enigma and too much of Ted’s shadow to risk it.
Jamie is friends with Isaac and Colin. They might be very much footballers, which makes guessing either of their reactions a fifty-fifty shot, but Sam doesn’t think they’d be assholes. And if it’s just so that there are more people to stay awake with Jamie, then they’re not the worst option. Sam can do most of sensitive stuff.
He’s about to suggest it to Jamie, see what he might think, when his phone beeps. On auto pilot, he picks it up and opens the message. It’s his father asking if he’s ready for their weekly call.
Sam had meant to send him a text earlier that something had come up and if they could reschedule, however, in the chaos of the evening and in his exhaustion, it had completely slipped his mind. He misses his father and is desperate to talk to him, to have his comfort and his wisdom. Sam always wants to talk to him.
However, he knows that his father will have questions about this sudden friendship he has struck up with Jamie and Sam cannot lie to him. He’s also worried that his father might say something about Jamie’s past behavior, which Jamie will spiral about.
And it’s not as if he can take the call in private and leave Jamie by himself. They’ve just had a whole big argument about it and if it’s up to Sam, Jamie will stay right there by his side. He’s scared out of his mind that Jamie will lock himself in like he had earlier. Sam can’t go through that again.
As much as it pains him, he begins to type out an excuse. But before he can send it, he’s startled by Jamie’s voice suddenly right there next to his ear. “Don’t do tha’, mate.”
Apparently, he’s been hovering, reading along over his shoulder. With what Sam knows of Jamie’s own dad, he feels a bit self conscious about how much his father loves him. How obvious it is in the texts Jamie has just read. It’s not Sam’s fault that his father is not a piece of shit, but it feels like he’s rubbing it in anyway.
“No, it’s okay. I can talk to him some other time,” he assures Jamie, not meeting his eyes.
“Sam,” Jamie says sternly, stopping Sam in his tracks. “I know you talk to your dad loads, everyone who’s ever shared the gym wi’ you, knows tha’. You call him like twice a week, at least. And you ‘aven’t all week, ‘cause of me. You should call him.”
“I don’t know if that is a good idea,” Sam says, unsure of how he should break the news as of why that might be.
Fortunately – or unfortunately – he doesn’t have to, because Jamie fills in: “’Cause I can’t leave ‘cause you’re a worry-wart freak and your dad will hate me on sight?”
“What! He will not hate you,” Sam frowns.
Again, Jamie sends him an unimpressed look. “Sam, bruv, I appreciate you, but I bullied the shit out of you and you share everything wi’ your dad. Course he fucking knows tha’, course he’s gonna hate me for it. He’s like a good dad and shit.”
This is all really not making Sam feel better, in part, because he knows Jamie isn’t entirely wrong. “He won’t hate you,” he insists anyway, because he knows that part is false. “He just might have… questions?”
There will definitely be questions. Many questions. Jamie is right that Ola is a good father and he will be concerned and want to make sure Sam isn’t being forced to do something… just like Roy and Ted had wanted to check with him. But maybe it is a bit more understandable with him, since this will be Sam’s dad, who hasn’t ever met Jamie and only knows him for the TV screen and Sam’s stories. Who isn’t paid to care about Jamie too, nor to observe him.
However, even if it will be slightly less bad, Sam also knows he can’t lie to his father and he refuses to spill Jamie’s secrets, even if Jamie has just agreed to tell. It’s not as if he’s going to shout it from the roof tops, he’s just going to try to make Sam’s load a little lighter.
“Maybe…” Jamie starts, his voice tentative and unsure. “Maybe we can… tell him?” he suggests.
Sam whips around, searching Jamie’s face for any sign he might not want to. He looks uncomfortable, sure, but determined also. Still, Sam can’t help but ask: “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
It takes him a moment, but in the end, Jamie forces out: “I want to. He’s your dad. You’re supposed to be able to talk to your dad. I’m sorreh for taking tha’.”
“You didn’t take anything,” Sam says, because it’s Jamie’s business and Sam is big on the right to privacy. “And you don’t have to do this for me. You don’t have to do anything, unless you want to.” After everything Jamie told him about his psychiatric care, where so much had been forced on him, Sam never wants to put him through something similar.
Jamie’s quiet for a moment, biting his lip and playing with the hem of his shirt. He’s hesitating, mulling it all over. Sam just gives him space to get his thoughts in order. This is a big step and he wants to be sure that Jamie wants this. That he’s not doing it because he feels like he owes Sam.
“Yes. Yeah, I want to,” Jamie says, nodding a few times to himself, before looking to Sam. He gives a lopsided smile and says: “Might be nice to do a trial run with someone who’s thousands of miles away, right?”
Despite the blasé attitude he puts on, the nerves roll of him in waves. Sam takes his hand and squeezes it, trying to put everything he can’t say into words. Jamie is being very brave, facing something he doesn’t want to for Sam. Trying to be a good friend for Sam too. Jamie squeezes back.
In a way, Jamie is right about this being a good test run. Not because his father is thousands of miles away, but because Sam knows for certain that he can trust him to lock in when it becomes clear that Jamie needs someone. Sam has been raised by him to be the exact person he stepped up to be for Jamie this week.
“You are being very brave,” he says. He needs Jamie to know he is, that Sam knows this is difficult for him and he’s doing it anyway. That he’s making steps to get help even if it scares him and he doesn’t want to. That Sam is proud of him for it.
“Ta,” Jamie replies, expression wobbling as he blinks away tears.
“Do you want to tell him or do you want me to do the talking?” Sam offers. Next time, Jamie should probably do the talking, so it doesn’t come across as Sam sharing something illicit instead of Jamie asking for help, but his father won’t think that. And it might be nice for Jamie to see that someone else knows and reacts well to the news without having the pressure of needing to explain it right.
“Uhm, I- I want to try, but if I- if I fuck up, yeah? Then, uhm, yes, that’d be mint,” Jamie nods.
“I can do that,” Sam assures him. “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Jamie replies, letting out a nervous breath.
Sam doesn’t bother texting back, since it’s more a courtesy from his father anyway, so he just clicks dial, smiling automatically as his father’s face fills the screen. “Daddy.”
~~
A/N:
We’re getting somewhere with that support system, whoooo
Next Tuesday update I’m gonna be out of the country and miss it and the Saturday update will probably be late, maybe even on Sunday, but after that we’re gonna be back on schedule! :D I hope this isn’t too much of a cliffhanger to leave you all on xp
given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, After catching Jamie writing suicide letters, Sam isn’t risking something like that happening again. He starts staying awake all night, which creeps into the day. The team and Jamie both notice and neither is a fan. It comes to an explosive head when Jamie demands to know what’s wrong.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 11: I Watch You Sleep with Eyes of Contempt. Those Eyes Were Meant for Myself
Sam is tired at training and everyone can tell. After he woke to Jamie writing suicide letters – one for Sam too – he hasn’t let himself sleep. Hasn’t let Jamie out of his sight for a moment. Everyone is also noticing that.
That first night, it isn’t so bad. By the time Sam woke up to Jamie writing, it had already been 3:30 AM, so the amount of time he had been awake isn’t a lot. It could almost be seen as a day with an early start, where his early start was very slow.
However, now it is a day later and it is starting to catch up with him. He’s moving sluggishly on the pitch and isn’t paying attention to what the coaches are saying, he also keeps yawning and blinking heavily, eyes threatening to stay closed.
He hates that he feels so tired. He’s still supposed to be awake tonight and come into training tomorrow semi-more functional than he is now. It’s a lot and he dreads it. He also hates that he dreads it. What sort of person does it make him, that he is annoyed with having to stay up, so that his friend won’t kill himself? How selfish of a man, is he?
It doesn’t help that Jamie himself is also nervously hovering, asking: “You alright, mate?” when they’re stopping to drink and Sam just lies down on the grass.
“I am okay,” Sam says, not even cracking his eyes open.
“You sure?” Jamie asks and he can sense him right there. The grass makes a noise and soon Jamie’s knee bumps lightly against his side. “You kinda look like shit.”
“Thank you, Jamie,” Sam deadpans, cracking open his eyes slightly to see Jamie’s pinched brow a lot closer than he expected.
“Did you even sleep?” he demands, ignoring the sarcastic remark to scrutinize Sam more. “You got bags under your eyes.”
Sam gives him a small glare, hoping to deter Jamie from asking more. He doesn’t want to have this conversation with him and he definitely doesn’t want to have it here. He pointedly repeats: “Thank you, Jamie.”
“Oi, Sam, go drink. It’s break for a reason. Jamie, eat this protein bar and leave off. Sam can look like shit in peace,” Roy’s voice cuts through their conversation as a water bottle and protein bar come sailing their way.
Since their conversation, Roy has tried to be nicer to Jamie – something Jamie hasn’t commented on, but leaves him with a confused puppy-like expression every time. Roy has also taken Jamie’s feeding him comment to heart, even if protein bars aren’t home cooked meals.
Jamie rips into his protein bar as he complains: “Why’re you allowed to say he looks like shit then?”
“Captain’s privilege,” Roy says, before he adds: “And I didn’t say you couldn’t tell him, just that you had to leave him be about it.”
“So you ain’t worried that one of your strikers looks like death warmed over?” Jamie demands and it is really sweet that he is sticking up for Sam, but Sam does not want to make the mental effort to talk around Jamie’s suicidality.
He sits up and lightly bumps against Jamie, saying: “It’s alright. I’m okay.”
The indignant arguing now turns from Roy to him, as Jamie says: “Clearly you’re not. And I never just get to say I’m fine. It’s unfair!”
“Jamie,” Sam warns, voice a little sharper than he’d like, but he’s too tired to moderate it. “Drop it.” He adds: “Please,” because he doesn’t want Jamie to think he’s mad.
Regardless, Jamie still looks a little incensed, taking a deep breath to argue, before he deflates. Now he’s doing the kicked puppy thing towards Sam, obviously wanting to check in with him again, but heeding Sam’s warning. He dawdles for a moment, then softly says: “We can order food instead?”
Instantly the small stab of annoyance that had been there fades a little, soothed by Jamie’s concern and attempt to ease Sam’s current mood. He smiles: “Thanks, Jamie,” then opens his bottle, content to sit next to Jamie on the grass.
Sam makes it to the end of training without further incident. However, he is snatched by Ted once he makes it out of the shower, having let his guard down under the now warm, pressurized water. “Sam, come here for a moment, I’d like a small chat, if that’s okay?”
He looks over his shoulder to Jamie, who has already finished and is dressed and ready to go, playing on his phone while he waits for Sam. But this is his coach asking – as well as a person Sam has a lot of respect and warmth for – so he nods. “If it is small, I see no problem, coach.”
“That’s good to hear,” Ted smiles, rambling some more as he leads Sam into the coach’s office, where he is intensely grateful for the window, which gives him a view of Jamie, making sure to keep him in his line of sight before focusing back on Ted. “As much as our little shark out there has his ways with words, he wasn’t wrong in saying you don’t look so hot, Sam. What’s happening? Talk to me.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I am okay, coach. Just couldn’t sleep,” Sam says, not sure if he’s lying or not. He’s exhausted, sure, but he’s not doing awful. It’s just a lot.
“And if you say that, I believe you,” Ted replies, before hesitating for a moment. Then he says: “But this is a safe space, yeah? This here? Between us? Nothing’s getting out. So, if something is happening…” he trails off, but looks at Sam with those big eyes of his.
Sam gives Ted a confused look, before he sees Ted glance at him, then over his shoulder to where Jamie is still playing on his phone, oblivious to the insinuation that is being made. Oblivious to the fact that once again, someone isn’t worried about him, but worried for what he might be doing to someone. To Sam.
“I overheard Jamie talkin’ about the two of you ordering food,” Ted tells him, not catching on to the wave of protective indigence that has washed through Sam. “And I appreciate that you two are getting along, struck up a friendship, but you don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t want to for the sake of it. It’s okay to have a bit of space.”
“I do not need space,” Sam snaps, more venomous than he ever thought he’d get with a coach. “Thank you for your concern, but my private time is my own.”
Ted looks genuinely shocked and if Sam was more rested, he’d feel bad about it. “Okay. I hear ya. I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re okay. I care about this team and about all you boys. It’s my job to make sure you’re alright and check in when something looks fishy. I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”
The words don’t do anything to calm Sam down and he needs to leave, have a nap too, but that isn’t in the cards. “Well, I am fine. And I am not the only person on this team. Maybe concern yourself with someone else.”
It’s the closest he’s gotten to calling out the hypocrisy he’s observed since becoming Jamie’s friend. He is sure Ted doesn’t mean it maliciously, but he has made up his mind about Jamie and refuses to see beyond the ruse. Logically, Sam knows the ruse is very good and if it hadn’t been for Jamie telling, he never would have known. But Sam is barely an adult and a fellow player, unlike Ted, who rightfully claims checking up on everyone as his job. He is an adult. He is supposed to notice.
So, Sam doesn’t wait for Ted to respond, hoping he’ll sit with the words and maybe finally check up on Jamie too. He holds no illusion that Jamie will tell Ted when he does, but maybe Sam can point to it to convince him that someone else also cares, even if he’s doubting that himself right now.
He walks back out to the locker room, which now only holds Jamie and calls out: “Come on, Jamie. I’m ready to go.”
Jamie blinks for a second, glancing over to Ted, before following after Sam. As he falls into step next to him, he asks: “So, what did the gaffer want? Babble American nonsense at you, or do you actually follow what he says?”
“Most of the time, I follow,” Sam smiles, feeling better now that he is leaving the locker room and that office behind him. “He was asking about our dinner plans.”
“Our dinner plans?” Jamie frowns in confusion. “Is he like against take out or summat? I mean, I know he did coach before coming ‘ere, but I didn’t think he were the type to be anal ‘bout cheat days.”
“I don’t think he cares about the take out, more curious that we were eating together,” Sam tells him.
“Ahhhh, he thinks we’re fucking,” Jamie nods understandingly, despite being entirely incorrect.
Sam chokes on his spit, couching a few times, as he wheezes out a: “What?”
“No need to be so dramatic, lad,” Jamie says casually, throwing open the doors to the parking lot of Nelson Road. “You’re right fit and I would, and I know I’m proper fit, so who wouldn’t, you get me? But, nah. Too intimate for a bloke I spooned with, don’t think I could.”
“The spooning makes it too intimate?” Sam asks, fascinated by Jamie’s thought process. He’s also half-sure Jamie just came out to him, but he is glossing over it, so Sam is just following suit.
“Yeah, can’t fuck in an utensil drawer, jus’ feels wrong, don’t it?” Jamie shrugs, making Sam laugh again.
Jamie is truly very fun to be around. It’s not an obligation to want to look out for him. These kind of moments balance out the more stressful ones and Sam feels his shoulders relax even more as they make they way to the car.
They pick up food on the way home and fall onto the couch when they get there, containers in their laps like slobs. It is a cheat day after all; you have to make a thing out of it.
Throughout dinner, they continue to shoot the shit and Sam can almost forget about the shitty day and exhaustion. However, that fades when they’ve finished their food and Jamie breaks the lull in conversation with a: “So what did Ted actually want?”
Sam glances over to him, finding Jamie’s eyes boring into him with thinly veiled concern. Deflecting, he replies: “Nothing much. He truly did ask about dinner.”
“And did he ask you about why you’re so tired? Did you talk to him?” Jamie asks.
“I didn’t tell him anything, Jamie,” Sam snaps, hating that he does, but doing it anyway. He has kept his mouth shut for days, why can’t Jamie just trust him? He hasn’t done anything to make Jamie think he would betray that trust.
Jamie is taken aback for a moment, before his brows furrow. “I didn’t ask tha’, did I? I asked if you told ‘im what the fuck’s wrong wi’ you, since you won’t tell me.”
“I don’t have to tell you everything,” Sam scowls, slouching the couch more and crossing his arms. “I am just tired. Am I not allowed to be tired?”
“You are,” Jamie agrees cautiously, before his more argumentative spirit floods back in. “But you’re like dead tired, not normal tired. And you were already awake when the alarm went, so clearly you slept like shit. Sue me for bein’ fucking worried ‘bout you. Not like you ‘ave a monopoly on being fucking worried.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be,” Sam tells him.
“Tough shit, I am,” Jamie shoots back, sitting up and turning to Sam more. “So just tell me, man.”
“No, Jamie. Leave it alone.”
“That’s so unfair! You don’t get to hide shit from me and then tell me I can’t!” Jamie exclaims, getting genuinely frustrated.
However, Sam is getting fed up too. His exhaustion has given him a headache and his bones are very present in his body. He can’t handle Jamie’s pushing right now. Snapping, he retorts: “And I’m not the one trying to kill himself.”
Jamie looks as if he’s been slapped for a moment, before the scowl he loves so much is back in full force. “’Course. ‘Cause that’s the only reason you’re here, innit?” he hisses. “Poor ickle Jamie, who can’t be alone. Well fuck you, Sam. Fuck you.” Tears build up in his eyes and he angrily wipes them away as he gets up from the couch. “I didn’t ask you to fucking be ‘ere. Go home. Or hang out wi’ your real friends,” he calls out as he storms off, shoulders bunched up high.
Sam’s brain lags for a moment, but then he’s up too, running after Jamie as he yells: “Jamie, wait up! I didn’t- That’s not- You’re being stubborn.”
“No, you’re being stubborn,” Jamie shouts back, only speeding up until he’s running through the house, Sam right behind him. “Leave me alone. Go talk to fucking Ted.”
It hits Sam a moment too late where Jamie is heading and his worried shout gets cut off by the bathroom door slamming shut in his face, his hands reaching the handle right after Jamie has already locked the door.
Shit.
He bangs on the door like a mad man, desperately calling out: “Jamie. Jamie! Jamie, open the door. I’m serious. Please, open the door, Jamie. Open the fucking door.”
Jamie moved so fast in the hotel room. If it weren’t for the children’s lock on the bottle, Sam might have been too late. Jamie’s in there for longer than that now. He might have already opened a bottle, or taken something else.
“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay. Just open the door and we can talk, yeah? I’ll tell you, just open the door,” Sam says, desperate banging turning into pleading bargaining as the other side of the door remains quiet.
“Fuck, Jamie, please. Please let me know you’re okay. That you’re alive,” Sam chokes, voice cracking as he starts to sob. He can’t believe that after everything, he fucked it up now. Like this. That he ended up being the reason that drove Jamie away. That drove Jamie to maybe do something he can’t come back from. “Please,” he whimpers again.
“’m alive,” Jamie’s voice comes through the door and this time Sam sobs with relief.
“Thank you, thank you. Thank you,” he repeats, head leaning against the door, as if he can phase through it if he just tries hard enough.
It’s quiet again.
Softly, Sam asks: “Can you open the door now, please? I- I just need to see you’re okay. You’re really scaring me, Jamie.” He jiggles the handle, a hundred horrible ends Jamie could have met floating around in his head. He doesn’t want to have to read the letter locked in that drawer. He’ll break.
“No,” Jamie answers, voice muffled by the door, but sounding strong enough to at least assuage some of the worry that he’s done something.
“Why not, Jamie? Talk to me,” Sam begs. “You know you can tell me, I’m here for you. I care. I want to know. Just tell me, please.”
“Stop lying!” Jamie shouts.
“I’m not. I swear I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. You don’t care, you jus’ fucking pity me. Well, I don’t need it. So fuck off. Leave! Go home and work through whatever I did to piss you off today alone. I don’t need it.”
“What?” For a moment, Sam is too stunned by Jamie’s words to speak. How on earth did he come to that conclusion?
“I said leave me alone!” Jamie rages, banging on the door from the other side as if he slammed against it hard.
“No,” Sam says, sternly, to make sure Jamie knows he means it. Jamie is trying to push him away and Sam isn’t about to let him. “I am not going anywhere. You are my friend and I care about you, so I’m staying right here.”
“You’re pretending,” Jamie argues through the door. Sam wishes he’d open it, but the arguing at least means he’s not dead yet. There is still time for Sam to fix this.
“I’m not pretending. I will stay here all night if that what it takes to prove that to you,” Sam says. “Mr. Stubborn, remember? I’m staying here whether you like it or not, because I want to. You cannot get rid of me that easily.”
It’s quiet again and Sam doesn’t know if that is a good thing. His heart is beating in his throat and he’s pressed up against the door, desperate to hear any peep, any move, any indication that Jamie is okay. If Jamie doesn’t answer soon, Sam is going to start seriously contemplating just busting the door down.
After what feels like forever, right as Sam is about to start looking for something to use as a battering ram, Jamie’s voice comes again. Quiet, barely a murmur: “I didn’t ask you to do tha’.”
“I know you didn’t,” Sam replies, a little bewildered by where that had come from. “I want to.”
“No. You don’t care,” Jamie insists mulishly, not hearing what Sam is saying. Or maybe not understanding it. “You don’t even want to tell me what the fuck’s wrong wi’ you, even though you make me tell all the time.”
It’s not true, despite his attempts he hasn’t gotten Jamie to open up about the things that haunt him, just some slivers of information here and there. However, that isn’t useful to point out right now. “I didn’t want to worry you, you have enough on your plate, Jamie. I’m just tired.”
“And annoyed,” Jamie adds almost petulantly. “You’re annoyed wi’ me. I made you mad and you won’t even let me fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix,” Sam says, relieved he finally has something concrete he can counter. “I promise, Jamie, you did nothing wrong. It’s all me, okay? I am tired, but it’s not because of something you did. It was something I wanted to do. You’re good, Jamie. We’re good. I’m not annoyed with you.”
“But you stayed awake to watch me sleep, didn’t you?” Jamie asks. His voice is small, almost childlike too.
Sam hesitates for a good long moment, before he sighs: “Yes…” wanting to be honest with Jamie. He hates all the lying, hates how they got here just because he hadn’t been honest.
He regrets that honesty a second later, when Jamie suddenly gets angry again, yelling: “Fuck you. Fuck off!”
Helplessly, Sam repeats: “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m here. It wasn’t your fault, I made that decision. Me.”
“No. Go!” Jamie yells, sounding so enraged, almost as if he’s helpless against all of this too. “I didn’t ask you to. I told you not to. I- I- I fucking told you the watchin’ me sleep were dead creepy, I told you I didn’t want you dead on your feet. Fuck! Off! I hate you. I hate you!” He’s screaming now, angry bashing on the door as if he’s punching it. His knuckles will likely be bruised.
Oh shit. This is bad, this is really bad. A million thoughts run through him as he rapidly gathers what is upsetting Jamie. He remembers it now, Jamie telling him he couldn’t be responsible for Sam being tired when Ted would blame him. How Sam had told him Ted wouldn’t, even though he had now seen that maybe he would, just because he didn’t know better.
Every time, Sam had been checked on, Jamie had been right there afterwards, asking about it, Sam realizes now. He’d thought he’d been only checking if Sam told anyone, but then why wouldn’t he ask what Sam said, instead of what did Ted or Roy say? Why ask that? He would, because he wasn’t checking if Sam told, but if they blamed him yet. Scared that they’d get mad when Jamie didn’t even ask for this and right now this whole thing is only proof to him.
He stands there at the locked door uselessly for a moment, before he says: “I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry that I can’t listen to you. I want to. Jamie, I promise you that I want you.”
“Then why don’t you?” Jamie sobs, voice wrecked with a frustrated and tragic anger that has no place to go. Sam relates, he also feels so powerless in this moment.
“I cannot trust you to sleep without me being awake,” Sam says honestly, despite how that had backfired before. “I cannot be sure that you will not do something you’d regret if I am not there.”
“But I wouldn’t. I told you I fucking wouldn’t,” Jamie says, getting angry again. “I’m not gonna make you find me, I’m not doing that to you. I’m not putting that on you. Why won’t you believe me?”
“I do believe you!” Sam exclaims. “I believe you, Jamie.”
“No, you don’t! You don’t! You’re staying up because you don’t.”
“No, I am staying up, because I care, because I can’t afford to be wrong,” Sam yells back, the emotions getting to him too as he unloads: “Jamie, you say you won’t and I know you don’t want to, but that doesn’t mean you’ll succeed. You say you won’t, but you told me you were planning on killing yourself with me right there in the hotel. You say you won’t, but I had to rip those pills out of your hands. I found you writing suicide letters. I know you can’t help it, that you don’t want to and it just happens. But do you have any clue how much that scared me? It scared the shit out of me, Jamie. You’d been awake and I didn’t know and anything could have happened to you. I couldn’t live with myself, if I let you slip through my fingers, because I’d been doing something as banal as sleeping. You’re my friend. I love you too much to let that happen. I refuse.”
Once again, it is quiet, the space between Sam and the door only filled with his heavy breathing as he lets out the stress for the first time since he found out.
He probably said too much.
Or maybe he didn’t say enough.
It doesn’t seem to matter what he does, he cannot fix Jamie. This is not something Sam can fix, especially not on his own. He can only try his best to manage this and hope it doesn’t blow up in his face. The whole frustrating mess coming out in tears that are sliding down his face.
“Jamie,” he asks, voice cracking from emotion. “Jamie, are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean- Please. Open the door. I’ll- I’ll figure something out. I’ll listen. I-” he sobs. “I don’t know what to say. Please, talk to me. Please, let me in.” … “Jamie?”
Oh my god, Jamie just killed himself. There’s no other explanation for the sudden silence. Sam has truly done it now. He fucked up and he let Jamie die. He let him die, he-
The lock clicks open.
Sam doesn’t hesitate, pushing open the door with a fervent need to see what is on the other side. See that his brain is wrong and Jamie is still with him, that he still has time to fix this. That he can call 999 if he must.
Jamie is right there, he almost gets knocked over by the door, he’s so close. Without hesitating, Sam grabs him, taking his face between his hands to check over every inch, assuring himself that Jamie’s pupils look normal and there is no blood.
While Jamie looks utterly wrecked, hair a mess and eyes red-rimmed, there is nothing wrong with him – and Sam makes sure he knows that for certain – Jamie is limp as he lets Sam maneuver him around to check. But his pulse is okay and there’s no blood. There’s no blood.
Then suddenly, the small voice from before is back and Jamie asks: “You love me?”
~~
A/N:
Tell your friends you love them <3
Sam is so valid for falling apart here and Jamie is too for being hurt, it’s a tough fucking situation. This whole fic turned into so much more than it was supposed to be. I contemplated ending this chapter on the silence and the locked door, but that’s not the kind of fic I’m writing, so I decided to be kind.
Rules: Post the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you want).
@jonghoos thank uu so much for the tag, the line you posted is so killerrrrrr <3
Rn I'm working on a fic about Keeley and her being a queer femme woman in this world and her job specifically, it's very interesting! (and fun and getting out of hand, I fear xp), so it's the last line from that fic :D
It’s so late by the time she gets inside that her mum has already given up her disappointed watch for her so she can sneak into her room without a lecture, feeling all giddy. It feels like she’s truly at a turning point right now. Soon she’ll leave school behind and maybe finally make it. She even gave May her number. May might not ever call, but doing it at all makes her feel invincible.
It's a bit long, so I'm just tagging as many people as i want instead of words lmao. No pressure to do this, pinky promise!
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, Jamie is not doing well and Sam is worried about him. Jamie isn’t letting him in and Sam doesn’t know what to do to get Jamie to see that this is serious and he needs to let Sam help him. He’s realizing that maybe he can’t trust Jamie to see that…
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Training does help. Sam is more settled in his bones and by the time afternoon training rolls around, Jamie is laughing and joking again.
Sam reminds him self that Jamie was also doing that yesterday and he still collapsed when they got home, so he shouldn’t expect football to be a magic fix for Jamie’s bad wave. However, it is still good to see him do a bit better than this morning. To see that he has better moments in between the bad.
Roy tries to catch his attention a few times, but Sam always deflects with a smile, like he doesn’t know what Roy wants. He feels a bit bad for his sour mood this morning, but he doesn’t want to talk about. If he does, he might cry and spill. He can’t do that.
So, he avoids Roy and gets through training, relieved smile breaking out when Jamie goes: “Oi, Obisanya, gimme the fucking keys back. You ain’t touching her wheel again.”
“But I drove very safely,” Sam argues more for the sake of it, already throwing the car keys back to Jamie.
“Yeah, boring,” Jamie says with a grin, like Jamie isn’t an incredibly safe driver himself.
“Of course,” Sam rolls his eyes, still smiling as he follows after Jamie.
In the car, Jamie puts on his own music and bops along with it, though he never sings. Sam doesn’t know if it is embarrassment or something else that is preventing him from doing so, but he doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to break the moment.
When they get home, Jamie drops his bag by the door and toes off his shoes, before making his way to the kitchen. He hops onto the counter, kicking his legs lightly, a dull thump, thump echoing through the kitchen.
Sam pours two glasses of something to drink, leaning against the counter across from Jamie. He wants to say something, start up a light conversation to keep Jamie here, but the only thoughts in his brain are questions about last night or the mask Jamie wears. What is real and what is fake, if there is anything Sam can do or if they’re both helpless in the face of these moods.
Fortunately, Jamie seems content to sip his drink in a companionable silence, though he averts his eyes from Sam when Sam goes to get the plates from yesterday, having to scrape away the food Jamie couldn’t finish, before he empties the dishwasher. With two washes the things that hadn’t been clean last time are now. Which means they’re up to date on dishes. A big first step.
The laundry is still behind, but Sam figures that next rest day they’ll get up to date there as well. The stuff that is left are clothes that cannot go in the drier and have to be hanged. Jamie has a washing rack, but Sam hasn’t felt like it. Most of Jamie’s stuff is clean now anyway.
With the dishes taken care of, Sam decides to start dinner. It might be early, but British people eat weirdly early anyway and he needs to do something with his hands. To keep busy.
Once he starts puttering around the kitchen, Jamie loses some of the tension in his shoulders and starts following him with his eyes. Sam takes the interest and runs with it, remembers Jamie’s thank you from yesterday, so he starts narrating what he is doing, letting the cooking soothe him.
He remembers being young and watching his father do the same, until Sam was old enough to help. He always cooked with his father. Thinking of it makes him homesick, but it soothes him too. He misses him a lot.
With everything that has been happening, they haven’t called in a week. He should soon. His father will be worried if he doesn’t. Sam just hasn’t decided how to go about it yet. So, he puts the thought away and continues talking as he cooks.
And he’s rewarded for it when Jamie speaks again: “I don’t own tha’. Since when do I own tha’? I don’t even know what the fuck tha’ is.”
Sam looks at the spice he was about to add, then at Jamie and laughs. “You didn’t. I brought it from my house. Your spices are… lacking.”
“Sorreh I’m not a fire eater,” Jamie pouts.
“I made the mild version!” Sam defends himself, because he did. He tried to take into account Jamie’s fragile taste buds.
“You’re a fucking sadist. Or a masochist. Or both,” Jamie sniffs.
“Or I like food with flavor,” Sam points out, adding the spice to the food. “Besides, this one isn’t spicy, it just deepens the flavor.”
“Hm, sure,” Jamie says suspiciously, eyeing the pan as he does.
Sam goes to stir as he says: “It’s true. Cooking is finding a balance of flavors and the right ingredients that react to each other in the way you want them to. In one dish, something might add sharpness while in the other it’s barely noticeable.” He continues cooking as he explains more about the science behind it, Jamie just listens. His face is slightly scrunched up, but Sam thinks he finds it interesting, even if he might not follow entirely.
They eat at the counter, because Jamie just makes grabby hands to his plate when Sam is done and Sam is just glad Jamie wants to eat.
Jamie still isn’t saying much, but Sam keeps up the noise by talking about eating this when he came home from football practice as a child. Before, Jamie would scoff at such a thing, but now he just looks at him with eyes that are both fond and filled with melancholic longing. Sam doesn’t know if he’s remembering his own childhood or if it’s something else, but it’s too late to stop now. That would make it weird.
So, he continues talking, leading it from eating at home to fucking around with friends at training. That gets a smile and some chuckles out of Jamie, which is good.
When dinner is done and cleaned up, Jamie seems content to sit there for the rest of the evening. It is a habit of his, Sam thinks, to plop himself down and not want to move after training. He probably pushed himself to move enough. Sam wants to ask about it, but Jamie is doing better than he was yesterday and he doesn’t want to ruin it.
It feels like he’s constantly balancing between not pushing enough and pushing too much. He has no clue what he is doing and what will make it worse or what will help. He likes to think he’s gotten most of it down, but he’s still so nervous to do the wrong thing. To overstep and have Jamie turn on him, like Sam knows he’s capable of.
Which means Sam doesn’t push and they stay in the kitchen until it is time to sleep, before they get up in the morning and head to training again.
This morning, Jamie says good morning back, doesn’t let Sam drive and plays his own music. It’s all good signs. Sam is being helpful. Jamie is getting through this. They’re managing.
Watching Jamie be Jamie Fucking Tartt at training when being privy to what lies behind is still strange, however. Now that he is aware, he can see the places where Jamie is silent, the moments where he zones out. There aren’t many, but they are there and he wishes that Ted or Roy would just see. Why don’t they see? Why don’t they pull Jamie aside and ask?
Roy has given Sam some concerned looks ever since last morning when Sam ignored him, but he hasn’t tried since. Maybe he decided Sam is better, since he isn’t walking around throwing a fit anymore and he loosened up after training. Or maybe he decided Jamie doesn’t seem excessively prick-like.
Sam is mostly grateful for Roy backing off either way, if he’s honest. He’s not sure he can keep it all in if someone asks him about it again.
Jamie has become a bit less Jamie Fucking Tartt, though. He’s still very much peacocking around, but he’s more constructive in his feedback and less mean. It’s delivered in his own style, but there are helpful tips in there. People are listening too.
Beyond that, Jamie has taken up the habit of leaning on Sam’s shoulder. Sam thinks their evening cuddle session from two days ago opened the door for affection outside of trying to sleep. It’s a sweet gesture, Sam likes it. Makes him feel like Jamie is finally getting comfortable leaning on him. Like Sam is helping. Like they’re proper friends now. Like he’s not entirely alone in this.
It’s not then same, of course. Jamie isn’t worried about Jamie at all, which is the crux of the whole thing, so they’re not keeping suicide watch on a third party together. Sam is doing that alone. But Jamie is also no longer fighting him on everything, no longer trying to get him out the door. Jamie is thankful that Sam is there. He’s doing the right thing and Jamie wants him there. Jamie doesn’t want him to go.
Sam clings to that.
That evening, Jamie sits on the counter again, but moves to the table when Sam is done, even setting it while Sam is finishing up. They watch the latest Watford match on the couch afterwards, since they’re up against them soon, talking strategy as they do. Then they head to bed. An easy worn routine.
As Sam holds Jamie in his arms, he thinks that Jamie seemed better today. More energized. He’s glad for it and hopes Jamie feels the same tomorrow – he’s not jinxing it by wishing for better.
When he wakes up, it’s still dark and he frowns sleepily, before he realizes there is no one in his arms anymore. With a gasp and a rapidly rocketing heart rate, he shoots upwards, startling Jamie who’d been leaned up against the headboard. “Jamie,” he says, relief washing over him at the sight of him.
“Jesus Christ, you always wake up tha’ violently?” Jamie asks, hand placed over his heart as he recovers from the fright.
“I thought you weren’t there, I got worried,” Sam explains, feeling a little sheepish.
“Yeah, I remember. ‘s why I didn’t go downstairs,” Jamie answers, fiddling with the notepad on his lap and not meeting Sam’s eyes bashfully.
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Sam says sincerely. As much as the absence scared him when he woke up, it had been a lot of worse to search for Jamie that night after the match, so he’s glad Jamie didn’t go to the kitchen again.
Now that he has blinked some of the sleep out of his eyes, he can see that Jamie must have been awake for a while. He’s gotten comfortable against the headboard, making himself a bit of a nest with the pillows and there are already a few sheets of torn off paper on the bedside table.
Sam doesn’t like the idea that Jamie has been awake for a while. He wants Jamie to wake him up and this is the second time that Jamie hasn’t. Well, the second time Jamie hasn’t that Sam knows about. A thought that really isn’t helping. “What were you doing?”
Jamie looks back at the notepad, clicking the pen nervously, before he shrugs: “Jus’ writing.”
“What were you writing?” Sam asks, unable to help the edge in his voice. There is a pit in his stomach that is growing ever bigger as his suspicion as to what Jamie had been doing grows.
This suspicion grows further when Jamie doesn’t answer for a moment, then shrugs again. He simply answers: “Letters.”
“Suicide letters?” Sam asks, heart in his throat.
“…Yeah,” Jamie admits quietly, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “They make me feel better. I like havin’ them jus’ in case, you get me? I realized you didn’t have one yet and you’ve been dead nice, so it felt rude tha’ you didn’t, ‘cause you des-”
“I don’t want a letter,” Sam manages to choke out through the sudden sick feeling that is overtaking him at Jamie’s words, cutting Jamie off before he can say more.
Jamie blinks, before his face crumples slightly and he pulls himself into a tighter ball to make himself look so small and young. “Oh…”
“Fuck, shit, no. No, I didn’t- That’s not what I meant,” Sam says, scrambling to his knees and waving his arms around stupidly.
With hopeful eyes, Jamie looks up, though he’s cautious, like he’s not sure he can trust Sam even means any of that. Like he expected Sam not to care, but hadn’t expected him to say it.
“I don’t want to ever get a letter, I want you to live, Jamie,” Sam explains, nearly choking on the tears that are threatening to spill now. “I want you not need letters ready. I don’t want to read about everything that’s going on in your brain when it’s too late. I want you to talk to me, man. I want you to let me in.” He sniffles, a singular tear finding its way through. “I want you to fucking wake me up, Jamie.” He wipes at his face, suddenly so angry with Jamie. “Why the fuck didn’t you wake me up?”
Jamie stares at him with these big eyes, frozen in the face of Sam’s outburst and unsure what to do. The swearing probably scared him. Sam rarely swears. Sam rarely gets angry. And he’s not angry, he’s worried and upset, but now Jamie is looking at him with those eyes.
“Fuck,” Sam sighs, rubbing his face again and pinching his brow. He takes a deep breath and makes sure his voice is level, before he asks again: “Why didn’t you wake me up, Jamie? I thought I told you not to let me sleep if you woke up.”
Quietly – too quietly – Jamie shrugs, his knees still clutched to his chest. Then, with a soft voice, he whispers: “But I stayed ‘ere, didn’t I?”
“And I’m glad you did,” Sam says gently, tentatively moving closer and making his movements clear as he lays a hand on Jamie’s knees slowly. “I am, Jamie. Truly. It’s good that you stayed here. But you need to let me watch you. If you don’t want me to tell, I need to be sure you’re not in danger. I can’t know if you’re in danger, if you don’t wake me. Does that make sense?”
“I weren’t in danger though,” Jamie replies, not out of malice, but out of pure confusion.
“You’re writing suicide letters,” Sam reminds him.
“Yeah, but I weren’t killing meself yet,” Jamie says. “I were jus’ writing them, ‘cause it helps get the urge out sometimes. Like if I write the letters, then I’ll get the bad out and then maybe it’ll leave, y’know?”
Sam’s heart aches for the earnestness with which Jamie tries to explain his reasoning behind writing the letters as he let Sam sleep. “Does that work?”
“Sometimes,” Jamie answers, looking back at the notepad. “Makes me feel like I got me business in order. Like someone knows why it’s all shit and it’s not all swirling ‘round in me brain. I mean, the whole bein’ institutionalized thing fucking sucked, right? But the talk therapy bit weren’t so bad. Jus’ blabbering on about meself.”
“You could have woken me up and told me,” Sam tells him, unsure if the desperate wish for Jamie to let him in bleeds through.
Jamie shakes his head again and tries to make his voice lighter than the situation has been as he replies: “Nah, you needed the rest.”
“I needed to be with you more,” Sam points out.
“I was fine,” Jamie promises. A promise that Sam doesn’t believe, even if Jamie seems intent to maintain it.
“But you know you can talk to me, right?” Sam prods again, because he needs Jamie to know it. He might not be able to fix everything and half of it might not even have a rational reason, just brains being brains, but it would feel like he is helping. Like he has a grip on what’s going around in Jamie’s mind when he feels so awful and he’ll have Sam’s voice in there too to dispute the horrible shit that has been shoved in there, let him drown it out.
“That’s nice,” Jamie says, not really agreeing.
He’s not getting anywhere with this. Jamie doesn’t want to let him in. It fucking stings and Sam hates it, but it’s true. It might be unfair to expect it of Jamie after only being let in on this five nights ago, but Sam can’t help but want to know anyway.
However, it is late and Jamie should be sleeping. Sam too, but Sam had been sleeping while Jamie had been writing suicide letters for god knows how long. “When did you wake up?” he asks, switching tactics to get different information.
“Hour, hour and a half ago,” Jamie shrugs, his face releasing a pinch of tension when Sam stops pushing.
Shit. That is a long time. A lot can happen in that time. And Sam just slept on, completely useless to do anything, if Jamie had needed him to step in. Sam feels useless and a bit tricked. He can’t believe he fell for Jamie’s insistence that he’s fine. Maybe not to the extent everyone else does, but he did buy into Jamie telling him that he can be left alone, that he doesn’t try to kill himself all the time. It might be true to an extend, but it doesn’t mean Sam can let his guard down.
Swallowing down the awful feeling as to not make Jamie feel guilty – guilt isn’t productive in making someone do anything, it’s not going to help – Sam asks: “What woke you up?”
“Me phone. Jus’ some stupid text from me dad,” Jamie answers a bit too casually. “He wanted some money, asked me why I hadn’t yet. ‘pparently he’d asked for it after the match. Me stupid brain just didn’t remember.”
“Oh no, I am so sorry, Jamie. I would listen to those for you,” Sam says, the awful feeling only growing. He told Jamie he would and he forgot. No wonder Jamie isn’t asking him for help again, he can’t build on Sam.
“’s alright. I listened to most of ‘em already. Probably jus’ forgot meself,” Jamie assures him, which only makes him feel worse. “Besides, you shouldn’t have to do that. He’s my dad, y’know? I know how to handle him.”
Sure, Sam thinks bitterly, that is why you were writing suicide letters after talking to him, because he’s the first reason why you ever wanted to kill yourself. Of course that’s not worrying at all and I shouldn’t even dare to consider offering help when it comes to dealing with him.
But he swallows it down too. He’s not blaming Jamie for being suicidal, he’s sure Jamie would rather also not feel like that. “You shouldn’t have to. I could have. I do not mind. I want to help, remember?”
“You do. Help, y’know. It’s- it’s nice, havin’ you ‘ere. Cooking and shit. Cleaning up after me like I’m some fucking kid,” Jamie says, the genuine softness turning into a self-deprecating sneer halfway through the sentence.
“I’m glad I help,” Sam says, because he is. It’s good to hear as well, especially when he feels like such a fuck up. “And you shouldn’t talk like that about yourself. You need help and I am helping.”
“Shouldn’t need help with me laundry at twenty-three, Obisanya,” Jamie bites.
“Who gives a shit,” Sam replies, surprising Jamie out of his wry expression.
“Wha’?”
“Who gives a shit,” Sam repeats. “We all have periods where we need things that others think we shouldn’t, but it’s not hurting anyone for me to do your dishes. In fact, it is better to do them, than to leave them be. Other people can shut up.”
“Wow,” Jamie gapes at him, before he schools his expression into a lopsided smirk. “Cool it down with the fire there, lad.”
“I cannot help, if I am passionate,” Sam shrugs. “I believe it and you should too. There is no shame in needing help.” Jamie still looks skeptical, so Sam says: “Did you know, I made my father check under the bed for monsters until I was sixteen? I heard a scary story when I was camping when I was eight and it stayed with me for eight years.” A beat. “Then I got drawers installed under my bed, so they wouldn’t have space to hide.”
Jamie snorts out a laugh at that. Success. It’s a little embarrassing, but Sam doesn’t mind embarrassing himself a little to make Jamie laugh. He’s clearly embarrassed enough by the way his own mental health is affecting his living space. He shouldn’t feel like he’s alone in such a thing.
“Here, let’s put these away and try to sleep again. You also need rest for tomorrow,” Sam says, reaching to take the letters from Jamie. He isn’t planning on reading them, he swears, but Jamie snatches them back anyway.
Sam freezes and Jamie grimaces apologetically. “I’ll put them away meself, don’t worry,” he says, quickly getting out the bed.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean-” Sam starts, getting off the bed as well to follow Jamie.
However, Jamie doesn’t leave the room, just squats down by the desk Sam hadn’t put much thought in before now. “It’s okay,” he cuts the apology off, opening a drawer, which by the looks of it, is filled with papers.
The sight makes Sam’s stomach curdle again. How many times has Jamie sat there, writing letters just in case? How many times did he have to update all the reasons why he felt like he wanted to die? How many dark things are hidden in all those pages of writing. Sam wants to know, but he knows that he can’t. “I would not break your trust like that, you know that, right, Jamie?”
“I do,” Jamie assures him, even throwing a quick smile over his shoulder. “It’s just private, innit.”
“Yeah, no, of course. You can keep it to yourself,” Sam assures him. Before he can’t help himself. “As long as you know that I am here, if you ever change your mind.”
“Cheers, mate, ‘ppreciate tha’,” Jamie says without taking Sam up on the offer. He merely closes the drawer, locking his secrets in there.
He gets into the bed and curls up on his side like there is nothing out of the ordinary. As if getting caught writing suicide letters doesn’t require any further conversation and he can drift off peacefully like nothing is wrong. Like this is normal.
It probably is for him.
Sam hates it.
Not that he’s telling Jamie that, though. Sam just curls up behind him a plays along… But it’s only a play. Sam is not falling for Jamie’s mask again – though, he sometimes doubts that is a mask. It’s not the same act he puts on when they get to the Dogtrack, the one designed to keep people from being suspicious that Jamie is anything other than okay. This doesn’t feel like that. It seems more that Jamie doesn’t realize half of what he does, is cause for concern. That this isn’t normal and he needs help.
Regardless, he’s not dropping his guard and going along with Jamie again. Sam isn’t going to mess up. He is holding Jamie’s life in his hands, literally. He can’t afford to slip up the way he has these past few nights. Jamie’s life is worth more than Sam’s rest.
So, while he takes Jamie into his arms as he always does, he doesn’t allow himself to fall asleep. Instead, he keeps watch for the rest of the night, making sure there are no new notifications or other worries, that will wake Jamie.
~~
A/N:
Jamie needs a support system, not just for himself, but for the people he leans on too. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t realize that, but it is a thing. Like, he never asked for Sam’s help, this is normal for him. And he appreciates it, but he also doesn’t see the need of it, or the toll it takes on Sam, because for him, it isn’t that serious. If that makes sense?
Since Phoebe is 6 years old in season 1 this means that she was born in 2014, which — aside from making me feel old — opens up the potential of Roy missing her birth to play in the world cup... much angst potential to consider...
Reading an older fic and @schrijverr pointed out something I never thought of.
Jamie doesn’t have to know about his dad & mates beating on Beard later in the middle of the night. He can see the black eye on the person who dragged his dad out of the dressing room. He has the timeline wrong but the right answer anyway.
It's truly something that rotates in my brainnnn. The fact that we never get an aftermath of Wembley or any sort of acknowledgment from the characters that it happened is wild to me. Like the show glosses over it, but there is so much packed into episode 8 and 9. I need to know what Jamie's reaction was to coming back into training after that and seeing Beard with a black eye. Like I wonder if he said anything or if he couldn't look him in the eye, wonder if Beard did or stayed silent too, wonder if anyone else in that locker room made the connection. Wonder what Ted thinks since he's the only one that saw Beard after he dragged James Sr out and knows he didn't have that black eye yet then. Like I need to know!!!
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, everyone is trying to get used to this Jamie and Sam, trying to figure out what is happening and how to hold themselves in regard to it. Jamie isn’t hissing and spitting anymore, but the energy of the pitch is hard to bring home and he’s still drowning silently.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 9: See I Spent my Teens Enraged, Spiraling in Silence
With Jamie committed to Ted’s strategy, training is… weird, but not in a bad way. He’s still loud and cocky and he has to remind himself to not shit talk too much, but it works. He’s actually playing with everyone, actually being helpful. In his own way.
Everyone might be continuously be confused throughout the whole thing, which does impact their play at points, however, they are no longer getting more and more fed up with Jamie. They’re even friendly back and Sam can see how Jamie feeds off the energy. He’s closer to a puppy by the end of training than his usual hissing cat vibe.
As they exit the pitch to take a break before weight training, Roy stops Sam. He nods over to Jamie and asks: “Are you ever gonna tell how the fuck you managed that?”
Sam runs through multiple answers in his head – the main one being: he’s suicidal, please be concerned and notice it, oh my god – but in the end, he merely says: “I was nice to him,” because as much as he appreciates Roy as his captain, being in Jamie’s world has opened his eyes to the way he has been less than stellar at fulfilling that role for the entire team.
Roy looks as if he’s been slapped, which is honestly a good reaction. He should be reflecting on that a bit. He should be realizing that he hasn’t been stepping up the way he should have. At least, not for Jamie. Maybe he’ll even realize that Jamie’s prick behavior is a mask. Maybe he’ll even get concerned about him. Maybe he’ll ask Jamie if he’s okay (and Jamie will snap, but Sam might be able to use it to convince him to tell Roy).
Without waiting for him to reply or make excuses, Sam shrugs off the hand on his shoulder and walks on, catching up to Jamie.
“What did the pensioner want?” Jamie asks when Sam falls into step next to him. Of course he noticed, he’s more observant about those sort of things than people give him credit for, and more insecure than people think too. He wants to know if Sam told, if Sam is turning on him.
“He wanted to know my Jamie whispering secrets, but I told him he’d have to figure it out himself. I did consider recommending tweezers, but I didn’t want him clenching his butthole again,” Sam answers honestly, throwing in humor to soften the blow of Jamie being right about them checking in with Sam and not him.
A few of their teammates that are walking with them give Sam a wide-eyed look. Sam ribbing their captain is unheard off and none of them know how to react, so they look at Jamie, basing their reaction to what Sam is doing on what Jamie will think.
Thankfully, the added humor works as intended. Jamie snorts, then says: “Like the sad old sod will ever consider doing shit ‘bout tha’, he still got his fucking sweater on. Zero hair management tha’ lad,” and the others also softly chuckle.
Sam smiles at that, then he carefully suggests: “You know, maybe if you stop calling him old and pushing all his buttons, he might stop yelling.”
Again, wide eyes are on him. No one really stands up to Jamie and tells him his behavior is part of the problem. And everyone is bracing for Jamie to be a huge cunt to Sam now and oust him once more after having accepted him in his inner circle.
When Jamie says nothing, Sam adds: “He was trying to figure out how to talk to you.” He doesn’t know for sure if it will do something for Jamie, but he takes the risk anyway. Jamie Tartt was a Roy Kent fanboy, was a mid-fielder for it. You can pick where you’re loaned. He wanted to go here. If he makes peace between the two, Jamie might want to open up to Roy.
It pays off.
Jamie turns back to where Roy is also walking down the tunnel, then calls out: “Oi, skipper!” Skipper, for once, not granddad or old man. A win.
“Fucking what?” Roy growls back, though it’s not aggressive, more cautious. The players between Jamie and Roy all get out of dodge anyway.
“You asking Sam ‘bout our secrets?” Jamie asks, Roy just growls again. Jamie likely didn’t care for an answer and doesn’t seem upset, because he cheerily adds: “He made me brill food, mate, you ain’t getting privileges like that for nowt.”
Sam’s eyebrows creep up alongside Roy’s. He didn’t know it’s okay to mention Sam has been to Jamie’s house to people. Or that they ate food together.
“Cheers,” Jamie grins cheekily at Roy, before turning back around and prancing into the facilities.
Colin next to him looks between the two, then asks Jamie: “Sam made you food, boyo?”
“Yeah, mate. Jollof,” Jamie answers and Sam is both surprised he remembers and that he’s sharing so willingly. Then he sees the evil glint in his eyes when Jamie adds: “You should definitely ask him to make it some time, you’d love it,” even though they all know Colin can’t hold spices for shit.
Jamie sends Sam a covert wink as Colin looks over at Sam, contemplating for a moment. It must be strange for him too, that before last match, Sam was someone you shouldn’t talk to if you wanted to remain Jamie’s friend and now Jamie is suggesting eating his cooking. He can understand wanting to belong, he did too, but he expects a sorry from both him and Isaac at some point as well.
“Uh, yeah, I might wanna try,” Colin says cautiously. “Sounds… good?”
He’s not demanding apologies right now, though, but he will go along with the scheme Jamie has set up. It will be a little funny to make Colin sweat. He smiles: “I would love to share. I might host team bonding, make some jollof for everyone.”
“Good plan, bruv,” Isaac nods, also awkward.
In the locker room, Sam grabs two protein bars out of his bag and hands one to Jamie, he also gives him the extra water bottle he packed for him. Jamie takes them with a confused look and says: “Since do we got the same bottle?”
“We don’t. It’s yours,” Sam tells him. “You should drink more water.”
“I drink plenty water,” Jamie scowls.
Sam sends him a look that hopefully conveys ‘are you really trying to tell the person who is watching you 24/7, including when you piss, that they’re wrong about the habits they observed? Or do you want me to explain this to you out loud in front of everyone?’
“But, uh, can’t hurt to drink more,” Jamie walks it back, having received the message.
“Good.”
From the coach’s office, Ted is watching the two of them, Sam can feel his eyes. He wonders what Ted is making of all this, what is going through his mind. Wonders if he is taking it at face value or if he’s aware that something is off about their newfound friendship, if he’s worried. Sam hopes he’s worried. That he thinks it’s strange how quickly Jamie changed his tune with Sam and there is something other than common ground beneath it. That he can see their friendship is build on something that’s not just good old team bonding, but a worried stepping up and a reluctant allowance for help.
He doesn’t turn to make eye contact, though, afraid of what would be showing in his eyes. He doesn’t want to betray Jamie’s trust, doesn’t want to fuck with the foundation of this newfound alliance between them. Doesn’t want Ted to check in with him too.
Sam maintains this subtle avoidance of Ted for the rest of training, doing weights with the others as well as some more cardio. Hits the showers, then follows Jamie to the parking lot.
Just like when they went to Sam’s house, Jamie had insisted on driving this morning. Well, he had first insisted on taking separate cars, but Sam had put his foot down, so then Jamie had insisted on driving, which Sam had allowed as compromise.
“You guys came in together?” Isaac asks when he sees Sam open the passenger side door of Jamie’s car.
“Gave ‘im a lift,” Jamie answers curtly.
To build on that, Sam explains: “We’ve both been given accommodations by Richmond, so we are in the same neighborhood. Carpooling is more eco friendly.”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Isaac says, frown lightening up somewhat, but clearly adding this new piece to the confusing puzzle that is this friendship that he is observing. Maybe Jamie will want to tell Isaac? They’re already friendly and Isaac is a sturdy person. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, mate, bye.”
“Goodbye, Isaac.”
On the drive back, Jamie blasts music, but he doesn’t sing along. He’s not smiling anymore either. It is easy to forget how much of an act Jamie puts up, even when you have born witness to his low moments, but Sam is reminded now. Football energized him, but now football is over and the exhaustion with life hits again.
When they get home, Jamie walks into the house, still silent and stumbles over to the couch where he collapses. He doesn’t close his eyes, just stares out into the room with those dull, vacant eyes Sam remembers from before.
Sam is worried about him, but he doesn’t know if that worry will be welcome. He makes sure he can keep one eye on the couch, then goes to make some tea. He does not get it entirely, but British people seem to like getting tea in any situation, so it’ll at least be familiar to Jamie.
He puts the mug on the table in front of Jamie and sits on the bit of space still left on the couch. He takes a few sips of his own tea in silence, deciding what to do. He wants to ask Jamie what is wrong, but he already knows in a way and Jamie doesn’t seem in the mood to talk to him.
After a moment of deliberation, he puts on the TV to something that is just background noise, before taking his own mug in one hand, resting his other on Jamie’s back. He doesn’t say anything, just sits there with him. He feels utterly useless, but none of the words swirling around his head feel right.
The two of them are on that couch for an hour like that, before Sam softly says: “I’m going to make dinner, I’ll be right in the kitchen if you need me.”
Jamie doesn’t answer, his cup of tea still sits on the coffee table untouched. It’s cold now.
As Sam works on dinner, he tries to keep the noise to a minimum and makes sure to glance at Jamie at every opportunity. He doesn’t want him to pull a fast one again. He hasn’t seen this quiet, listless side much since that first night and he hasn’t seen it to this extend. He wonders how Jamie did it all before now. If he came home and laid there often, until it was time to go to work again. He remembers Jamie after the match. How long it had taken him to open the door, how untouched the house had been. He fears he might be right.
He plates dinner once it done, leaving it on the counter for a moment. If he can convince Jamie to move to the table that might be good, but he’s not going to push it. He squats next to the couch, so he can look Jamie in the eyes, relieved when Jamie blinks and his eyes come back into focus slightly. “There is food. Come eat?”
“Hm,” is all Jamie responds, before he closes his eyes tiredly.
“Jamie, you need to eat,” Sam says, voice starting to show the worry and fear. “If I bring the plate here, will you eat then?”
Jamie’s eyes crack open a smidgen and Sam puts on his best pleading expression. With a thick and slow voice, Jamie answers: “Wha’. ‘re y’gonna feed ‘t t’me too?”
“If it’ll get you to eat, I’ll even make airplane noises,” Sam says very seriously. He would. Especially when the comment is enough to make Jamie’s lip twitch.
“Fine.”
It’s not much in form of an answer, but it’s Jamie being willing to try, so Sam is taking it. Smiling wide, he says: “I’ll get the plates.”
Jamie gets up from where he’s lying very slowly, moving as if through quicksand and slumping into bad posture when he’s up, rubbing his face with a heavy hand. He takes the plate from Sam with clumsy hands, but it survives the journey into his lap.
Sam sits down next to him, watching Jamie and waiting. Sluggishly, Jamie gets some of the food on his fork, bringing it to his mouth and chewing slowly. Nothing about his face shows that he doesn’t like it, but the opposite is also not visible. Sam waits with taking his first bite until Jamie has swallowed and is moving to take a second.
They eat in silence while Sam tries very hard not to make Jamie feel like he is being watched. Jamie eats as if it takes monumental effort and, for him, it probably does. But he’s eating.
It takes forever and Sam is done way before Jamie, but he’s slowly and steadily making his way through the meal, eating robotically without anything on his face. He doesn’t finish all of it, but it’s enough. When he’s done, he lets the fork clatter on his plate and slouches back.
If he lets Jamie lie back down, Sam is pretty sure he’s not getting him back up and they can’t spend the night on the couch. He’s going to make sure Jamie takes better care of himself than that. So he takes the plate before it can fall, puts it on the coffee table with his own and gets up, holding out his hand for Jamie to take. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”
“Ugh,” is the only thing Jamie responds, slouching down further.
“I know,” he says sympathetically, grabbing Jamie’s hand, but not yet pulling, just preventing him from lying down. “But you’ll feel better in the bed. You don’t even have to change or do anything, just come lay down upstairs, okay?”
The way Jamie’s eyes flick between their joined hands and the couch tells Sam that Jamie wants to be arguing about this. He doesn’t want to move, he’s too tired to. He’s also too tired to argue that point.
“We don’t fit on the couch together and I will sleep on the floor if I must, but I’d prefer it if we make it to the bed. It’s just one flight of stairs, we can do this together, yes?” Sam tries to encourage Jamie, not sure if it’s working or if he’s making it worse. Is he guilt tripping him? Is he making him feel bad? Well… more bad probably.
He doesn’t know, but what he does know is that Jamie grips his hand a little tighter and gives a small nod, allowing Sam to pull him up from the couch.
Jamie shuffles and leans heavily on the railing as he moves up the stairs with the grace of an elderly person recovering from hip replacement surgery rather than a youthful footballer at the height of his career. But he is moving, so Sam just stays behind him, ready to support him if he stumbles. He doesn’t, thankfully. He makes it safely to the bed and collapses like he had done on the couch.
“You did so well. Thank you, Jamie. I’m proud of you,” he says, rubbing Jamie’s back. He means every word too. Jamie could have not tried, could have told Sam he couldn’t and Sam would have believed him and stayed downstairs with him. However, Jamie did try and he made it. That is an achievement as far as Sam is concerned.
In response, Jamie rolls his head to the side, so he has Sam in his peripheral, looking at him through a squint. Sam isn’t sure what he’s thinking, but Sam smiles at him anyway. Jamie’s expression doesn’t change and instead he rolls his head back to be face down on the mattress again.
“Would you like to brush your teeth? I’ll bring you a cup to spit in and your toothbrush. You won’t have to get up,” Sam asks. Jamie brushed his teeth this morning and this will be the first time he misses since Sam started watching him, so if Jamie refuses, he won’t prod more than he already has. However, he feels like he should ask. He hates going to bed without brushing his teeth and he doesn’t want Jamie to be in discomfort.
Jamie rolls his head back and forth in a no.
“Okay, that’s alright,” Sam assures him, rubbing his back again, before popping over to the en suite real quick to brush his teeth, keeping the door open so he can keep an eye on Jamie.
Once his teeth are brushed he changes into his pajamas and asks: “Should I take your jeans off? Seems uncomfortable to sleep in,” since Jamie is still in his day clothes.
At that, Jamie just shrugs, which Sam takes as a yes, so he warns: “I’ll be touching you now,” waiting a moment before getting the jeans off Jamie. Jamie isn’t much help, so it takes a moment, but Sam does manage to wrangle him free. The shirt Jamie is wearing seems comfortable enough, so he leaves that part be.
Sam gets into the bed, leaning against the headboard. It’s way too early to go to sleep. Jamie is still diagonally across the bed, just face down. Sam is not leaving him like that. Grabbing Jamie under his pits, he drags him up, so Jamie is leaning on his chest, while Sam leans against the headboard.
It’s concerning how Jamie just lets it happen, but at least there’s some curiosity in his eyes about what the fuck Sam thinks he’s doing. It’s not much, but it’s an emotion and that’s a start.
He runs his hand over Jamie’s back and pulls him closer, cuddling up to him. It’s not the first time they’ve cuddled, but it’s the first time they aren’t going to sleep yet. But Sam just wants Jamie close to assure himself that Jamie is okay, and Jamie isn’t protesting or tensing.
With Jamie securely by his side, Sam pulls out his phone and opens an app he has on there. “I play this on the bus,” Sam admits in a soft voice. “You have these generators that make food and you can merge them to level up and make recipes to fill orders and renovate the restaurant. You go through all sorts of countries. It’s quite accurate, actually.”
Jamie doesn’t respond, but that has been par for the course, so Sam doesn’t take it to heart. He plays the game, keeping up a quiet stream of words. He explains what type of food he’s making in the game and how it holds up to real life, if he’s ever had it before, if he even wants to, or if it was difficult to make.
All throughout, Jamie doesn’t say a word, but he is actually looking at the screen, instead of staring off into space. Sam thinks that is an improvement, so he keeps it up.
He usually tries not to indulge too much in fucking around on his phone, but he can make an exception today. The two of them end up sitting there watching Sam play for about two hours. The shoulder Jamie is leaning on has fallen asleep and his back hurts a little, but it’s peaceful and filled with less dread and worry than the silence had been before.
When that time has passed, Jamie suddenly clenches the hand that has been on Sam’s chest, the fabric warping in his grip. Sam pauses mid word, looking down at Jamie curiously. Jamie is looking straight a head, not meeting his eyes, however, after a long pause, he whispers: “Thanks.”
His voice sounds rough but grateful in a deeply tragic way. Sam’s heart clenches at the sound and he pulls Jamie closer. “Of course,” he manages to choke out, swallowing thickly, before clearing his throat and clicking to the check the next recipe.
Jamie doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the evening, but goes easily when Sam declares it is time for bed, letting Sam roll them into the same spooning position they’ve had for the past few nights.
Sam can’t tell if Jamie sleeps that night or if he just lays there. He himself drops off at some point, but Jamie keeps breathing evenly, body still. Sam hopes he does. Hopes it helps.
But he can’t be sure, because when morning comes, Jamie is still quiet. He only grunts when Sam tells him “Good morning,” and shrugs after Sam asks if he slept well. He’s moving again, but it’s mechanical as he gets out of bed and goes to take his medication, before getting dressed. His face remains devoid of any expression. He doesn’t even protest when Sam offers to drive to the Dogtrack today, wordlessly handing him the keys.
In the car, he closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting Sam’s music wash over him wordlessly. It is a little uncanny and Sam is starting to wonder what the hell he’s telling people when they get there and Jamie is still like this. Starts to wonder if they should have stayed home.
However, then they get to the Nelson Road and Jamie takes a deep breath, throwing open the car door and getting out with his shoulders back, head held high.
Sam follows as Jamie marches into the building, watching with a sick sort of fascination as Jamie morphs his face into his usual smirk, before throwing open the door in a dramatic fashion. Some of the players greet them and he nods back, clapping Isaac on the shoulder and getting to his cubby. He barely says a thing, but it doesn’t feel as if something out of the ordinary is happening.
Suddenly Sam wonders how many times Jamie scraped himself together in the morning and appeared, quieter than he usually is, but not enough for people to notice. He remembers Jamie telling him Keeley never even noticed when they were dating. How good he is at this.
He has to look away, before he throws up or starts crying or just screams in frustration. Jamie is so good at hiding and Sam feels helpless. Jamie might have thanked him for sitting with him last night, but they can’t do this forever. Jamie is right. At some point his loan will be up and he’ll go back to Manchester and he won’t have anyone except his dad looking out for him. His dad who makes him want to kill himself in the first place.
The feeling is not made better by the fact that he catches Roy’s eyes when he looks away from Jamie. There must have been something on his face, because Roy’s brows furrow more and he looks at Jamie, then back at Sam, quirking a brow as he asks with his expression if Sam is okay.
Sam is fine.
Sam didn’t crumble in on himself yesterday.
Sam didn’t struggle through being a hollow husk.
Sam didn’t scrape himself together this morning.
Sam didn’t put on a mask.
Sam is fine.
He’s fine.
Roy needs to mind his business, he thinks angrily, looking away. He rubs his face harshly, then takes a deep breath. They’ll have football. Football makes him feel better and hopefully it’ll make Jamie feel a bit better too. They’re going to get through this.
It’s only been four nights since he found out that Jamie is suicidal. It feels like a lot longer, but it isn’t. It’s just been a lot.
Jamie had a bad night and Sam is going to keep a close eye on him throughout training, but he shouldn’t catastrophize immediately. The season is far from over, he still has more time to convince Jamie to tell someone, anyone. He just has to see it through.
With that reminder to himself, he starts getting ready for training. He needs to outrun all the thoughts in his head for a bit.
~~
A/N:
As much as Sam chose to do this and does it willingly and Jamie, in fact, actively told him not to, it is a lot of responsibility and this fic is not just about Jamie and Jamie’s shit, so here we are; Sam is starting to crack a little
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, Roy steps in to protect Sam from what he views as a new development in Jamie’s bullying. When Sam comes to Jamie’s defense, the entire team is thrown for a loop as they are forced to settle in around this new development they can’t explain, while Sam begins understand why Jamie is so prickly with Roy and Ted.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 8: Oh God, How Can We Keep Missing Signals?
With Roy stepping in, the attention the two of them had already gotten gets more focused and pronounced. Sam wants to sink into the floor slightly, because this is definitely not going to end well.
A feeling which is proven correct when Jamie exclaims: “What are you on about, you wanker? I didn’t even do nothing. He’s the one tha’ were ‘overing. Basically harassment, really.”
“I don’t know what you did to Sam to make him you little lap dog, but you cut that shit out right now, you prick,” Roy says threateningly, jabbing a finger at Jamie, who is just grinning at him, a manic tint to his eyes.
Sam stands there frozen. He hadn’t expected anyone to be making such a fuss and, truly, Jamie did nothing. He isn’t lying, he’s just making it seem like he is. Why is he winding Roy up when he didn’t even do anything? How can Sam stop this from happening?
Jamie shoots back: “I said I didn’t do anything. Were you even listening or do you need to get your ears checked or some shit? I know the elderly go deaf.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” Roy roars charging forwards, getting stopped by Isaac and Richard before he can reach Jamie.
And Jamie just laughs more, that prick-like smirk sitting comfortably on his face, daring Roy to go through with it. It makes Sam nauseous. Roy often threatens that, but he’d always thought that Jamie stayed cool, because he knew Roy would never. However, now he’s starting to think that, maybe, Jamie doesn’t know. That he just doesn’t care. If Roy takes him out, he won’t have to do it himself, might make the whole thing easier on him.
Fuck, he needs to put a stop to this, Sam thinks desperately. He jumps in: “Stop it! Jamie did not do anything.”
“You don’t have to defend the little prick,” Roy spits, glaring at Jamie.
Jamie winks back, walls higher than Sam has seen them after the last three nights. He thinks you are on their side, Sam’s brain provides. He thinks you believe what they do, that he’s an arrogant twat who deserves nothing good and to only be put in his place. He thinks it’s them versus him and he’s all alone without any back up. He still doesn’t believe you.
“I’m not,” Sam says, stepping between Roy and Jamie, shielding Jamie from Roy’s eyes. “I am not defenseless and I don’t need you fighting my battles for me, especially when there is nothing going on. I was simply checking on my teammate.”
Roy calms down a bit, but he’s still scowling deeply, this time with concern instead of rage in his eyes. Sam wishes he’d be concerned about Jamie for a change, suddenly annoyed at the captain, who does expect his ring to be kissed, he realizes now that Jamie has pointed it out. “I don’t know what the fuck he told you, but you don’t have to fucking cover for him, Sam.”
The annoyance spikes and in a fit of stupid bravery, Sam says: “I’m not covering for him. Granddad.”
Silence.
Shocked and utter silence.
Sam’s heart feels like it is going to burst out of his ribcage with anxiety at the fact that he just said that, but he keeps staring Roy down. Keeps his head high regardless of the way the whole locker room is looking at him. Everyone knows you don’t just say that. Sam has taken a stance.
This whole season, the locker room has been divided and while Ted is trying to mend it, the cracks are still visible. Before today, Sam has always been on the same side that Roy has been on. Even when he was trying to gain Jamie’s approval, he never managed in belong to that side. That has changed now.
“What the fuck,” Roy says quietly but passionately, eyes flicking back over to Jamie, as if he’s expecting him to have answers about why Sam just said that.
Glancing back, Jamie looks to be just as surprised as everyone else, maybe even more so. However, Sam can recognize the small awe that is tinging the surprise and he knows it was the right move in getting him to trust Sam. So he walks to his cubby and changes in silence. No one else says another word either.
He heads out for the pitch the second he is done changing, feeling the locker room suffocating him. As he does, he can hear Jamie call out: “Wait a mo’, Sam,” as he rushes after him. Sam thinks that might honestly be weirder for everyone else than Sam’s earlier explosion, but he tries not to think about it.
Jamie catches up to him and falls into step next to him. Softly he says: “You didn’t ‘ave to do tha’, you know tha’, right, mate? It’s okay. I know Roy is your friend.”
“Roy is my captain, I’m not sure he is anyone’s friend on this team. He keeps to himself,” Sam says. “And I didn’t mind. It was a little rude of him to accuse you over nothing and then get mad and not believe you. He is the captain, he should know better. Besides, I did not care for him thinking that I cannot handle myself and needed to be rescued. I am as much an adult as him or you.”
“Well, you at least let him know with a bang,” Jamie says, dropping the semi-guilty look for something a bit more friendly and devilish as he bumps his shoulder against Sam’s. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Obisanya.”
“Oh, I definitely do not, that was one of the scariest things I have ever done,” Sam confesses, letting the nerves out now that no one else can see him.
At least it makes Jamie cackle.
“I’m serious, I don’t know how you do it. I would be too scared to face Roy’s eyebrows every day,” Sam says, pushing it now that it amuses Jamie.
“The eyebrows are the scariest bit. I mean, has the geezer ever heard of some tweezers you think? It’s like a jungle up there,” Jamie jokes back. “It helps to think that every time he yells, he has to clench his bum. Like big man Roy Kent walks around all day with his arsehole clenched. Gotta be bad for shitting.”
“Oh my god,” Sam snorts, that does actually help a little. At his reaction, Jamie grins proudly.
They make their way to the pitch where they now have to wait for everyone else to show up. Sam is sure some weird speech is being given about unlikely friendships and building bridges. Ted probably agrees with Roy, Ted is probably going to pull Sam aside on check on him later. For the first time, he understands Jamie’s frustrations with it all.
As much as Jamie is being a prick, he is also lashing out. This doesn’t excuse any of it, but it should raise a flag with management, with his captain. However, everyone seems content to write Jamie off and check up on Sam, not check in with Jamie. No wonder he thinks they’re all against him.
“Why do you let them blame you all the time?” he asks, his quiet musings coming out without a thought, before he remembers how badly that can end. “Not that you have to tell them or anything. I get why you might not want to. I just meant that you let them believe you’re a prick when you can be nice. Why piss them off so much?”
“They’re more predictable like tha’,” Jamie shrugs, flopping back on the field from where he’d been stretching. “’sides, what’re they even gonna do? Hold me ickle hand and tell me it’s gonna be okay? Lot of good tha’ll do.”
“They can become predictable in a different way. Coach will give his American speeches regardless, so that won’t change and Beard will probably keep being quiet. And Roy still yells at you, even when he likes you. There’d just be less ‘oi, you prick’ and more ‘oi, keep it up’, you know,” Sam argues gently.
“Your Roy impression is fucking shit, mate,” Jamie laughs, not responding to any of what Sam said on a deeper level.
“Like yours is better,” Sam shoots back.
“Oi, Tartt, you prick,” Jamie says gruffly, in a way that is very reminiscent of their captain, were it not for the Mancunian accent.
“Okay, that was pretty good,” Sam concedes.
“Told you.”
Sam rolls his eyes, then circles back. “All I’m saying, is that you can try being more constructive with everyone. You don’t have to tell, but maybe you can try doing it coach’s way. Roy is already going to be suspicious the entirety of training, might as well weird him out more by being nice. Maybe everyone will think we body swapped.”
“Tha’s actually pretty fucking funny,” Jamie says and Sam fist pumps internally. He knew that playing into Jamie’s sharpness would work out better than trying to convince him to show a softer side of himself to everyone.
As much as he believes in their coaches, that display back there has put a damper on his spirits a little bit. With how eager they are to think Jamie a trouble maker, he can understand Jamie not trusting them with this.
He still thinks more people knowing would be a good idea. He doesn’t mind being Jamie’s suicide watch, but it is draining and making him nervous and worried. Knowing there would be other people watching Jamie closely and with intent, would ease some of that. And Jamie needs a broader support network, needs people other than his dad he can rely on, so they can work on getting his dad out of Jamie’s life.
However, he doesn’t say any of that. He’s pushed enough for now. So instead he sits across from Jamie and says: “Let’s do some duo stretches.”
The others find them helping each other stretch, shooting the two of them weird looks as they all go and do the same. Sam feels the back of his neck burning and his gut churns slightly, but Jamie is entirely unbothered, even winks at Isaac when he sits near them to stretch. So Sam latches onto his energy and follows his lead.
From the corner of his eye, he can see Ted hovering, wanting to say something to Sam, but hesitating. If it was another day, Sam would have made eye contact and asked if he needed anything, but he is being on Jamie’s side now. He’s getting Jamie to believe it, finally. So, he has to see it through.
They start running drills without Sam and Ted having spoken a word.
The drills go by pretty normally. It’s not until they get out on the pitch for a scrimmage that the stares that had died down, return. To start with Sam completely bowling over Bumbercatch, who’d been on the second team temporarily for his knee, but he’ll be back as a starter soon. Regardless, Sam destroys him and scores.
It says a lot about him that everyone stares at him with wide eyes when that happens. Well, everyone except Jamie, who only worsens everyone’s expressions by crowing: “You see that, lads. That is Bumbercatch eating fucking dirt! As always.”
Embarrassed by it all, Sam hisses: “Jamie.”
“What, mate? Fucking celebrate,” Jamie shrugs. “Not my fault Bumber here likes lying on the fucking grass so much.” Then he sees Sam rub his face, before he sees Bumbercatch glare at him. And Jamie, in his infinite wisdom goes: “Oohhhh, is tha’- I were bein’ a prick, weren’t I?”
“Yes, Jamie,” Sam nods, not even trying to meet anyone’s eyes, because he’s pretty sure they’re all trying to catch his just to ask what the fuck is happening. Sam doesn’t know what’s happening either. It has been a weird couple of days.
Jamie turns back to Bumbercatch and says: “You slide too much, lad. Dunno what to tell you, Sam got your arse in the time it took you to get the fuck back up and now you’re already on the floor again, it ain’t always fucking useful,” then he walks off without offering Bumbercatch a hand. It was a solid first try, Sam decides.
Confused but happy-go-lucky as always, Ted steps in. “Good work, Sam. Mighty proud of you. And keep up that energy, Jamie. I appreciate you tryin’.”
“Sure,” Jamie scoffs, giving Ted a frown that could be interpreted as mean, but Sam can now see is mostly confused.
“Thank you, coach,” Sam says, because while he doesn’t want Ted to check on him about Jamie, he also doesn’t want Ted to think Sam dislikes him or is turning to mutiny alongside Jamie.
“Let’s run that defense set up again, fellas, back to your places,” Ted says, clapping his hand in an attempt to get everyone moving and out of the stupor. He probably hopes that if no one comments too much on it, Jamie will keep it up. Sam hopes the same.
On their second and third run through, nothing much happens. Jamie steals the ball, Jamie scores, Jamie celebrates. Sam gives him a clap on the back and a smile, but that is fortunately not as strange as all the other stuff, so it slides by.
By the fourth run through, the defense has tightened up more. It’s a defensive strategy they’re training, so Sam and Jamie don’t have to run a particular move. However, defense is starting to get it and Sam can see Jamie maneuvering himself in a difficult position.
He himself is unmarked, mostly due to the fact that Jamie doesn’t pass anyway, so why bother, but also because Sam knows where the defense is moving to and can evade, all while keeping track of the ball’s location. When he sees Jamie’s position in regards to the goal and himself, he calls out: “Jamie! Left!”
Jamie’s eyes flick to him, then to Dawkins. Dawkins is moving left now, thinking Jamie will zag that way due to Sam’s call. It would be a smart move with Jamie’s usual style of play, since it will clear him, even though the shot is difficult. Jamie is good enough to make it.
But him and Jamie know that is not what he meant.
While training together yesterday, Jamie suddenly said: “Oi, your left foot cross. It’s aces, innit?”
“Uhm, yeah. I mean, it’s pretty good,” Sam replied, not sure where this had been going, since Jamie had an expression on his face that made it seem like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.
“Teach meh?” Jamie asked, very pointedly not meeting Sam’s eyes.
Having caught that this was a pretty big deal, Sam had done so without comment on Jamie admitting to Sam being better than him at something. It wasn’t the time to gloat, that wouldn’t be helpful.
It’s that moment that Sam is thinking off right now, calling to Jamie to pass of all things, using a move he isn’t outstandingly amazing at to boot. He has no clue if Jamie will listen, if anything Sam has done these past few days has gotten through to him. If he’ll try or if he’ll go for maintaining the glory spot his dad wants him to maintain.
Jamie makes the pass.
He flicks his foot in a determined and skilled manner, using the ankle position they’d drilled together yesterday and the ball is flying to a wide open Sam, who is there to hammer it in.
The second the ball hits the back of the net, Sam is cheering, running with a fist pump towards Jamie and picking him up in his excitement, yelling: “That pass was amazing!”
In order not to fall over, Jamie clutches him back, freezing for a moment, before he sinks into it, grinning as he jumps with Sam as he shouts back: “I fucking nailed tha’! You fucking nailed tha’!”
“We did!” Sam grins, still shaking Jamie, though slowing down a little as he notices the rest of the pitch is deathly silent.
Thankfully, Ted is clapping again, before it can get too uncomfortable. “Well done, Jamie. Way to make that extra pass. I knew you could do it. That was great, keep it up. Sam, amazing goal.”
“Tsk, I didn’t do it for you, you wanker,” Jamie scowls, instantly defensive at Ted’s kindness. Like Ted is saying something underhanded to him, instead of the pure relief that their star player is finally at least willing to try the strategy during training after so many weeks of rebukes.
Sam just elbows Jamie. He might be suicide watch, but he’s also Jamie’s friend and he’s not there to be his yes-man, he’s here to help him. Even if Jamie is determined to make it as difficult as possible to do so.
“Oi, what did you do tha’ for?” Jamie exclaims, rubbing his ribs where Sam’s elbow landed. Going off everyone’s looks, Sam is not sure if they’re more shocked by Jamie passing or Sam elbowing Jamie without fear of consequence.
“The polite thing would be to say thank you,” Sam says.
“When the fuck did I say I were polite?” Jamie scowls back, though Sam can see it’s more embarrassed from this close up.
“Never,” Sam sighs. “But coach is being constructive. He gave you a compliment.”
“For stupid shit,” Jamie crosses his arms now, determined to be a prick about it, because of course this is not going to go away with a few talks.
“You said you nailed it, he’s agreeing,” Sam says, throwing his hands up. “He’s being on your side! And passing isn’t stupid. It’s a team sport, remember?”
Jamie glares at Sam, then turns to Ted, expression turning into something more suspicious. After a long moment Jamie says: “Whatever. Cheers, coach. Don’t expect me to make it a habit.”
“Hey, as long as it’s an occasional indulgence, I’m already all for it,” Ted accepts that cheerfully. In part, because Sam is pretty sure Ted can’t do anything non-cheerfully, and in part because Ted also knows that this is a huge step for Jamie. He can practically see the edges of his mustache do an excited dance.
Isaac hasn’t gotten that memo, though, because he butts in with a loud: “Okay, are either of you fuckers going to tell us what the fuck’s going on?”
“Nowt’s going on,” Jamie instantly snaps back, sending Sam a look daring him to say shit.
The promise he made sits once again heavily on his chest. However, he’s not going to break it. He wants Jamie to let him continue to hang around his house, if he tells now, Jamie might never let him back in again. Besides, it is not as if he has a reason, Jamie hasn’t made another attempt on his life since that first night. He’s not in acute danger. Sam told himself he’d only break the promise if Jamie was actively in danger.
“Of fucking course there’s something going on,” Roy growls. “You got Sam in on your prick bullshit and now you’re fucking passing.”
“I thought you wanted me to pass, twat,” Jamie exclaims, holding his arms open as if to say ‘what more do you want from me?’
“And I am not in on his prick bullshit,” Sam adds.
“See!” Jamie gestures to him like what Sam said is proving his point, which is only half true. They were mostly responding to the two different parts, they’re just related. So he’s kind of right, but also kind of not.
“I think what everyone is trying to say, is that we’re glad to see y’all getting along. It’s mighty good to see you two fellas be friends. We’re all just trying to catch up to how we got from A to Z, ‘cause we’re all still kind of hanging around B,” Ted steps in again, before Roy and Jamie can go back to brawling.
Jamie looks at Sam, then Ted, before he asks: “Is he asking why we’re mates now?” “Yes.” “Well, tha’s fucking weird.”
Sam decides to not even have the argument with Jamie about it. Jamie can find it weird by himself, that doesn’t bother or affect Sam. So he simply answers Ted with a tight smile: “We have just found common ground, coach,” because that is honestly the only thing he can say that is not a blatantly lie nor a break of trust.
“More like uncommon ground, Mr. Stubborn,” Jamie snorts, because he lives to make Sam’s life hell and Sam is tragically grateful for it. Even if it means that Jamie is reminding him of the fact that they disagree about Jamie continuing to live, and needing a suicide watch to make it happen, in front of everyone while Sam can’t say anything.
“Well, I’m just happy to see you two bein’ friends and I hope you invite some of the other fellas into whatever teamwork you two got goin’ on,” Ted informs them with a smile, oblivious to the raw nerve he is touching.
“Fuck off,” Jamie snaps, starting to walk away as he call out: “I’m gonna take a leak. Run your stupid defense again if you must.”
“He doesn’t mean it like that,” Sam says to Ted, before running after Jamie: “Wait up!”
“I told you we’re not making communal pissing a fucking trend, Obisanya,” Jamie says, speeding up more.
Unfortunately for Jamie, Sam is faster and the distance is not so bad. So Sam catches up. He does not quip back, however. As funny as the communal pissing joke can be, he is hyper aware of the looks he is getting about said joke.
Once they hit the tunnel, Sam says: “You know Ted didn’t mean anything by that, right? He just doesn’t know.”
“And he shouldn’t be so fucking nosy,” Jamie responds petulantly. “I do me job, don’t I? Why the fuck does he care why I’m mates wi’ anyone.”
“I do not think he would care as much, if it weren’t a teammate. Our friendship is impacting team dynamics and that is his job,” Sam points out.
“Maybe,” Jamie agrees reluctantly after a moment. “I jus’ don’t like ‘im poking around me business. He’s just so- so- so fucking earnest. Creeps me the fuck out. He’s gotta fucking want something, right? But he jus’ keeps bein’ nice and not saying shit. I don’t like it.”
Of course. Jamie lives in a world where no one can be nice without reason and where expecting kindness from others is an unreasonable ask. Sam thinks pointing out that some people genuinely don’t want anything from Jamie isn’t going to work with him, so he puts it in a way Jamie might get. “Ted wants you to pass and be a team player. That is what he wants from you. He asked multiple times.”
“But that’s dumb. I got hired to score goals,” Jamie says. “I’m just doing me contract.”
“You got hired to play here,” Sam argues. “Mr. Mannion and coach Cartrick wanted you to score goals, neither of them work here anymore. And Ted also cares. He wants to make sure it’s all okay, that’s all.”
“Yeah, wants to make sure you’re okay. Tha’ I’m not fucking taking advantage or some shit,” Jamie scoffs.
“Also that, yes. But that is mostly due to it being so sudden. They don’t have the context,” Sam reminds him.
“And they don’t have to,” Jamie scowls again. “It’s none of their business whether I wanna kill meself. Not gonna impede me working.”
“I know that, Jamie.” If there is one thing Sam knows, it is that. His job is the thing Jamie stays alive for, as much as Sam wishes he had more, that simply isn’t true for now. So he is just grateful that Jamie has that. It’s only one hand hold, but it is better than none.
“Good.” Jamie doesn’t say anything else while they pee and wash their hands and Sam thinks that that’s that.
However, when they get back outside, Jamie surprises him by going up to Ted and saying: “I’ll try your stupid decoy run again, but I’m not doing shit during a match, if you can’t tell me what offside is. You’re a fucking footie coach, mate. It’s proper embarrassing tha’ you don’t care enough to even learn the fucking rules. Can’t braid each other’s fucking hair out of an actual fucking match, yeah?”
Ted’s eyebrows are touching his hairline, but he takes the critique in stride, holding out his hand as he says: “Consider this a deal, Jamie.”
Jamie shakes the hand.
~~
A/N:
I love Roy, but he was a shit captain when we meet him and he was a huge dick to Jamie too. Like they build that toxic locker room together, hand in unlovable hand, and he did need to step up, not just for everyone else but for Jamie as well. I know that is his canon arc, but unfortunately, he has not gone through that yet.
Jamie’s awkward and confusing character growth delights me very much. Like imagine being anyone other than Sam on that field lmao. Jamie might be depressed, but he’s also himself and without the whole falling from grace thing, his de-prick-ification is going to look different xp
Also I think it says a lot about me that I only realized at this point that the communal pissing has become A Thing in this fic lmao
And yay, early chapter! I got a busy day tomorrow so I knew I might not have time to post, so I’m being nice and posting early instead of late. Besides, it’s 1:00 AM here, so it’s technically still a Saturday update fro me xp
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, Sam and Jamie spend their off day together training in Jamie’s back yard, getting to know each other better and becoming actual friends. Sharing football allows them to talk about how both have been playing this season and the team at large.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 7: I’ll Shoulder It a While if You just Want a Night Off
As it turns out, Jamie’s idea of getting Sam to stop sucking at football takes shape in the form of a children’s football net in his back yard. When Sam sees it, he cannot help but ask: “Why do you have this?”
“’Cause I ain’t paying to put a whole footie set up in me back yard for jus’ one year,” Jamie answers like Sam’s stupid. “Plus, small goal means more place to miss. Great for training accuracy,” reminding Sam that Jamie is a prodigy and works hard for it when it comes to football. There’s a reason his arrogance about it hasn’t been quashed. It takes a lot of work to turn Jamie’s raw talent into the force he is on the pitch today. Jamie works hard to be so arrogant.
“So what do you want me to do?” Sam asks, jumping a little to keep warm and shaking out his limbs in preparation.
With breakfast behind them and Sam setting timers for the laundry, since he’s planning on having that running all day, just so Jamie can get his sheets and clothes back, they’re ready to focus on football. A sport they both love.
It might be their off day, but for them, football never rests. Besides, Jamie loves this and they have it in common. And, now that they are friends, Sam is eager to finally learn from Jamie properly. As much as he loathes to admit it, he has been under-performing since getting here.
“You’re gonna start right ‘ere,” Jamie points to a spot away from the goal, “and rush the goal, while I’m defending. Just get the ball in the goal, easy, right?”
“Yes. Easy,” Sam agrees, suspicious of the whole thing. This doesn’t seem like another one of Jamie’s public humiliations of his playing and Jamie is a striker not a defender, but he gets the sense there is more to this. He just doesn’t know what yet.
However, there is only one way to find out. Sam gets in position.
He rushes the box, keeping an eye on Jamie, who’s running over to defend. The ball gets stolen out from under him and Jamie grins: “Got ya. Again!” so he does. Ball gets stolen. “I said rush the goal, not pass me the ball,” Jamie jeers brightly. “Again.” Sam runs a different pattern, Jamie is right there in his face. “Oeh, switching things up, are we, lad? Bad position though,” Jamie winces faux-sympathetically. He’s not wrong. With how small the goal is, this is a difficult position, even if he evaded Jamie longer than before. “Again.” Goal gets stopped. Sam runs it again.
Sam does this exercise about ten times, before he groans in frustration at another block. He throws his hands up and exclaims: “What use is this? Why are we doing this? Are you ever going to tell me the point, or are you just here to taunt me?”
“I ain’t taunting you,” Jamie frowns. “Jus’ encouragements. And tips!”
“Encouragement and tips?” Sam repeats disbelievingly.
“Yeah, bit of tough love. What did your coaches and dad never yell at ya growing up?” Jamie replies.
“Coaches, yes, but they’d stop to actually coach me too,” Sam says, filing away another reason to hate Jamie’s dad.
“Fair enough,” Jamie says. “I thought you got it. Like, you trying the new evasion was actually a good move, but you got too busy evading me and forgot to think about goal positions. You’re still too much of a mid-fielder, mate.”
In a way, that is what Jamie had said, but Sam is so used to Jamie just being mean that he hadn’t thought to take it as a genuine critique of his methods. Now that Jamie is explaining himself like a normal person, Sam seizes the opportunity. He asks: “What do you mean with too much of a mid-fielder?”
“You’re still used to stealing the ball and passing it to someone to score,” Jamie explains. “You think like ‘em. It’s not in your system to put yourself in a good position to score, you’re too focused on your teammates, instead of yourself. And tha’s good as a mid-fielder, yeah. You gotta know where they are so you can pass it to them, before someone takes the ball from ya. But it means you don’t know how to keep the ball for long enough to get into a position and line up a proper shot. The goal ain’t gonna run into position for you to pass to it, you get me?”
“…I think so?” Sam answers after a moment. “It’s a different way of moving, is that it? Like I am used to taking the ball from the opposition and passing it along to a moving target, but I have to get used to receiving the ball and getting in position with regard to the net.”
“Yeah, exactly!” Jamie smiles. “Shaking a defender is different than stopping an attacker. You got to get better at keeping the ball, making your own moves. You’re fast as fuck, mate. It’s the whole reason they put you in the striker spot. And you know how defenders operate. Tha’s an advantage.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Sam says, feeling a bit too exposed at his own sincerity, not used to accepting a compliment from Jamie. So he deflects: “Since when are you so positive about defenders?”
“I ain’t negative ‘bout defenders, they’re bloody important,” Jamie frowns, which is really something coming from a man, who believes he can play one vs. eleven and still come out on top.
“You always tell our defenders they suck,” Sam points out.
“’Cause they do,” Jamie answers like it is obvious, then goes on to list: “I mean, Isaac is only busy with looking tough, not playing tough, Colin keeps dribbling and losing the ball tha’ way, Richard is great at diving, but he’s too focused on getting a fucking foul, like playing the game won’t get us shit, Dixon is straight up slow even though he’s fast, which is dead weird, and Bumbercatch slides too much, wasting time getting back up again. The only person who’s decent at his job is Roy, ‘cause he’s Roy Fucking Kent, but even he is too busy with stumbling around like a pensioner who still wants to be treated like he’s god, while he’s way past his prime and it’s starting to show.”
Sam honestly didn’t know Jamie knew all those names, or had cared enough to observe them to have actual things to point out. Still… “That all sounds a bit harsh, Jamie. Defense is important and they all work hard too, you don’t know everything that is a part of that.”
“Uh, yeah, I do. I were a mid-fielder, weren’t I,” Jamie says, blowing Sam’s perception of him out of the water again.
“You- You were?”
“Yeah,” Jamie says looking a bit embarrassed. “Were a right Roy Kent fanboy growin’ up, had his poster an’ everything. Wanted to be a mid-fielder, but striker is a glory spot. Me old man said it would be better for me career.”
Of course Jamie’s dad thought that, Sam thinks heatedly, but he decides not to focus on that. Nor does he take the opportunity to tease Jamie about being a Roy Kent fanboy, even though the other would have never passed up on an revelation like that to embarrass someone else about it. He’s not that kind of person, though, and maybe he can use that former hero-worship to get Jamie to tell someone else about him being a suicide risk. So, he neutrally goes: “I never knew that.”
“Most don’t,” Jamie shrugs, aiming for casual though the relief at Sam not teasing him pokes through anyway. “I’m mad versatile, like. It’s why I ain’t a starter for Man City yet, Pep likes that I’m easy to sub in anywhere.”
“Huh,” Sam says. That makes sense. Jamie is a little older than Sam and even with a bench as deep as Man City’s, his raw talent and dedication should have put him on the board before now.
Then Jamie ruins the semi-normal, not tragic reason by adding: “Tha’ and I were in the hospital at nineteen ‘cause, y’know, so I missed the games I would’ve started building me career and shit. Lied that I hurt me ankle, recovery of tha’ is a bitch and by then the moment were kinda gone. Been trying to claw me way back. Richmond is the step to make tha’ happen, so ‘ere I am.”
Sam should have seen that coming. Jamie’s whole life has been ruled by football and this darkness inside his head. He already knew Jamie was hell bent on not telling anyone, because he is scared it will rob him of football, but he has a good reason to. It has taken a lot from him, also when it comes to football. “I’m sure Pep will play you when you return. You have had an amazing season.”
“Oh, uhm, yeah, I mean, I work hard, yeah,” Jamie says, suddenly abashed to receive a compliment, shyly tucking his hands under his shirt.
“So, uhm, how do I use my… mid-fielder skills here?” Sam asks, getting them back to football. 1) because Jamie looks so unsure, and 2) because Sam is professional footballer for a reason. He is competitive, he wants to be great, and he wants to try Jamie’s advice.
Jamie thankfully takes the change in topic and sets to explaining it to Sam, making him run the drill again and again, until he actually gets the ball past Jamie a few times and makes him work to keep Sam away all of the time.
They take breaks for lunch and to change the laundry, but they end up in Jamie’s back yard for practically the entire day. It’s not much of a rest day, but it is rejuvenating. Jamie at least seems in high spirits, which is good. Sam is glad to see him excited. Besides, he got to help Jamie with his left foot cross and getting better at being a striker, so his spirit can’t be broken either.
“You did it, mate! Fucking told you,” he cheers as they walk back into the house, shaking Sam by the shoulders excitedly.
“You did,” Sam agrees, broad grin on his face. “You are very helpful when you actually explain what you mean.”
“Oi,” Jamie elbows him, but there’s a tint to his cheeks that tells Sam he gets it.
After the first miscommunication, Sam has just taken to asking Jamie what he means when he says something insulting. Eight times out of ten, it was meant to be helpful, just shittily presented, likely due to some macho hang up about supportiveness. The other two times it’s shit talking to get in his head. Sam hates how effective it is.
However, now that the day is done and evening is here, there is a problem. “Jamie, you have no food in the house.”
“What happened to the soup? You made like a whole pot yesterday.”
“We ate it for lunch,” Sam says. “I also don’t have any clothes. How about we swing past mine and I’ll get groceries out my own fridge, so they don’t go bad.”
Jamie’s posture changes. His smile had already turned into a frown when asking about the soup, but it’s gone from confused to guilty. “You don’t ‘ave to stay, mate. I didn’t mean to keep you ‘ere all day. Probably got a buncha stuff to do,” he says, not meeting Sam’s eyes.
“I had a great day,” Sam tells him honestly, shocking Jamie into meeting his eyes. Sam hopes he can see that Sam is genuine. “It was really fun. I don’t have anything to do at home, I just want to get some stuff, so we can continue to hang out.”
This is another step in his ongoing battle of convincing Jamie that Sam is on his side and actually wants to be here. That this is not some charity and Sam will be picking Jamie if it comes down to it. And he actually does. Jamie is fun. He’s helpful in his own way and funny, once he stops being mean. Sam likes Jamie, as crazy as that might sound with their history.
“Yeah, sure, no, ‘course,” Jamie says. “If you’re tha’ insistent on it.”
It’s so obvious what Jamie is doing, but Sam just feels fond of all things and lets him get away with it. It’s not worth it to point it out. “Great. Come on.”
“I’m not taking your dumb mom car. You’re a footballer for fuck’s sake, have some style,” Jamie complains pre-emptively as he makes his way to the front door.
“My car is safe,” Sam protests.
“Fuck safe, it’s ‘bout fun. You’re young, live a little,” Jamie calls back, pulling out his keys. “I’m driving.”
“Is that smart?” Sam asks worried, not a huge fan of Jamie saying ‘fuck safe’ with his suicidality.
Jamie sends him a fucking look and says: “Mate, I ain’t gonna kill meself by crashing a car. I know you don’t believe me, but I am fine actually. And I ain’t risking taking anyone wi’ me. I’m not some selfish fucking cunt.”
“Okay, then you drive,” Sam gives in, holding up his hands placatingly. While he doesn’t trust Jamie’s insistence that he is fine now, he does believe Jamie when he says he doesn’t want to take someone with him. Though he’s unsure why Jamie seems so intense about it. He doesn’t want to ask.
For all Sam’s worries, Jamie is a great driver and drives a lot more carefully than he expected after all his talk earlier. He doesn’t know if Jamie always drives like this, or is trying to prove a point. Whatever the case, they arrive at Sam’s house safely.
Jamie trails behind him uncertainly as Sam opens the door, looking around with open curiosity and a glint in his eyes Sam can’t place.
After being in Jamie’s house the past day and the hotel before, Sam is struck by how homely his own house feels. He’d been so scared when he left Nigeria that nothing would feel like home again. And it doesn’t. However, his father and family made sure to gift him much, so that he could take pieces of home with him. His house reflects all that love and care. Jamie lives four hours away from home instead of half the world, yet there is nothing of that for him. If he dwells on it, he’ll get upset again, so he just pushes through.
“Come on, I’ll pack some clothes and then stuff for dinner. Would you like to try jollof? I have chicken and it is nutritious,” Sam says, leading Jamie away from the hallway where he’s gotten stuck looking at a picture of Sam with his father.
“Sure, sounds mint,” Jamie replies absentmindedly, eyes glued to the picture for a moment longer, before he follows after Sam.
Acutely aware of how much warmer and welcoming his own home is, Sam packs efficiently. He is glad he tidies up before away games, which means his clothes are clean and there is nothing that needs his immediate attention. So he packs quickly and efficiently, almost relieved to leave his home behind, even if he misses it too.
Jamie is quiet on the drive back and doesn’t say anything as Sam puts his clothes in Jamie’s bedroom, despite him usually being weird about Sam making sure he’s here to stay. Like he didn’t notice Sam packed for a lot more than just one more night and grabbed everything that had been in his fridge and a bunch of seasonings.
So Sam actually startles a little when Jamie suddenly asks: “So wha’s jollof anyway?” when Sam is in the middle of cooking.
“It is a very common dish on the African continent,” he explains once his heart rate is down again. “There is a lot of regional variations across nations and in nations, but this way, is the best way.” Sam is aware it is regional pride that makes this the best way, but also, it is the best way. If Jamie is to learn about jollof, this is the only version he will need. “It is a little spicy, but I have much faith in you.”
Now Jamie sends the pan a suspicious look, probably remembering the wide array of spices Sam had taken with him, having discovered yesterday when making soup that Jamie has a British amount of spices. But, as Sam assumed, Jamie’s competitiveness takes over and he squares his jaw: “Course, mate. I ain’t scared of a little spiciness. Nowt I can’t handle.”
“Good to know,” Sam tells him, amusement playing at his lips.
Jamie regrets his words slightly when they’re eating, but Sam has to give him credit, Jamie finishes the whole dish, even if it is with the help of a copious amount of water. He even says: “This is dead spicy, what the fuck. Delicious, though.”
“I’m glad you like it,” Sam smiles. It always makes him feel good when someone enjoys his cooking, he likes sharing food with others. It is a way to take care of people. Jamie can use some care. As well as a friend and friends tease, so he adds: “This is the mild version of it. Maybe one day I’ll make a more authentic one.”
He watches as a war plays out on Jamie’s face between wanting to keep up his ‘tough guy, I can take it’-attitude and not wanting to face the non-mild version of this. Of course, he ends up saying: “Yeah, course, lad. I can do tha’.”
“Alright,” Sam smirks privately, focusing back on his own food.
After dinner, he checks on the dishes. Most of them have gotten clean in the dishwasher, so he puts them away, before filling in the empty spaces with the dishes of today. He also wipes down the counters, pleased that the house is becoming a little more functional again.
Jamie watches quietly with guilty eyes, before he says: “You don’t got to do all tha’.”
“I know,” Sam says, not giving Jamie something to argue against. “Would you like to watch something with me while I fold laundry?”
“You’re not gonna fold me laundry,” Jamie protest.
“Why not?”
“Uhm, ‘cause it’s my laundry,” Jamie says.
“You can help me if you’d like,” Sam offers a compromise, because he knows Jamie isn’t going to do it by himself, no matter how much he wants to believe he will. It is a large pile of laundry. They did like five loads today and there are multiple baskets with clothes. Jamie has been buying new clothes instead of washing what he owns for a long time.
Besides, it might be good for Jamie to do something to get everything in his house organized. A small, low stakes job to feel accomplished wherein he doesn’t have to do it all and it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t get it done, because Sam is there to help. Or he hopes so, he’s not a therapist.
“Okay, yeah, sure, that- tha’ works,” Jamie nods, thankfully taking the offer and going to help Sam carry everything to the living room. “What do you want to watch?”
“Chelsea is playing Everton, we can watch that,” Sam suggests, deciding that football is the most common ground they’re going to find.
Jamie puts on the match, then stares at the piles of laundry. His armor is stripped away in his house, a long day is behind him and he’s already in his pajamas. He looks incredibly overwhelmed.
Before he can spiral, Sam says: “Here, why don’t you look for everything you want ironed. You can pass what can be folded to me and I’ll do that. Teamwork.”
“No wonder Lasso loves you,” Jamie snorts, finding some of that armor again when his shoulders relax at the clearer directive.
“He does not love me,” Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing some socks to put to the side, so he can match pairs and fold them in one go. If Jamie irons his socks, then he’s the weirdo.
Jamie doesn’t respond to it, but Sam knows he doesn’t believe him when he says it. He’s starting to think Jamie truly thinks Ted is against him. And he doesn’t know why. Ted has been really patient with Jamie, even though Jamie’s been an asshole to him. He is just trying to get Jamie to pass and does it nicely. How would he have it out for Jamie?
Sam turns it over in his head, trying to figure it out. Maybe if he does, he can convince Jamie to tell his coach he’s been struggling. Coaches are there to help. He knows Jamie is scared Ted will get him institutionalized, but Sam is sure they can get Ted to see reason.
“Why don’t you like, coach?” he finds himself asking.
Jamie stops organizing the mountain of clothes to look at Sam. “He’s a wanker and fucking confusing and he has it out for me.”
“He doesn’t have it out for you, why would you think that?”
“Uh, ‘cause he does. He’s turning all the lads on me, playing mind games and shit. He’s telling me I’m doing well one minute, then telling me not to score the next. And like, what the fuck does he know, you get me? I’m ‘ere on loan. Scoring goals is what they hired me for. I’m just ‘ere to save this club before it truly goes to shit and crick up me stats so I can start at Man City when I get back. And he’s fucking it all up.”
That makes sense in a way. For Jamie, the only thing that matters is football and he can see why Jamie would view it like that, but… “He does not wish to turn everyone against you. He means it when he says you play well, he just wants you to pass. Football is a team sport, you know.”
“But all of Richmond is shit. Except for you, you’re pretty okay, Obisanya. And Roy when he’s not being old,” Jamie tells him.
“This is what he means, I think,” Sam says, not really able to take that compliment. “It’s not unfair of people to not want to be around if you constantly say stuff like that. Besides, maybe if you were supportive and let them have the ball too, they’d get better?”
“Whose side are you on anyway?” Jamie scowls. “I told you, you didn’t have to fucking be here if you find me that unpleasant.”
Sam does not want to have a re-do of that argument, so he says: “I am on your side. I enjoy your company. It is a lot more pleasant when you give me helpful tips and play with me, rather than just tell me that I am shit. Did you not enjoy our kick about today?”
At that, Jamie thankfully pauses. His posture is still very defensive, but at least he’s not on the prowl for a weak point to attack anymore. “I guess,” he shrugs after a few long moments.
“Football is a team sport, Jamie,” Sam says gently, releasing the tense breath he’d been holding. “Ted does not know football, but he does know team sports. He’s playing into his own strength. He’s not telling you to pass because he doesn’t want you to score, but because Richmond is shit.” Jamie whips up in surprise at Sam saying it, so he confirms it again while looking him in the eyes. “We are. No one wants to get relegated, but we will if you keep this up. You can’t win a match by yourself. Imagine how good we could be, if you helped everyone with your insights like you did for me today.”
“Maybe,” Jamie says, which isn’t an agreement, but probably the best Sam will get from him.
They don’t speak of it again, instead talking about the match and discussing tactics and weaknesses of the players and how they can counter them when playing against either team. As much as Sam likes Ted as a coach, they will have to pick up the slack around tactics themselves if they want any of these matches to be a success.
That night, Sam sleeps as Jamie’s big spoon once more. It is strange how normal it’s starting to become to cuddle with Jamie Tartt, but Sam doesn’t mind. Jamie is accepting it. It might be a small step, but it is something, so it feels big. Just like it feels big when they both sleep through the night.
In the morning, Sam watches with horror as Jamie gets some bread out the freezer since it keeps longer that way, then toasts it and puts beans from a can on there. He logically knows this is a thing and has watched teammates eat it at away games, but it will forever look wrong to him. He’ll stick to his left over jollof, thanks.
Jamie’s organized packing that Sam had first seen while riffling to his stuff when locking everything in a bag in the hotel room, also extends into his bag to take to work. All his kit is well maintained and carefully put in. Football truly is the only thing he uses his energy for.
This is further exacerbated by him not packing any snacks or his own bottle of water. They are fed and watered at the club, but it still sticks out in Sam’s brain. Without thinking, he packs extra in his own bag to give to Jamie.
At the club, they once again get weird looks when they arrive together, Sam can see how Roy’s bushy eyebrows wrinkle as he watches Jamie push in ahead of Sam, loudly exclaiming: “Did you lads sleep off the hangover yet, or is it the excuse for today when you all play like shit?”
It earns him some middle fingers and groaning as well as a few actual glares. Subtly, Sam kicks at Jamie’s leg, getting him a ‘what did you to that for’-look, then an eye roll from Jamie when he realizes.
Jamie goes over this his own cubby and Sam hovers for a moment, feeling a bit anxious about stepping away from Jamie, even if he knows that he will be right there. Jamie must know too and he shoots him an annoyed glare, still of the belief that Sam is overreacting about the whole thing. “Do you fucking need something?” he asks.
“Oh, uh, no, I’ll- I’ll just,” he points over to his own cubby, realizing he is being a bit overbearing, even if it feels justified.
He hasn’t taken more than a step yet, when Roy’s voice rings through the locker room: “Oi, Tartt, what did I fucking tell you about fucking messing with people!”
Fuck.
~~
A/N:
I know nothing about football lmao, so take that whole bit also with a huge grain of salt xp
I know some artists are uncomfortable making fanart from fics if they haven't asked first, so I'm just gonna throw it out as a reminder that if you feel inspired to draw anything from any of my writing--that's fics or little shorties or any of my posts--you are absolutely more than welcome to.
The only thing I ask is to @ me so I can fangirl over it properly and spread it around so others may see it too.
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, with Jamie missing, Sam fears for his life. The revelation about what made Jamie leave to begin with, only makes him more worried about Jamie, especially when Jamie says more than he would have liked, opening a new can of worms about where him being suicidal came from.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 6: Smashing Cup off the Floor and Kicking Walls In. That’s Me and You
Sam’s heart is in his throat as he watches the empty spot for a second, before shooting out of bed to find Jamie. In his mind, last night replays; Jamie rolling out of bed at breakneck speed, Jamie with the pill bottle, Jamie so nearly gone. So fast.
A lot can happen in two minutes, so much more can happen in however long Sam has been sleeping, unaware of the empty space beside him.
“Jamie! Jamie! Jamie!”
Not in the bathroom. Not in the hallway. Not in any of the rooms he checks on the way to the stairs, cursing how big this house is.
“Answer me, Jamie! Come on, Jamie, please!”
Not in the hall downstairs, not in the laundry room, not in the-
“Jamie? Oh my god, Jamie.”
Indeed, Jamie is sitting on the cold kitchen floor, curled up against a counter, looking like death warmed over, but not like someone who has overdosed. The knife block, however, is on the floor with him, but there are no pools of blood and no knives are missing. His eyes are clear too, when he looks at Sam, but the far away look that’s in them doesn’t take away any of the anxiety he’s feeling.
The relief rushes in his ears as he falls on the floor next to Jamie, checking him over for any sign of injury and pulling him into a hug when he doesn’t find any.
As he does, the phone that had been balancing on Jamie’s knees clatters to the floor as Jamie lets himself get pulled into a hug. Less like a participant, more like a doll, but warm with life and breathing under his hands.
“… and truly, Jamie, what kinda footie player are you? Can’t even make a fucking penalty, it’s fucking pathetic. Do you ‘ave any clue how fucking embarrassing it is to have you as a son? Playing at some third rate club and not even making a penalty. Not even scoring the winning goal? Pff. It’s humiliating!”
Sam had been so busy trying to find Jamie, then so relieved, that he hadn’t noticed the voice coming from the phone. However, as he feels Jamie’s heart beat under his palm, the noise filters back in and it registers what Jamie had been listening to on that kitchen floor. What he had left the bed without waking Sam for.
His dad. His dad telling him all sorts of horrible things that are not true and he shouldn’t be saying any of it regardless of whether or not it’s true. Sam had already decided that he hated Jamie’s dad based on the man demanding payment for sitting with his suicidal son through a bad wave and tying said son to the bed, but that hate only grows more justified.
He does not want to let go of Jamie, but he does release one hand so he can pick up the phone that has clattered to the floor. It’s a voicemail. He hangs up and sees the voicemail is accompanied by many others, not to mention a slew of horrible texts.
“Why are you listening to this?” he asks, moving to sit down next to Jamie, so he can put one arm around him and pull him into his side.
Jamie stares at the ground with unseeing eyes and shrugs: “He’s me dad.” Then after a beat, he absentmindedly adds: “And there’s demands in there sometime. Can’t miss ‘em, he’ll be pissed.”
That’s absolutely sick. Sam feels disgusted by this person he has never even met and gutted at the realization that Jamie has been getting home after matches – didn’t matter how bad or good he played – to beratement of his dad. To belittlement. “Jamie, that is awful.”
“Probably,” Jamie snorts without humor. The bitterness is the first emotion he’s shown since Sam has found him and it makes Sam’s skin crawl.
“Your dad is wrong about you. Whatever he else he’s ever said, he’s wrong. What I just heard? He’s wrong. He’s so wrong about you,” Sam says, shaking Jamie a little as he does, just because he needs Jamie to hear his words. “And you do not have to listen him.”
It seems to snap Jamie out of it, but not in a good way. He shakes off Sam’s arm and scoots away from him, scowling at Sam: “Shut the fuck up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I might not,” Sam agrees, “but your dad sounds like a horrible person and you deserve better than that, Jamie.”
At the word ‘deserve’ Jamie flinches slightly, as if reminded of earlier tonight, but then his face closes back up again. “Fuck off. You act like I don’t know tha’. Of course he’s a horrible person. He’s a fucking dick, who always does what a dick does. It’s jus’ who he is. I’m not fucking stupid.”
“I am not saying you are,” Sam says, feeling how he’s rapidly loosing control of this conversation. “I just wanted you to know that I am here and you do not have to put up with this.”
Jamie’s look gets more furious and he gets up, shouting: “You don’t know jack shit, you nosy fucking arsehole.”
“Then make me understand.” Sam also gets up. “What am I not getting? How is any of the things he was saying okay?”
“They’re not! I know they’re fucking not. Do you really think I don’t know the person who made me wanna kill meself for the first time is shit?” Jamie explodes, breathing heavily, before the realization of what he just admitted dawns on him.
Sam, for his part, just stands there… shocked.
Jamie closes down, before he can even think to get a word out, hunching in on himself as he mutters: “Never mind. Forget about it.”
“No.” Sam stutters into action. “That- He- Your-” He tries to put it into words and fails. He fails. Of course he does. How does one put into adequate words that someone’s dad is horrid enough that, at fourteen, they consider suicide?
“I said forget about it,” Jamie snaps, shoulders practically next to his ears.
“Jamie…” Sam starts, trying to find the words again. He takes a small step towards Jamie, one hand reaching out to do something – anything – to comfort Jamie when words fail him.
In response, Jamie startles back as if burned. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses. “I’m not some fucking pussy, who needs a hug and kiss or some shit. Just leave off it. Just go home. Go home, Sam.”
“You know I cannot do that. I do not want to,” Sam replies as neutrally as he can. He holds up his hands and stops moving. “But I won’t touch. Whatever you want, Jamie. I’ll be right over here, yes?”
“Stop looking at me like that,” Jamie snaps.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re fucking pitying me!”
He takes a deep breath and says: “I am not pitying you,” hoping Jamie will believe it. Sam isn’t sure he does himself. There is something brewing in his chest, something big. He does not think it is pity, but it is definitely something akin to compassion, to wanting to help, to wanting to make it better and knowing it is an almost futile exercise.
“Yeah, right,” Jamie rolls his eyes, hands tucked under his shirt now, almost hugging himself, but not quite yet. As if he’s reaching for comfort, but it’s too alien for him to fully get it.
“I mean it. I only want to help,” Sam says helplessly.
“Kind, noble Sam,” Jamie spits. “You think you’re better than me, huh? You think you’re better jus’ ‘cause your dad says he loves you? Cares for you? You’re not! You’re fucking not. You’re weak baby, who needs his ickle hand held and who sucks at his job.”
It hurts. Sam can’t deny that it hurts. He’s been here for Jamie the entire day and he does not expects to be thanked, he is doing this, because he wants to, because it is the right thing to do. And this evening, he thought they were friends. That Jamie might be unsure about it all, but he at least knew there had been a connection between them. “Please, don’t be cruel,” he says, choking before he can assure Jamie that he knows he’s hurting, but that his words hurt Sam too.
There is a similar flash in Jamie’s eyes to when Sam told him he deserved better, but, while he wavers shortly, his spine straightens again and he turns away from Sam. “Guess, I’m just a dick too. The world is cruel, better learn tha’ now. I don’t want you ‘ere. Go home.”
“No.”
“No?”
Sam does want to leave a little bit. He’s been starting to get over simply accepting Jamie treating him like shit, and it has made him less of a pushover. However, one of the main reasons he is getting more capable of standing up for himself, is because Jamie requires him to push back. If he hadn’t, there wouldn’t be a Jamie anymore. So, yeah, he does want to leave, but he’s also not going to. Mr. Stubborn indeed.
“No,” he says again, looking into Jamie’s shocked eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. You may not like me, you may even hate me, but I am not letting you push me away like I’m no one. I’m not one of your little lackeys, Jamie. I am your teammate, your equal. I don’t think I’m better than you and I don’t think the world is cruel. The world can be kind, because I can be kind. I’m choosing to be kind to you, I’m choosing to be here. I just want to help and I’d prefer it if you’d stop trying to fight me on it.”
They stand across from each other silently for what feels like too long. Sam wonders if he should take it back and apologize, fix this strange look that is now in Jamie’s eyes and make it u-
“Fuck!” a loud scream breaks the silence, along with a bang as Jamie punches one of his upper cabinets with all his strength, scaring the shit out Sam as he does.
“…Jamie?” he asks cautiously, stepping closer once more, but still remembering how Jamie snapped earlier, so he just hovers.
“There’s really no getting you to leave, is there?” Jamie asks, sounding so very tired.
“Uhm, no,” Sam says awkwardly, unsure what to do now that all the fight has drained out of Jamie once more. The way he oscillates between emotions is difficult to keep up with sometimes.
Jamie lets out a deep sigh and sinks back to the cold floor again. He looks so small and not at all like the cruel cocky player Sam knows from their locker room, the one that had been there again not even five minutes ago.
He buries his face between his knees and sobs. Sam doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to witness Jamie crying, before it stops being strange. It probably never will. He hates how gut wrenching he sounds when he cries.
Tentatively, Sam kneels next to him and softly asks: “Can I touch you again?”
Wordlessly, Jamie nods and Sam pulls him back into his arms again. He’s still angry with Jamie, still upset and hurt over his words. The impact doesn’t change, even if it’s so obvious that Jamie is throwing shit at the wall and trying to see what sticks, see what will make Sam give up. What will prove Jamie right in his belief that everyone leaves.
“You are stuck with me now,” he whispers into Jamie’s hair, squeezing him tight as that makes Jamie sob more. Maybe if he does this enough times, he’ll get used to the way Jamie quakes, as if his body is too small to contain all the sadness that is ready to burst out. He hopes he doesn’t have to, knows that he will anyway.
“Fuck,” Jamie says again, this time not screamed but small and choked off. He pulls back from the hug and Sam reluctantly lets him go. Jamie wipes at his eyes aggressively as he mutters: “Crying like a fucking baby.”
“Don’t say that. You can cry,” Sam says, pulling Jamie’s hands away when they get too rough.
“You can cry too,” Jamie replies, so quiet Sam almost doesn’t catch it, but then Jamie looks up, his red-rimmed eyes meeting Sam as he repeats: “You can cry too. I were mean, it’s okay if you’re upset and angry, swear down. I- I-” Jamie struggles for a moment, before he says: “I’m sorreh. I don’t- I don’t know why I can’t just be fucking decent. Fucking, fucked in the head and shit.”
It is technically the apology Sam had wanted and put on hold until Jamie was in a better place. However, it is coated in self-deprecation instead of being genuine about Sam’s hurts. It’s sorry for the guilt Jamie feels, not the impact he caused.
However, Sam is still touched that despite everything that is happening in Jamie’s head, he’s still apologizing and Sam will accept it, if only so that Jamie knows Sam won’t just accept him being cruel in an attempt to push him away. “Thank you, Jamie. It was mean. I am upset.”
Shame tinges Jamie’s eyes and he says again: “I’m sorreh.”
“Apology accepted,” Sam tells him kindly. “Now let’s get off this cold floor. I’ll make us some tea, I have heard it cheers you British people up.”
At that, Jamie manages a genuine chuckle and he takes Sam’s hand, commenting: “And they say we don’t got culture.”
Sam puts the knife block away, trying not to think about it, before he makes tea quietly. He wonders how he can bring up the bomb Jamie dropped on him before it turned into a fight. His dad is the reason Jamie wants to kill himself. Or, at least, the first reason. God knows how much happened after. And Jamie’s still in contact with his dad. In contact in a way that sounds like it is very bad for Jamie’s mental health.
An opening comes in the worst way. Jamie’s phone buzzes while he’s about to take a sip and Jamie tenses and freezes, relaxing a little when it stops. Just a text, not a call.
“You don’t have to read it,” Sam says quietly, very aware of every way this can blow up in his face.
“Nah, it’s okay,” Jamie replies, voice a tad too careful. “He’s me dad, y’know? Might be a shit situation, but at least my shit situation keeps me alive.”
Sam can’t help the skeptical face he makes at Jamie’s claim and Jamie catches it, pausing his sip halfway through once more. Under that cocked eyebrow, Sam breaks and says: “It… just didn’t really… sound like, uh- like that. That he keeps you alive.” He swallows.
Jamie hesitates for a moment, putting down his tea and staring at the counter. “I mean, I guess not. But in a way, he does. ‘im bein’ there’s never gonna make me brain work better, like you can’t medicate or therapize yourself outta tha’ shit, you get me? ‘specially when he’s still right there. But he does come when I call. He sits with me.” Or ties you to the bed, Sam thinks but does not say. “He might not love me much, but he loves me career enough to keep me alive. We both do. It works. Not like I got anyone else.” Jamie shrugs at that last part, pretending it’s no big deal. His exposed knees and pale legs, hair mused, make him look too vulnerable for it to work.
“It seemed to me that your mom cares a lot about you too. She made you those cards, didn’t she?” Sam says. “And you got me now.”
“Mummy made those when I were seventeen. It’s been a long time,” Jamie says with clipped voice. A pain enters his expression then and he continues. “I- I can’t- I can’t keep doing this to her.”
“I think she would not agree,” Sam says gently, before quickly moving on before Jamie can get mad about it. “And, like I said, your dad isn’t the only one. Not anymore. I’m here and I am a lot closer than him.”
“It’s not gonna last,” Jamie says, not to be cruel, but because he genuinely believes it. “At some point, you’ll get tired or think I’m faking it or whatever. ‘sides, I got to get back to Man City. This ain’t forever, mate.”
On a logical level, Sam knows this is true, but at the same time, he knows that it is not. “People still want to help you now. Your loan is not over. We can get you better support before you go back, build up a-”
“Sam,” Jamie cuts him off, leveling him with a look. “This is all dead sweet and shit, but we ain’t telling anyone anythin’, alright? ‘m not doing it. Lasso is all well meaning and all, but well meaning people lock you the fuck up. I’m not doing it. I’m not losing footie again. I’d quite literally rather kill meself.”
“What about Roy?” Sam asks, because Roy is their captain and Roy is grumpy and the furthest from well meaning, but still down to help, that Sam can think of.
“Roy?” Jamie snorts. “He fucking hates me guts, mate. That grumpy old twat won’t wanna do shit for me.” There’s a vulnerable, sad tint to his voice that Sam can’t place.
However, he’s prodded enough at Jamie’s soft spots and right now he has a more important mission to focus on. “Okay, so no Roy, no Ted. We can look outside the club. You dated Keeley, right? She must have known something.”
“Nah, fucked tha’ for meself ‘cause she were getting too close to it all. I were always at hers anyway, she didn’t notice shit,” Jamie says, once again reminding Sam of how good Jamie is at hiding. “Face it, Obisanya. You’re not gonna find anyone. Better give up now.”
“I am not giving up, but I will give you time to think about it,” Sam concedes. “For now, please, do not listen to those messages. I can do it. See if there is anything important.”
“Mr. Stubborn indeed,” Jamie sighs, but he does reach down and grab his phone, going to hand it to Sam before he hesitates. “It’s all shit,” he warns.
“It’s okay. Friends carry each other’s shit.”
“We- We’re friends?” Jamie asks, still clutching the phone tight. He doesn’t say it mockingly, like Sam is stupid for thinking it, but like he’s insecure about it and wants to be sure.
“Yeah, we’re friends,” Sam says, holding out his hand, relieved when Jamie hands his phone over without a fight.
“Mint.”
“Very mint,” Sam agrees, returning the smile he gets, which broadens as he uses Jamie’s word.
He tucks the phone away for now, planning to get to it later. Tonight has been more than enough for him to not want to touch this with a ten foot pole. Instead, he stupidly brings up something else that he hadn’t focused on when it came out of Jamie’s mouth. “I’m not going to get tired, you know, or think you are faking.” As if he could ever think that with all he has seen.
“Oh. That’s- that’s nice,” Jamie says awkwardly, like when you pretend you like a gift you got from a relative, because it’s the polite thing to do.
“I mean it,” Sam presses home and Jamie nods and smiles, but Sam can see he doesn’t believe it anyway. He wonders how he can make Jamie see that he’s on his side. Wonders if making him see that Sam means it, will help Jamie tell someone else, to get more help than a shitty dad and an out of his depth Sam can provide.
They drink their tea in silence, standing in the cold kitchen in the middle of the night. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though, so Sam takes the win.
Once the mugs are empty, Sam puts them on the counter by the dishwasher, ready to be dealt with tomorrow. Then he turns to Jamie and says: “We are going to bed and I am going to spoon you. I won’t tie you to the bed, but I will tie you to me if you do not wake me.”
“Wha’?” Jamie chokes, caught off guard and confused.
“You weren’t there when I woke up,” Sam explains. “It really scared me, Jamie.”
Realization hits and Jamie becomes a little smaller. He rubs the back of his head and say: “Ah, uh, I- I hadn’t really thought ‘bout tha’. Sorreh.”
“It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.”
“I won’t, swear down.”
Sam doesn’t put a lot of stock in Jamie’s swear down, but Jamie does seem genuine about it, so he simply accepts it with a: “Thank you. I am still spooning you, though.”
Jamie laughs. “You’re a fucking weirdo, mate.”
“The weirdest,” Sam agrees with a grin. “Now let’s go. We still have a communal piss to take and a day to sleep through,” which garners more laughter from Jamie.
Despite his gusto, Sam feels a little out of his comfort zone when they finally get to the bed. However, he knows Jamie will sense it and jump on it, so he pushes it down and pulls up as much confidence as he can. It’s just cuddling. He cuddled with his father a lot growing up, as with his sisters. It’s not weird to cuddle Jamie.
Jamie doesn’t agree. He stares at the bed with a complicated expression on his face, then looks back at Sam. “So how’s this going to work then?”
“You lay there and then I hold you,” Sam says, deciding that the casual approach is the best.
“Duh, you arsehole. Jus’- Why can’t I be the big spoon?” Jamie dawdles.
“Because this way it is harder for you to weasel out. And I like being big spoon better. I’m taller also.”
“Not much,” Jamie scowls playfully.
“But enough,” Sam grins back, even though they’re practically the same height. “Now get in and get comfortable.”
“Still a weirdo,” Jamie mutters but he gets in.
Sam takes a deep breath, then follows, pulling Jamie to his chest. It’s weird. He said it wouldn’t be, but it definitely is. Jamie is broad and muscular, despite the thinness that is starting due to his depression taking a toll on his eating.
“Not gonna lie, feeling a bit like a knobhead right now,” Jamie breaks the silence after a few beats of them laying there.
It successfully breaks the tension and Sam laughs, burying his head against the back of Jamie’s head to muffle the sound. “Me too,” he admits.
“So, this is your approach is it? Communal pissing and cuddles as a necessary evil?” Jamie asks, thankfully sounding like he’s just taking the piss.
“It appears so,” Sam smiles bashfully, glad Jamie cannot see his face.
Jamie’s quiet for a moment, then says: “It’s not tha’ bad. Quite cozy, if I’m honest.” Another beat of silence. “You tell anyone I said that and I’m blowing it all up.”
“I won’t,” Sam promises, deciding it is too late to unpack all of that. “Just go to sleep Jamie.”
“Fine,” Jamie says, sounding like a toddler as he does. Though, he does listen, fortunately. And soon, they’re both off to dreamland.
This time when Sam wakes, he feels a lot more rested, even if he could have done without Jamie shaking him a little too vigorously as he loudly says: “Wake up, Sammy-boy. We got a whole day to make sure you stop sucking at footie. Come on, up you get, lad!”
Sam groans, pulling Jamie back to the bed without hesitation in his tired state, practically pinning him to him as he grumbles: “Five more minutes.”
“Oi, I’m not an alarm clock!” Jamie exclaims indignantly, struggling against Sam as he demands: “Lemme go, you twat.”
This has the unfortunate side effect of waking Sam up further and he kisses the idea of snoozing goodbye. Blearily, he sits up and rubs the sleep from his face as he replies: “Alright, alright, I’m up. I am up. Stop yelling.” Then he asks: “What do you mean stopping me from sucking at football? I’m a professional football player, I do not suck at football.”
“You’re a mediocre professional football player,” Jamie informs him. “But you could be a great professional football player.” And Sam is pretty sure that Jamie just complimented him. Maybe anything is possible.
~~
A/N:
Toeing the line between Jamie lashing out because he’s hurting and he doesn’t know what else to do and Sam understanding and wanting to help, but also feeling hurt is a doozy, let me tell you. I hope Sam doesn’t come across as too forgiving or as me trying to sweep Jamie’s actions under the rug. He is very much a flawed person, especially in season 1.
Early in Ted’s tenure as coach, Sam and Jamie end up as roommates during an away game. That night Sam discovers Jamie is suicidal after Jamie asks him to sit with him, feeling like he might kill himself if he’s left alone. Jamie thinks Sam will leave him be afterwards, but Sam can’t just let Jamie walk away knowing all this, it wouldn’t be right.
In this chapter, Sam has successfully gotten Jamie to accept his help, much to Jamie’s chagrin. But while Jamie has accepted Sam wants to do this, that doesn’t mean he likes it or it will suddenly be easy between them. Being in Jamie’s house only uncovers different aspects of Jamie’s depression.
AKA the Sam and Jamie season 1 friendship au with suicidal!Jamie
Chapter 5: Sometimes I’m Good Company, Other Times I’m a Curse
Despite his protests, Sam successfully forces soup onto Jamie, even getting him off the counter and onto the couch with him. He tries not to be too smug when Jamie starts eating more vigorously after the first bite, clearly not having realized how hungry he’d been until he ate something.
“Mate, since when are you a proper chef? Why are you playing footie for a mediocre team when you could have like a star restaurant?” Jamie demands, putting another spoonful in his mouth.
Sam decides to let the dig at Richmond slide and just grins proudly. “I have always enjoyed cooking and did much of it with my father growing up.”
“Your dad cooks?” Jamie asks an obvious judgment in his voice as he does. Ah, yes, the joys of fragile footballer sexism, Sam thinks.
“Yes, he does. As do I. It’s a life skill,” Sam responds neutrally. He pointedly adds: “One you’re benefiting from right now.”
Jamie actually has the decency to abashed at that, which surprises Sam a little. Sheepishly, he says: “Uh, yeah, sorreh ‘bout that. Just dead weird that you grew up with, like, ingredients.”
Sam knows that hadn’t been what Jamie had been talking about, but the response still hits him. He doesn’t know much about Jamie, but he knows he comes from a Manchester council estate. His story of home grown success that clawed his way up from the bottom. Jamie didn’t just grow up in England’s lad’s culture, but removed from domesticity as Sam knew it. So he’s just glad he’s taking it back. “It’s okay.”
At his answer, Jamie blinks, before he asks: “It is?”
It’s the first time he’s heard Jamie be unsure about Sam accepting his behavior. Like it’s finally clicked for him that he’s being a prick and he’s surprised that someone would accept it from him. Unsure if he should capitalize on it, but not wanting to let it slip through his fingers, Sam shrugs: “I mean, societally it is not, but I understand. So it’s okay right now.”
Jamie just stares at him for a couple more seconds, before he shakes his head and says: “You’re fucking weird, man.” Then he takes another slurp of soup and says: “But this is mint.”
“I am glad,” Sam smiles, turning back to his own soup.
They sit like this for a moment, before Jamie breaks the silence again, asking: “So, are we jus’ gonna sit ‘ere like a buncha twats for the rest of the night or what?”
“We could watch a movie?” Sam suggest.
“What is this? Some fucking sleep over or summat?” Jamie pulls a face.
Sam wilts a little inside. Despite all the standing up he’s done to Jamie and the fact that he’d been trying to let go of wanting Jamie’s approval, the outright rejection of his idea still stings. He knows that being mean is part of this for Jamie, that he must be tired and lashing out. But there is another layer to it too. Jamie did not ask for Sam’s presence, he does not want him here. Sam knows this since he’s had to force himself in, but that was about Jamie’s safety. This is on a personal level. They’re not friends.
“Oi, what are you pulling tha’ face for?” Jamie demands, adding insult to injury and making the whole experience worse.
“Nothing,” Sam says, voice more wobbly than he’d like. “It’s fine.”
Jamie frowns. “Clearly it’s not. You’re looking like a kicked puppy, mate.”
“Must you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Be cruel. I know you do not want me here, but you can just let it go,” Sam says.
“What?” Jamie frowns and Sam does not think he is faking it, but he also cannot believe that Jamie genuinely doesn’t understand, especially after he’s been so aware before.
“You shot down my movie idea in an incredibly dismissive way,” Sam explains patiently, regardless of the taunting that is sure to come as he does. He doesn’t want to allow Jamie his cycle. He just wants him to let this go. “You can just say no. And you do not have to then rub it in. I get it if you are not in the mood for a movie or company. I can do my own thing.”
His words cause Jamie to be quiet for a moment and Sam feels awkward and a bit curious at the same time. He is witnessing Jamie reflecting on himself and he has no clue how this will turn out. For either of them.
With bated breath, Sam waits for Jamie to speak again. After a beat, Jamie slouches back in the couch, pulling his knees up and balancing his soup on top of them. “Didn’t realize how tha’ sounded. Weren’t meant like tha’, swear down.”
“How was it meant then?” Sam asks, unable to help but be curious. Jamie has said many cruel things since he came to Richmond, he refuses to believe he just didn’t notice. He knows Jamie noticed. That he knows he can be mean.
“I mean, it were a bit meant like tha’, but not, you get me?” Jamie starts.
“Uh. No.”
Jamie impossibly sinks further into the couch, nearly spilling his soup. “It’s just weird. You’re weird.”
“This is not really helpful,” Sam says politely, though thoroughly confused as to how he ended up in this conversation.
“You’re just-” Jamie makes a frustrated noise. “You’re just fucking nice, yeah? And you keep being nice to me and like… caring. Even though I’m shit and all this is shit and no one wi’ anything better to do would want to do it. You- You went outta your way to find me house. For what? So you can sit ‘ere and eat fucking soup, instead of being out there celebratin’.”
Oh. Jamie does not know what to do when someone is nice to him. It’s not just being tired that makes him lash out, but also unexpected kindness.
That is very depressing and explains a lot about why he seems to make it a mission to be a giant asshole to Ted. Sam would really like to stop learning stuff about Jamie’s psyche. But then again, then he wouldn’t know anything and, while he’d much rather Jamie just be okay, that isn’t really an option. Jamie isn’t magically going to be okay after so long. He’ll maybe never be fully okay. Sam will just have to make sure he’s more okay.
As to not point out any of his psychoanalysis, since he still really shouldn’t assume, Sam instead points out: “You also did not go out celebrating.”
Jamie stares a hole into the side of the bowl, jaw setting, before he replies: “Well, yeah. Played like shit, didn’t I?”
“What? You scored two amazing goals. Without which, we would have lost instead of tied, you were amazing out there!” Sam exclaims, not sure where that came from, because while Jamie may be suicidally depressed, he’s never been shy about his confidence, especially in his football skills.
“So? I missed that penalty, didn’t I?” Jamie shrugs, like that makes any sense. Like that would be enough to write off the whole game.
“And everyone misses sometimes, that does not negate that you played well, Jamie,” Sam says, again wondering how he ended up in this situation. Truly, out of everything he expected out of this night, it was not that he would end up trying to convince Jamie Tartt of all people that he played well.
“Whatever,” Jamie rolls his eyes, clearly dismissive.
A part of Sam wants to push and prod at this, but he stops himself. There is so much damage he can do by prodding and he is not educated for this. He’s not risking it. So he focuses on his own soup and shifts with Jamie. “So, if not a movie, what would you like to do then?”
Jamie sends him a sideway glance, as if he doesn’t want to look at Sam but wants to check that he means it anyway. He must find what he is looking for, because he uncurls his posture, nearly sloshing his soup again as he says: “Well, lad, I am introducing you to fucking about on Wikipedia.”
“Fucking about on Wikipedia?” Sam repeats, a little intrigued but mostly confused.
“Yeah, mate. They restrict all sorta shit, but not Wikipedia, it’s right fun. You just pick a thing go to the page and click blue words until you end up somewhere weird,” Jamie says, fishing out his phone and connecting it to the screen. “Here, you go first.”
“Uh, football?” Sam offers tentatively, not sure what Jamie is expecting here.
“Boring,” Jamie rolls his eyes, but he’s typing it in one handed anyway. Sam should really rescue his bowl at some point. “Now I getta pick where we go and then you, alright?”
“Sure,” Sam says, deciding to just follow Jamie’s lead here.
“Mint,” Jamie says, looking genuinely thrilled to be doing this. Sam would not have guessed that this would be a hobby of Jamie’s, but it’s fun to learn something new about his teammate, especially since it is a genuine fun fact this time.
Jamie scrolls past the etymology and early history as he talks. “Course I already read this one. Here, this is me fave bit: ‘The modern rules of many football codes were formulated during the mid- or late- 19th century. This also applies to other sports such as lawn bowls, lawn tennis, etc. The major impetus for this was the patenting of the world’s first lawnmower in 1830. This allowed for the preparation of modern ovals, playing fields, pitches, grass courts, etc,’” he reads. “Wild, innit? Tha’ a bunch of our rules exist ‘cause lawnmowers could make shapes in the grass. And like the railroads or whatever. That’s before this bit.” He clicks on lawnmower.
“That is very wild,” Sam agrees. “Here, I can take the phone while you finish your soup. It is my turn to pick.”
Jamie hands over his phone more easily than Sam expected and thankfully starts finishing his soup, so that it is no longer in danger of getting spilled.
Together they learn about types of lawnmowers and the safety risk involved. Sam has more respect and fear for the people who maintain all the pitches and resolves to be extra kind to them. Some of the things sound horrible. He picks domestic robots and they move on.
The two of them end up going through Furby from there to intelligence agencies (because what the fuck is that link) to coup d’étates (since Jamie is a history buff apparently) to non-violent revolution (because Sam thinks it sounds interesting) to flowers (because Jamie wants to get out of the political) where he tries to convince Sam to pick vagina, because he’s a child and Sam instead chooses Jurassic (because he has standards). By that point, Jamie abandons their game to tell Sam all he knows about dinosaurs. Sam is pretty sure he makes half of it up, but he looks excited and it sounds interesting enough.
Despite it all, Sam thinks they’re actually friends now.
As Jamie talks about dinosaurs and how he were obsessed with them when he were seven and mummy – it’s still adorable and unexpected that Jamie still calls his mom, mummy – took him to a museum and they nearly got kicked out, because Jamie wanted to touch one of the bones and why can’t you when they’re right there, you know? Sam takes their bowls into the kitchen and goes to put them in the dishwasher.
Right as he’s about to reach for the handle, Jamie makes a half-choked, half-squeaking noise, stopping Sam in his tracks and getting him to turn around with an inquisitive look on his face. Jamie almost looks like he’s blushing. Like he’s embarrassed. “You don’t gotta do tha’, mate.”
“It is truly no issue, I promise,” Sam assures him, going to open the dishwasher while Jamie moves to grab him.
He opens the dishwasher right before Jamie grabs him. A pungent smell hits him in the face and Jamie let’s go as quickly as he grabbed on, closing the dishwasher at lightning speed. “I said it’s fine, yeah,” he says tersely.
Sam frowns. “That did not smell fine.”
“It’s fine,” Jamie repeats and Sam is starting to suspect it’s not fine when Jamie says that.
“I do not think it is,” Sam says, reaching for the dishwasher again.
“Just leave it,” Jamie says, trying to hold the dishwasher closed. “I jus’… haven’t turned it on in a while. Got tired and have jus’ been eating take out and shit. Forgot ‘bout it if I’m honest.”
There’s an edge of desperation in his voice and he’s not meeting Sam’s eyes. All this time, Jamie has been incredibly open and nonchalant about how shit he felt and the attempts on his own life that he made, but with this, he is embarrassed. Sam supposes this is a less in your face symptom that makes people back off, but instead a menial task, whose lack of completion can be seen as a moral failing.
“Jamie,” Sam says gently. “I do not care that you have not turned on your dishwasher. Let me just put the stuff from dinner in there and turn it on. That way, it’s out of the way.”
“It smells fucking rancid,” Jamie says, not protesting, but clearly giving Sam the out, expecting him to take it. Wanting him to maybe. Wanting Sam decline to prove to himself that Jamie is too much and this is where Sam stops caring.
Well, tough luck for Jamie. This is not where Sam will fail. “It’ll be temporary,” Sam smiles reassuringly, putting aside Jamie’s now limp hand and opening the dishwasher.
Again, the smell hits him and looking at some of the dishes, they have been in there for longer than just ‘a while.’ Jamie must have been not using his dishes for at least three weeks. And Sam is reminded of the fact that Jamie hadn’t even bothered to eat, before Sam showed up. It hits him all over again, how good Jamie is at putting up a veneer of okay-ness. How everyone falls for it. How Jamie wants them to fall for it and is very good at only showing people the bits he wants them to see. How Jamie believes that no one will be in his corner and everyone either turns away or expects something from him.
Sam quickly puts the bowls and utensils in, leaving the pan he used to soak in the sink after he put the left overs in tupperware in the fridge. It’s honestly a miracle Jamie even had ingredients to make soup, he thinks.
With how gross the dishes are, he doesn’t know if they’ll be clean in the morning, but they’ll be cleaner at least and they can just put the dishwasher on again. Or Sam can clean them by hand, but he doubts Jamie will let him and he’s not sure it is worth the fight.
“So, bed,” Sam smiles, not even commenting on what has just transpired and letting Jamie move past it without having to talk about it more.
“Oh, yeah, come on,” Jamie says, nodding for Sam to follow.
The rest of the house is equally impersonal as it had been downstairs. Sam is pretty sure the only reason the house is not a mess, is because Jamie does not have enough things to even make a mess. The thought leaves a hollow feeling in his stomach.
“Here’s the guest bedroom,” Jamie says, opening a door at the end of the hallway.
Of course, Sam could have known this was going to easy. Taking a deep breath, he tries to channel his father when he firmly but gently puts his foot down, as he says: “Jamie, I’m not tying you to the bed, but I am sleeping in the same room as you. That is not up for debate.”
The look on Jamie’s face is the same as it had been downstairs with the dishwasher and Sam’s gut clenches anxiously at what might be hidden underneath all this.
Once again, Jamie doesn’t look at him, rubbing the back of his neck as he says: “I know. Weren’t trying to fight you on it. We can both sleep ‘ere.”
“Would you not prefer to sleep in your own bed?” Sam asks, wondering if Jamie actually just doesn’t want Sam in his bed. A thought that stings more than he’d like to admit.
“Uh, I mean, yeah, but it’s fucking gross in there and I couldn’t be bothered to wash the sheets, y’know, so I’ve been sleeping in me guest bedrooms,” Jamie answers, trying too hard to sound casual and clearly not catching the fact that he used the multiple of guest bedroom. He’s been going down all the extra rooms instead of cleaning sheets.
“You deserve to be able to sleep in your own bed,” Sam says with intent, hoping the message will stick in Jamie’s skull. “I will change the sheets and put them in the laundry.”
“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Jamie placates him in a way he’s never seen from the other man. He’s actively making himself smaller and less threatening; the opposite of what he usually does.
“It’s no problem, I promise,” Sam says, trying to be as gentle as he can as to not spook Jamie more.
“Nah, mate,” Jamie swallows nervously. “The laundry room’s a mess anyway. Nowt to find there. Jus’… piles of clothes and a load that’s gone bad.” Again he swallows, looking at the floor ashamed as he admits: “I’ve jus’ been buying new clothes, y’know. Less hassle.” Like changing sheets is a hassle.
Sam is a little speechless. He has already been let in on the fact that Jamie has been struggling behind the scenes, but it is so much bigger than he thought. It’s not just the bad nights wherein he actively needs to be stopped or the casual way in which he dismisses others, because he doesn’t want them to get to close and cannot imagine them wanting to be there anyway. It’s deeper than that. It’s…buying clean clothes because washing them is too much, sleeping in different beds because changing the sheets is too much, it’s not eating because then you will have to deal with the dishes, not being able to turn on your dishwasher and letting your load of laundry go bad.
Before now, Sam had thought Jamie just liked fashion and was one of those ‘you can only wear an outfit once’-types. Another vain thing that made Jamie a prick, but fell away in the grand scheme of the rest of his asshole shit. But it was actually hiding this. Hiding how tired Jamie is. How exhausted with it all. How he’s barely keeping it together, barely keeping up his image.
Honestly, Sam is starting to suspect, Jamie only uses his energy for football and nothing else. He just is football and nothing else. All his energy goes into his front and the rest just crumbles.
He slowly places a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, getting Jamie to look him in the eyes as he says: “It is okay. You are doing your best, there is nothing more anyone should expect of you. You still deserve to sleep in your own bed. I will change your sheets and put on that ruined load again. We’ll see about the rest of the laundry and the house tomorrow, okay?”
Jamie’s eyes are shining and Sam almost thinks he’s going to see Jamie cry again, not desperate sobs, but tears he cannot help due to someone being kind. The thought breaks his heart. It almost breaks his heart more how Jamie tucks it all away, before the first tear can fall. “Okay,” he softly whispers.
Sam changes the sheets of Jamie’s bed – which has a chaeta print headboard, which is so like Jamie it makes Sam fond – while Jamie hovers in the background. He isn’t saying anything, just watching Sam closely, as if looking for the smallest sign that Sam’s mood and opinion will start to change.
It doesn’t. Sam simply changes the sheets and puts on the load of laundry again without commenting on the piles of clothes that all reek of sweat all around them as he does. All the while, Jamie remains his silent shadow.
In fact, Jamie doesn’t say anything until they’re both in bed together, their teeth brushed. Jamie might have turned his back to Sam, but he did not stop Sam from resting his forehead between Jamie’s shoulder blades, getting the assurance that Jamie is still alive and breathing. Then, in the quiet of the darkness, Jamie whispers: “Thanks.”
Sam half thinks he wasn’t meant to hear it, that Jamie waited until he thought Sam was asleep. But he answers regardless, voice equally quiet: “It’s no problem. You’re good.”
He can hear Jamie swallow, but he doesn’t say a word, so they just continue to lay there in the silence and the darkness together. Just breathing.
These past twenty-four hours have been strange, Sam thinks as he lays there, feeling Jamie breathe under his skin. And it’s even crazier that it has just been twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours ago, Sam had been nervous to share a room with Jamie. Twenty-four hours ago, they were strained teammates. Twenty-four hours ago, he had never seen Jamie genuinely laugh or seen him sob. Twenty-four hours ago, he thought Jamie had it all and was on top of the world. Twenty-four hours ago, he thought Jamie had never struggled. Twenty-four hours ago, he didn’t know Jamie had ever tried to kill himself before.
It’s unreal how fast things can change, he thinks. How easily things can shift completely if someone reaches out. How grateful you can become for a person’s presence in snap, when moments before you were ambivalent – maybe even slightly negative – towards their existence.
He wonders what his father would say if he could see him now. He hopes that he will be proud of Sam for trying to help Jamie, for putting aside their history and becoming his friend. For caring when someone is in need. That he is not disappointed in Sam for letting Jamie walk all over him this whole time and to just put it aside, because Jamie needs someone more than Sam needs an apology.
And Sam has gotten an apology. He doesn’t really count the sobbing on the bathroom floor, because that was just helpless and self-deprecating, but Jamie did say sorry earlier this evening after he talked shit about him and his father cooking. It was just for that one thing, but it is a start.
Regardless, Sam isn’t doing this to get an apology. This is no strings attached and some day, Jamie will see that Sam is on his side and not against him. That not everyone is out to get him. That he has people in his corner.
Maybe Jamie will give a proper apology then, but there is a lot between the hypothetical future day where Jamie feels better and now. Maybe if Jamie is in a place where laundry and changing his sheets, or even eating, don’t feel like too much energy, they can move onto that.
Until then, however, Sam is going to be content with being there for Jamie, being his friend, being able to listen to him breathe as they lay there together.
Earlier Jamie did tell him to go to sleep and Sam is tired enough, despite his nap on the bus, that he does. But it takes him longer than usual to let go of today. He keeps wanting to check up Jamie, make sure he’s okay. He’ll never forgive himself if something happens to Jamie on his watch.
So, he startles awake halfway through the night, much like he does when he has an early appointment and he’s afraid he’ll miss the alarm.
Shooting upright, however, it becomes clear that it was not baseless anxiety. Next to him, the bed is empty.
Jamie is gone.
~~
A/N:
What is this? Jamie Tartt also growing as a person? Making an actual friend? Whaaaaaat xp
Btw, this whole chapter was meant to be one page, before I moved on with plot, but I got caught up in their budding friendship and character development as well as fleshing out the whole mental state of everyone more, so I did what I always do and let it get out of hand lol
It hurts. Sam can’t deny that it hurts. He’s been here for Jamie the entire day and he does not expect to be thanked, he is doing this, because he wants to, because it is the right thing to do. And this evening, he thought they were friends. That Jamie might be unsure about it all, but he at least knew there had been a connection between them. “Please, don’t be cruel,” he says, choking before he can assure Jamie that he knows he’s hurting, but that his words hurt Sam too.
