Have Mercy On Me
This is my first time writing for Sam O'Brian from Warfare, thank you @bib200 for the request.
I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.
Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17
@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @shypy92 @nikfigueiredo @sabsthedoll @rach2602
Joseph Quinn Masterlist
Summary: Sam is back home, but he can't adjust to the pain his injuries are causing him. And he can't handle the overwhelming pain the concoction of meds won't cure. (Y/n) tries her best to help him.
Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Something soft yet overwhelming flooded through (Y/n) when she nudged open the bedroom door.
So many times she had stood on the threshold, staring into an empty room that she wished was occupied. She had stood there hundreds of times, clinging to the door with her eyes closed and her mind working on overdrive to create the sound of Sam's voice. His laugh. That guttural edge to his voice when he was passionate about something and going on a rampage.
She had looked across at an empty bed and wished for someone to be laid there, to hear the sound of his soft breathing or the occasional snore.
She wanted to see Sam more than anything in the world. Each time he went on tour or off on training, (Y/n) told herself she was prepared for this. That she was ready for the lonesome nights, the short phone calls, the static, blurred video chats every once in a while. The cooking for one, the empty bed, the talking to herself because she sometimes forgot that she was alone.
But each time that Sam went away, it all crept up on (Y/n) and showed her that she could never prepare herself or feel truly at ease while he was away.
And now, as she stood on the threshold looking at her husband who looked more like a mirhage than a reality, she couldn't get her mind to believe it.
He was home early, he wasn't supposed to be back yet but that was what sick leave was for. No way could he remain out with his troop, his team, his other family, when he could barely stand up. He would be a sitting duck over there, a target that would get them all shot. And he couldn't sit in the med base and wait for a recovery that would take weeks.
Having him home was something between a dream and a nightmare. It was a relief to have him safe, have him right here where her arms could wrap around him at any time of day and reassure herself that he was alright. Having him home safe was all that (Y/n) ever wished for.
But him being home early, so tattered and fragile and in agony, that was the nightmare. If his tour was finished, if his time over there was up then this would have been easier to handle. But Sam knew he wasn't supposed to be home yet and coming home early felt like he had failed, like he was letting down the rest of his team that had managed to remain.
(Y/n) tried to shake those thoughts from her mind as she slowly walked into the bedroom.
Her arms crossed over her chest and her hands ran up and down her exposed arms and her head angled to one side as she approached Sam.
(Y/n) never knew how to react, those first few days when he came home. She didn't know whether he wanted space or comfort, whether he needed to talk or to process. It was easier to let Sam set the pace and get him to tell her what he needed and trust that he would open up if he needed to.
He had been home two days now and he was unsettled. He hadn't had any nightmares yet, but (Y/n) figured the morphine he'd been given at the army hospital and the meds he was having now he was home were stopping him from gaining insomnia or those bad dreams.
He hadn't said much about what happened, he seemed more intent on trying to ask what he has missed than what he had been through.
Her gaze stayed settled on Sam, who looked like he was in some kind of sleepwalking state or a trance.
He was sat on the side of the bed with his head hung down and his bare feet idly tapping against the carpet. His hands were clasped together in front of him and for a moment (Y/n) thought he was praying, until she realised he was clinging to his name tags around his neck.
His eyes were still open but he wasn't looking at the name tags, he was staring down at the carpet.
Sometimes it was like a dance, trying to approach Sam without panicking him or unsettling him or even annoying him if he thought she was treating him like he was made of glass. But right now, Sam looked like he was in his own world, and that world might not be such a loving place.
Her arms dropped from her chest and she held her breath as she stepped towards him and crouched down beside his leg. She curled her hands over his knee and perched her chin on her hands, looking up at him softly.
It took Sam a few seconds to register her touch which brought him out of the deep trance he seemed to have put himself in. But when he turned his head to look down at her, a small trace of a smile flooded his lips which made (Y/n)'s heart soar in her chest.
"Hi, you ready to come downstairs?" (Y/n) danced her fingers across his knee while she reflected his smile back up at him.
"Yeah… here, keep 'em safe."
Sam carefully pulled the silver chain over his head and looped it around the back of (Y/n)'s neck instead. He liked how the tags looked against (Y/n)'s chest and how they seemed to amplify the light around her like she had a halo.
Whenever he came home, he gave his tags to (Y/n) and she wore them until he was deployed again. He said she gave them luck and they became his lucky charm once he was away. He usually placed them around (Y/n)'s neck the moment he came home, but he had been so out of it from the medication and the flight home that he forgot.
He traced the pad of his finger across the tags once they were hanging from (Y/n)'s neck and something flickered across his eyes that made her breathing change.
If he had been a foot closer to that explosion, those tags might have been the only thing to identify him. Those tags might have been all that was left; all that came back home to (Y/n).
It was hard to try and rid those thoughts from his mind, but Sam tried as he pressed his palms down into the bed to try and push himself up. He shifted his weight to try and push up on his left leg. His good leg. The only one that seemed to work under his control at the moment.
His teeth sank down into his tongue sharp enough that it sent electric volts running through his nerves and his muscles tensed up once he was on his feet. His right foot bent so only his toes were pressing into the carpet and his knee was bent forward to try and stabilise himself. It was hard trying to gain his sense of balance when he had to lean mostly to the left and hardly put any weight on his right leg at all.
From the beginning of his thigh down past his knee, his right leg was tattered. Littered with stitches, swollen skin, cuts, suture strips and puncture marks from all they had done to save his leg. And not forgetting the burns that made it hard to move, bathe and sleep when every item of clothing or bedding seemed to stick to his raw, healing skin.
His fingers twitched at his sides as he tried to remain steady on his own feet- or foot, considering he wasn't really putting his right foot down on the floor.
But his body froze when he suddenly felt (Y/n) reach out for his right hand. She looped his arm around the back of her shoulders and curved her arm around his waist, taking some of his weight without him asking her to.
He didn't want to lean on her. He didn't want to be asking for help. He was the one who had been out in the battlefield. The one who had fought for his life and been through training to void him of panic and keep him level headed. He'd had guns shoved in his face and looked death in the eyes. Sam wasn't supposed to be this frail and relying on (Y/n) to help him. He should be looking after himself.
Sam couldn't help but hang his head down as he tried turning towards the door, but he found himself wobbling to the left in a vain attempt to keep his weight on his own rather than leaning on (Y/n).
The pair of them awkwardly shuffled out of the room before (Y/n) sighed and dug her fingers into Sam's waist to get him to stop.
"Sam, baby you're not exactly a dead weight. Let me help."
His sigh was enough of an answer to show (Y/n) that he wasn't exactly thrilled, but he would relent because she had asked. He slouched to the right, dropping some of his weight down onto (Y/n) which allowed him to lift his right foot from the floor and keep it in the air between them.
His hand reached out for the bannister and with (Y/n) gripping his waist and holding him up, they hopped down the stairs together. It was a lot easier this way than how Sam had tried to hobble and crawl up on one leg. And subsequently shuffle down on his bum when he was being defiant and tried not to accept (Y/n)'s help last night.
Once they were downstairs, they veered towards the living room and made a slow walk towards the sofa.
A wince flooded Sam's face when he flopped down onto the sofa with (Y/n)'s hands on his waist and arm, trying in vain to soften the blow. His hands scrunched around the sofa cushion beneath him and his eyes closed tight as he held his breath to try and settle his system. Ignoring the pins and needles coursing through his leg was hard, but he tried his best. He had to try, he couldn't let the pain get hold of him or it would consume him whole.
He didn't notice that (Y/n) had disappeared until she was suddenly back, perched on the arm of the sofa and holding one hand out in front of him like she was offering him a little piece of magic.
His head tipped back against the sofa and his brows furrowed as he looked up at her before glancing down at her hand to see what she was holding out to him.
Medication.
Powdered gold. Magic remedies that would cure his aches and pains and the severe, itching and aggravating sensations he kept feeling. At least for a few hours.
"Which ones are these?" There was almost a sense of joy in Sam's voice as he reached out for the pills and swallowed them dry. (Y/n) knew he wouldn't bother with a drink to wash them down, he was so desperate for relief from his agony that he would just force down any tablets he was handed.
"Tramadol and the antibiotics."
God only knows what kind of infections and illnesses that Sam had been exposed to out there, and with his leg being cut open so viciously and charred by flames, they had to be careful. They didn't want him developing an infection or sepsis so he was on broad antibiotics for two weeks to make sure his system was cleared and his wounds would heal properly and without problems.
He was allowed to take two different pain killers, but not at the same time. He had come home with very specific instructions, so much so that (Y/n) had carefully written out a timetable of what he needed to take and when he was supposed to have them. The last thing they needed was getting confused and accidentally overdosing Sam on painkillers.
"Can I do your blood thinners?" (Y/n) managed a smile when she looked down at Sam.
He was leaning back into her touch when her hand moved to cradle the back of his neck. And when she rubbed and scratched her nails along his neck, he visibly shuddered and exhaled a shaky breath.
He turned his head to the right, leaning against her arm and nuzzling his nose against her skin for a few moments before he exhaled and nodded.
He was sad to feel her touch disappear and his darkening eyes followed her as she clambered off the arm of the sofa and moved to kneel in front of him instead. Sam parted his knees to the side without needing to be asked, and it cut into him when (Y/n) shuffled to the side and leant up against his left leg, clearly trying her best not to touch his right leg and cause him untold agony.
(Y/n) reached behind her to take the pre-filled needle from the table that she had retrieved from the kitchen. The hospital had given Sam a supply of blood thinners to self-inject and a sharps bin to dispose of them in, but Sam didn't like doing it. He loved how soft and gentle (Y/n)'s touch was when she took care of him, despite how he didn't always like having to be cared for.
He stretched his hand out until his fingers were dancing along (Y/n)'s shoulder and up her neck, and a smile pulled at his lips when he felt the way she shivered beneath his touch.
He stroked his thumb along the junction between her neck and shoulder while he watched her.
He watched how she slowly rolled up his shirt and pinched his waist so she could inject the needle into his abdomen. He barely hissed at the pain, compared to the feeling of fire biting at his thigh and metal chunks cutting through his thigh and into his vein, a needle was like a tap on the wrist.
His heart soared in his chest when (Y/n) leant forward and pressed her lips to his abdomen after removing the needle. Her lips left tingles soaring through his skin and Sam leant forward and attached his lips to the back of her head while his hand moved to cup the back of her neck.
He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent which seemed to flow through his veins almost as powerfully as the drugs he had just taken.
It wouldn't be like this forever.
He wouldn't be like this forever.
***
He didn't want to cry. He really didn't, but the urge was starting to become overwhelming.
He had done well out in the army not to cry, even when he saw his leg burning and fire licking at his skin and tearing through his army trousers. He didn't cry when he was dragged along the stone floor or when gauze and hands were compressing on his wounds or trying to tie straps around his leg to cut off his blood supply.
He screamed. God, had he screamed the walls down and screeched until his vocal cords were rubbed raw and he felt like his throat was bleeding. He yelled and fought and screamed, but he didn't cry.
But now, this pain was different. This wasn't an ungodly stabbing pain or the feeling of blood spurting out of his leg. It wasn't the feeling of his skin pulsing and throbbing with the layers that had been burnt off.
This was a raw itch. An awful scratching sensation that felt like nails were stuck beneath his skin, right into the muscle and they were trying to scratch their way to the surface. But no matter how often or how hard Sam dragged his nails along his skin, he couldn't free those sharp nails stuck into the muscle. He couldn't relieve the itch.
Sam wished he could submerge his leg in holy water and have the pains and the itching and the horrible pins and needles disappear. He wanted relief, and he wanted anything that would give him that relief.
His fingers twitched at his sides and his head tipped back on the sofa but it didn't stop the tears from trickling down his face like a fresh water stream. And once the tears began to jump free down his chin, Sam sniffed and moved his twitching hands.
He raked his hands up and down his thighs, scratching his nails through his loose joggers which were the clothes he was living in so they didn't stick to his wounds or aggravate his legs.
Ragged breaths and tortured hisses passed his lips when his fingers caught the stitches that twinged and made his leg jerk like his nerves had been severed.
He just wanted it to stop. Why was that too much to ask?
Lifting his hands from his legs felt like he had released a button that caused his legs to swell up. It felt like they were inflating like balloons and the pins and needles had become teeth sinking into his flesh and tearing it apart.
He couldn't take this anymore. He needed some sort of relief before this pain drove him over the brink of madness.
A rendition of "I can't," spluttered past Sam's lips and he clawed his hands along his face, leaving red marks and indents in the skin while he sat forward. His thighs and knees tensed up and his back arched forward as he tried to push up to his feet.
He stumbled, whacking into the coffee table with a shallow cry and cringes that tore through his body.
His hands fumbled for anything that he could use to steady himself, hitting the armrest, the side unit, a little table in the corner. Anything and everything that would support his weight and push him forward towards the kitchen. He needed some relief. He needed something to make the pain stop.
Sam didn't care if it wasn't time to take any of his medications yet, he was going to have to find something that would take away this agony. He would rather die than feel like this.
His elbows slumped down on the kitchen counter and he arched his lower back out, groaning through gritted teeth as he slumped to the left to gain some micro sense of relief in his right leg.
A new fire set ablaze throughout his leg from the very top of his hip down to the nerves in the end of his toes when he tried to straighten up. It was agony pushing up on his toes to try and look through the kitchen cupboard, but he was desperate.
And desperation clouded any other judgement and thought in his mind.
He wasn't quite sure what he was looking for, whether he should be searching for boxes of pills or for a pill dispenser with the days of the week and times from morning to evening written on them. After all, he was on a regime, a schedule of pills now and (Y/n) might have organised them to better remember when he was supposed to take them.
Sam didn't care. He would raid boxes or dispensers and he didn't care if (Y/n) noticed or realised what he had done. As long as he got some sort of relief, he would be okay with her being angry at him. He was the one feeling this pain, this torture, he needed relief and he didn't care how he got it.
His fingertips barely grazed along a box and already his heart was soaring in his chest and surging up into his throat. But when he pulled the box closer, he gruffed. Antibiotics; and besides, it was empty. There had to be a pill dispenser in here somewhere.
"Baby what are you looking for?"
Confusion tore through (Y/n) when she stood in the kitchen doorway and lolled her head to one side as her arms folded over her chest.
If he needed something she would get it for him, he didn't look too well stood there with scrunched up features and lips tightly chewed between his teeth. It caused his nose to scrunch up and push out and the muscles in his neck were tensing and constricting like his throat was erroding.
(Y/n) jerked back against the doorframe when Sam managed to curl his hand around one of the boxes in there, but when he realised it was only throat soothers, he tossed the box against the nearest wall.
A gruff "Codiene." spat past Sam's lips and his nose scrunched again, but he didn't dare glance across at (Y/n). He simply tried looking through the cupboard again, but it was hard to try and find what he wanted when the pain was starting to cloud his judgement and make his vision blur. He could see the packets but he could barely read or register what they were.
(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed and she stepped forward and reached out for the piece of paper she had pinned to the fridge. The schedule she had so neatly written out which contained all of his medications and little boxes that needed to be ticked when he'd had whatever meds necessary.
"No, no look you've had tramadol. Baby you can't have both, you could overdose-"
"The pain's real bad…" Sam hung his head down while his hands dug into the counter until his nails started to scratch into the surface. "Sweetheart, please?"
Desperation and grief clung to Sam's tone as he finally angled his head to the left to look over at (Y/n). The pleading was all there in his watering eyes that had never looked so broken and agonised before. He was hurting worse than ever before and he needed something to make it stop.
Light trembles started to take over his body and a weak mewl left his lips when (Y/n) crossed the kitchen and stood behind him. He quivered and leant forward when he felt her hands on his biceps and her lips attaching to his shoulder over his shirt. Her chest pressed up into his back and she began to smooth her hands up and down his arms, doing her best to try and calm him down and help any way she could, but she wasn't sure what she could do in terms of pain relief.
He'd taken all the meds he could have, giving him any more would risk an overdose and then he would be worse than he already was and could end up back in the hospital. That was a risk (Y/n) wasn't willing to allow him to take.
"Oh baby," Her voice was soft and lulling and Sam wished that her words held some sort of medication and that she could talk him into a slumber of ease and relief. Her voice was so melodic and the anguish in her tone was almost enough to soothe his aching heart. But not his harrowing leg.
When she heard a pitiful "Please," leave Sam's lips, (Y/n) almost felt her heart breaking free from her chest to try and reach out for him.
"I'm not helping you overdose, you know it's highly addictive. You've had all the meds you can for the next three hours."
It had been a long time since (Y/n) had witnessed Sam cry. He usually bottled up his darker emotions until he either lashed out or decompressed on his own. Seeing him cry wasn't something (Y/n) was used to because he wasn't the type. He would get angry, he would go red like beetroot when he was upset or volatile, but crying was something that only happened when Sam felt like he was on the brink of an abyss he couldn't avoid.
His shoulders shook, his head hung forward like his neck had broken and his body started to quake as deep, choked sounds emitted past his lips. Tears poured down his face and his lips stuck together with spit as he bit his bottom lip until he could taste blood on his tongue.
Sam raised his right hand from the counter so he could swipe it beneath his eyes and nose, and a pitiful sound left his mouth that almost sounded like a cynical laugh.
He craned his head to look over his left shoulder at the one person he was desperate to find some help or understanding from. But the kind of understanding he found wasn't the one he was looking for. She was being kind, she understood his pain but she was still level-headed and unwilling to break the rules and endanger him to hurt him. He wanted her to break the same as him and throw caution to the wind to give him a small sense of relief.
"(Y/n), have mercy on me."
His words broke (Y/n)'s heart like her ribs had punctured straight through the organ they were supposed to protect.
There was nothing she could do, and that notion brought tears to her own eyes and had her shaking and quivering through her breaths against his shoulder.
Having mercy on him and trying to do the best by him were two completely different things.
"Sam you know I can't."
It wasn't often that (Y/n) used his name, only in very formal situations or when she was on the phone to the doctors on his behalf as Sam didn't like making phone calls or appointments.
To hear her say his name with that despair in her voice and that broken look upon her face, it brought him into another fit of tears that ended in a howl which shook him to his core.
His shoulders shook and started to shimmy until he was nudging (Y/n) off of him so he could stretch an arm up to try in vain to scour through the cupboard again. The moment his fingers brushed the medicine tray, (Y/n)'s hand was curling around his wrist and pulling him away.
When she shut the cupboard, it was like she had closed the door to his future in his face. She had shut him off from the one thing that would relieve his agony and save him from torment. She had just closed him off from Heaven and condemned him down to Hell when the fires of Hell were already consuming his leg and trying to reach for his soul.
He shimmied his shoulders again until he managed to shake (Y/n) off from him and he stumbled to the side until he was able to turn and face her properly. But even standing to face her meant slumping his right arm on the counter to prop himself up because his right leg was wavering and close to giving out, despite the tiny ounce of weight leaning on it.
"You weren't there! My skin's burned, ripped and torn up. This- this pain isn't worth it, I wish they'd took it off."
Spit foamed past Sam's lips as he pointed down at his leg that was more of a hinderence now than a limb. He knew he was lucky, they could easily have removed his leg if the pain was more severe and most people in his position would be thanking the stars for keeping their limbs where nature intended.
But this horror that came with it didn't seem to be worth it anymore. The agony he was faced with was more overwhelming than anything in Sam's life. It was as if he was still laid on that dirty stone floor with blood pouring out his leg and his trousers charred from an explosion fire. His body was here, but his nerves and mind were back there, captured in that moment each second of the day.
(Y/n) shook her head and moved her hands to rub up and down her arms as she looked over at Sam with harrowing, broken eyes.
"And if they did that, then you'd be in utter despair with honourable discharge. And the pain would still be there, even if that leg wasn't."
Removing his leg wouldn't make it any easier because then Sam would of needed to learn to walk with a prosthetic or on crutches. He would have to get used to a life without a limb, a life where he wouldn't be able to go back to the army and he wouldn't know what to do with himself then. And he would still be in agony, maybe even more so if he was recovering from that kind of surgery.
She watched Sam cower and drop his head while she brought a hand up to cover her mouth so she didn't make any sort of noise or whimper or cry.
"I'm still there, this pain- fuck (Y/n), this pain has me back there with Ray hovering over me, a-and gauze pushed into the muscle. I need… baby I need it to stop."
"An overdose won't help you. Sam you think I like this? You think I'm enjoying seeing you in agony? I don't know how to help you without potentially hurting you further-"
"Give me the fucking meds for this shit!"
His outburst caused (Y/n) to wince and coil in on herself as a silent croak caught at the back of her throat. Her eyes momentarily closed, despite the tears still pouring down her face and she pinned her elbows into her waist as Sam's scratchy, harrowing voice rung in her ears like a broken record.
She watched, unable to tear her eyes away as Sam shuddered and writhed on the spot, barely able to stand on his own two feet. But when he dug his trembling hands into his waist and yanked down his joggers to show the tattered state of his leg that had become a patchwork quilt.
Or Frankenstein's monster.
"Look!"
There was a sense of urgency in Sam's voice as he waved his shaking hands and motioned to his leg.
He pointed at the aggravated stitches that were reddened and swollen, even worse than before because of how he kept itching and scratching them. The swollen muscle and the red, blue and black splotches around the skin showing the various healing processes. The deep incision in his leg where they had to repair his vein and artery and keep the blood flowing down to his foot.
This tatty mess wasn't what it should be, and this wasn't what Sam wanted. This was the exact opposite of what it should be, and he hated it.
His watering eyes could barely focus on (Y/n) and he thought briefly that she was going to retreat and leave him to raid the cupboards and take as many pills as he wanted. And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. But once she was in front of him, every part of him began to quiver.
He wanted to fight when she reached out for him. He wanted to scream and writhe and pull away, but all he could do was melt into her touch.
When her arm secured around his waist, he inclined forward and let her help hold him up. When her hand cupped the back of his neck and her nails scratched into his shaven skin, he quivered and loosened beneath her touch until he was putty in her hands.
He clutched at whatever part of her he could hold, dropping his face down into the crook of her neck which shivered with the howl he let out into her skin.
He let her pull on his waist and ease him into her chest so she could lower them both down to the floor with Sam's legs splayed out so the pain was lessened. The cold floor was somewhat soothing to his skin that was now overheating, but it was (Y/n)'s embrace that glued his broken pieces back together rather than leaving him hollow and fractured.
"It won't last forever."
(Y/n) wasn't sure how long she sat there on the tiled kitchen floor, holding her husband in her arms. Her legs had gone numb, her feet ached, her thighs were sore and her back felt like it had been broken in three different places.
But them both sitting there with Sam wrapped up in her embrace had done the trick in calming him down and settling his erratic, tortured state.
She wasn't entirely sure how she managed to get Sam up and back into the living room, but once she did she felt like collapsing too.
Her heart broke to stare down at him, lying on that sofa with one arm tightly pinned across his face to block out the light and the throbbing headache behind his eyes from shedding so many tears. He had his damaged leg propped up on a pillow, not that it made the blindest bit of difference to his pain or his state, but it was a hopeful gesture.
He had stopped trembling now and his breaths weren't shallow, but every minute or so he would take a deep breath. Or his leg would twitch. Or his lips would part and let a murmur or a moan escape when the pain washed over him in waves.
It almost felt like a trick when she looked at the clock and realised that it was time to give Sam his next dose of painkillers.
It didn't feel right, it felt like a trick and (Y/n) didn't want to give them to him when he was finally calming down because then it would dull the pain only so much and he would really start noticing it again. And once he realised the pain didn't fully leave him, he would be yearning for it to disappear and wanting another fix that he couldn't have.
(Y/n) moved quietly around the kitchen, finding the meds she had stashed in another cupboard to hide them away from Sam in case he went routing again. She was going to have to keep a closer eye on him until the pain was under control and he was feeling better.
She filled a glass of water and padded back through into the living room where she knelt down beside the sofa.
Her arm rested on the sofa and she gently nudged Sam's arm and held out her palm in front of him.
Shallow breaths escaped Sam's lips when he looked to the right and realised what (Y/n) was doing. He could feel his heart igniting in his chest when he saw the tablets resting in her palm that were like liquid gold to him and he was just about to snatch them until he realised that (Y/n) had tears in her eyes and one single tear tracing down her cheek.
"What?" His voice was coarse from all the crying and his throat felt like sandpaper, causing him to cough and try to clear himself enough to be able to speak properly.
He shakily took the pills when (Y/n) moved her palm closer to him and he popped them in his mouth, accepting the drink she held out only because his throat was as dry as the desert. But he found his lower lip quivering when (Y/n) looked at him with those eyes full of despair.
And when she nuzzled her cheek against his arm and rested her hand on his chest, he didn't know what to do or how to breathe.
"I don't want to hurt you, Sam, but I have to and deep down you know it. I'm doing whatever I can to help you."
The last thing (Y/n) wanted to do was hurt Sam and cause him anymore anguish than he had already been through. What he had suffered was more than anyone should bear, and it wasn't right. But there wasn't a lot (Y/n) could do for him. She was doing all that she could, regimes for his medication, trying to keep him settled and comfortable and help in his recovery. But she couldn't put his health at risk for the sake of his pain relief. There was only so much that she could do.
"I know, I know and- and I'm sorry sweetheart."
The way he tipped his head back and scratched his hand across his eyes made (Y/n) wince. She wasn't trying to upset him or make him feel guilty, she only wanted him to understand and see this from her point of view.
"We get prepared for this, but they- they don't tell you how bad the pain's gonna be, or how long it'll stay with you. It's like I'm stuck there."
Sam knew that there wasn't much the army could do in regards to preparing anyone for the pain they might endure. No one could tell him or get him ready for how hard it would be to have a limb be on fire or have an incision so deep into his thigh that it hit a major blood vessel. No one could prepare him for the untold agony, or how long the recovery would be or how stressful and painful that recovery would be for him.
And being so ill-prepared made Sam feel like he was forever stuck in that moment until the pain disappeared and he had control over his leg and his life again. He wasn't going to get out of that place or that state of mind until the pain was under control.
It felt like he hadn't left, like he hadn't come home.
"You're home now, baby. This pain won't last forever, we'll get it under control, together."
(Y/n) wasn't going to let him suffer, she was going to do whatever she could to stop his pain and keep it manageable. But Sam had to help her, he had to work with her and try and let her manage his pain. He couldn't take things into his own hands and take more meds or try and self-medicate.
They had to do this properly; together.
