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.. Nevermind that. How are you, Issac? It's been a while. [/if you were my kid, I'd spoil you]
[ pauses, eventually shrugging and moving on as well. ]
Pretty good. I caught some sleep tonight, so everything seems better than it actually is. And, yeah, I know, life's been pretty hectic lately. What's up with you?
Do you want me to put Matthew on a leash for you? Don't worry. I can have him sleep in the rain, too. [shh matthew. ily]
Sure, but-- ... who's Matthew?
ooc: Join the club. We can eat ice cream and SOB TOGETHER.
GET READY CAUSE I NEED A LOT OF ICE CREAM RIGHT NOW.
Falling Through the Doors || Sam&Anya
Days had passed, and Sam had left the hospital a total of twice - both times to shave and shower and get a fresh bouquet of flowers to put on Anya's bedside table. He wanted her to have something nice to wake up to.
She looked so small lying lifeless there. They called it a coma, and as time dragged on and she didn't wake, Sam could see the hope leaving the doctor's eyes. At first they had told him to just be patient, that everything would be fine, but now they came in every couple of hours to check her vitals and left with thin mouths and empty stares. The nurses barely looked at him anymore, and when they did it was with pity. Sam couldn't take the pity.
Anya's skin had grown pale. The blonde framing her face made her look like a porcelain doll. Sam remembered when she had dyed it, citing a nostalgia for her original hair color. It had been jarring at first in contrast to the dark hair he had known her with, but it had grown on him quickly. Anya always looked beautiful, no matter what.
Even now Sam found himself unable to look away from her. He could sense the fight leaving her body as she slipped further and further away from him, and he wanted nothing more than to reach in and pull her back. It didn't work that way, so instead he sat, and he talked to her. He told her everything he never had, in case he never got the chance again. He knew he'd have to tell her again when she woke up, but that was fine. He'd talk forever if it meant she'd stay with him.
So he told her about growing up on the move. He told her about Dean, and the adventures they had together, about John and the drinking and the way he went after Dean when he got mad. He told her about Stanford, how he had wanted to be a lawyer, had wanted to help people.
He told her about hunting. What it was really like to spend every day face to face with monsters. He recounted what it was like watch innocent people suffer and die, and how good it felt when you actually managed to save a few. He told her about being psychic, about how it scared him at first, how it made Dean look at him differently. He told her how his visions had never completely gone away, he'd just stopped talking about them. He told her that ever since he met her, he wasn't scared of himself so much anymore. She made him better. He told her how grateful he was for that.
He told her about the demon blood.
That was the most difficult part; it was the topic he had been trying not to breach. His addiction, his weakness, his ignorance and misjudgment. As Sam spoke he imagined he could feel her fingers coming up to brush the hair away from his brow, hear her voice tell him it was okay, it was over now, she loved him despite what he may have done.
After about a week Sam's voice gave out. He was too rasped to talk, so he listened. The sound of Anya's heart monitor slowly imprinted itself into his mind until the sound became her. He knew he'd never be able to hear her heart beat on its own without hearing that sound echoed.
It was so hard not to blame himself. He shouldn't have left her. If he had been there, Leonardo would have never gotten close enough to put a bruise on her throat or a knife in her stomach. The bastard would've died before he had half a chance. But Sam hadn't been there. He'd stormed off, he'd been angry, he'd been hurt, he'd wanted her to hurt too. Sam could never forgive himself for that.
The doctors hadn't checked on her today, Sam realized. They must have come in while he was sleeping, but usually they'd been here twice by now. They were spacing out her check-ins more. The doctors were losing hope. Sam swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the realization. Anya was dying. There was nothing else they could do. It was all on her now, and as Sam tried to get a hold on her energy, he realized she was weaker than he'd ever felt. Her time was running out.
When the machines started beeping frantically, Sam was sure that this was it. He called for a nurse, and a group of them came in, talking a mile a minute using words Sam could barely understand. They crowded around Anya and tried to push Sam out, but he wasn't budging. Then, through the chaos, he saw something he couldn't believe. Anya's eyes were open, her hands were grasping frantically, trying to push the nurses away from her.
She was alive.
She said his name and Sam pushed forward to grab her hand. He stood to the side, letting the medical professionals do their jobs, but he stayed close, and he held on to her. He could hardly believe the sensation of her holding on to him in return.
"It's ok," Sam said quietly when Anya met his eyes, her own full of fear and disorientation. "It's all going to be ok."
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