I’m going back to a prompt I missed way earlier in the month just to twist this fluffy prompt into angst :D. This one takes place the evening after S8 M2 Aftershock.
(Content warning: this fic touches on the topic of Sam nearly dying because of his inaction because he was upset. It’s not implied to be on purpose or anything like that, but if you’re particularly sensitive to mental health/ideation related topics, it may be upsetting)
Five took a shaky breath, trying to keep their sobs quiet as they pulled off their soaked shirt.
After what had felt like years of running through a storm, they were safe and sheltered and able to grieve.
They shuffled their soaked trousers off as well, and dried themself with a towel, their hands shaking. They knew everyone was suffering, they didn’t want their grief to make things harder for the others.
They and Sam had been Ellie’s closest friends, but with Janine so sick, no one was exempt from the growing dread.
Five tried to slow their silent sobs as they pulled on their dry clothes. Looking in the small dusty mirror, they were unsurprised to see their face flushed and eyes still glossy; but they couldn’t hide in there forever. Tom and Paula were waiting for their turns to change.
They took one more deep breath before walking out of the room, trying to ignore the dull ache in the front of their head.
They tried not to look at anyone, going straight to their sleeping bag, hoping, unrealistically, to find refuge from their emotions in sleep. But, as they reached for the zipper, the edge of a piece of paper, slipped inside the sleeping bag, caught their eye.
A quick glance around them, and they realized that Sam was nowhere to be seen. Their heart skipped a beat as they grabbed the note and read it.
It started with an apology. It didn’t help.
They didn’t want him to be sorry, they wanted to believe it wouldn’t happen again… that they could trust him to keep himself safe.
It had been terrifying. They weren’t sure they’d ever before felt quite that level of fear. The sickening realization of what was happening and what was at risk, the pit in their stomach, the flash of panic that slipped through their trained demeanor.
If they and Paula hadn’t been there, hadn’t been fast enough, or hadn’t been strong enough… if they hadn’t been so close… he would be dead.
Just thinking about it made them feel an indescribable horror, a cocktail of emotions they didn’t think they’d ever fully untangle… and yet, they couldn’t bring themself to be upset *at* him.
They wished he hadn’t come here. If only he was safe back home…
They read on. He had written about Ellie, the grief, the unfairness. And then, crossed out, ‘if we lose Janine, I don’t know what I’ll do’.
They hung their head, tears welling in their eyes again. They felt similarly, they didn’t know how they’d handle that grief on top of this one.
But the statement also scared them.
If they hadn’t intervened, he would’ve let himself die because he had allowed his grief over losing Ellie to overwhelm him. What WOULD he do if they lost Janine?
At the bottom of the letter sat another apology, this time for the pressure he was putting on them by sharing all of this with them, a request to spend some time with him that night if they could because he didn’t want to be alone, and, finally, his name starkly signed at the bottom, devoid of his usual doodles, ‘love’, or X’s.
They stood. Exhausted though they were, he needed them, and they needed to know he was ok. They may usually prefer to grieve alone, but they could make an exception for their favorite person in the world. They had before.
They turned to Jody where she sat on her sleeping bag, braiding her hair. Beyond her spot, Janine seemed to already be asleep, so they kept their voice low.
“Do you know where Sam is?”
“He went out onto the porch”, she whispered back, “I tried to talk to him, but he was being really quiet, it was dead weird. Best I can figure, he wanted some time alone”
They turned and quietly made their way to the front door. Before they stepped outside, they could see him, huddled under the porch overhang, shivering without the warmth of his hoodie, ambient moonlight glistening off the tears that ran down his face.
The thunderstorm was still raging, the air filled with the combined sounds of heavy pounding rain and branches crackling under the force of the wind.
They stepped outside and closed the door again behind them, silently approaching and sitting beside him. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against theirs, and they reciprocated, leaning into it as well.
They looked at his face, he looked out at the storm.
“…thanks for being here…” -his breath hitched- “you’re always there for me.” He sniffed, more tears welling in his eyes and spilling over. “…I don’t deserve you”
“Of course you do”, they breathed. They too, almost immediately began to shiver against the cold, stormy, night’s air.
“I- I can’t believe she’s gone.” His voice sounded weak and strained.
“She wanted to see the Edda and- and- and she’ll-“ He lost the fight for use of his voice, against the violent chocking sobs, and buried his face in his hands.
A few tears silently trickled down Fives own cheeks, more controlled but no less felt. “…I’m really going to miss analyzing books together.” They were surprised by how damp their own voice came out sounding.
After a long pause, he answered, face still hidden, and voice still frequently halted by sobs, “we’ll never see her again- or talk, or- or when she’d rant about historical inaccuracies and- and it was actually really interesting”
Her absence was yet another hollow punched out of their chest. They had lost so many friends it was almost incredible they hadn’t adapted to stop feeling it so deeply.
They didn’t know what to say, and Sam had once again descended into sobs. They knew he usually appreciated hugs, but whether now was the right time was a gamble, so they tentatively put an arm around his shoulders.
Slowly, he leaned against them, and the tears began to subside, leaving them both tense and him still gasping for air.
He reached his arms around them in a strange sort of sideways hug, leaning his teary face against their shoulder. “I want to go home”, he mumbled.
“It’s not fair! Losing Ellie, and then we’ve also got to worry about Janine!” His arms tightened slightly around them. “I’m so, so, tired of losing people”
They hugged him back, and, for a long time, said nothing. Because… he was right, and they felt the same. They sat, locked in the embrace, silent tears sliding down their cheeks, and tried to find the strength to contradict their own thoughts.
What would Sam say if he was on the outside of this?
“…we’ll get the cure, she’ll be fine.”
A horrible dread snaked through their stomach the moment the words left their mouth. They were not an optimist by nature and, to them, speaking as if they knew the unknowable felt more like a jinx than reassurance. As if the fates would conspire just to make a liar of them.
“I hope so.” His voice cracked. They could feel the tears soaked through their sleeve.
“…we’ll figure it out”, they added, this time without feeling that awful emotional kickback. Because that, they did wholeheartedly believe.
