taking the offered seat, sam tries to relax. it doesn't work. he's rigid in the seat, almost fidgety. hospitals have made him a little edgy in the past but since the abduction he feels even more unease within their confines.

sometimes it's as if he can't breathe. luckily, this wasn't one of those times. perhaps rory was to thank for that miracle.

"since the abduction? much better. i've made a full physical recovery."

Rory Faust

sam shook his head with a shrug.

"no, but i had insomnia to begin with."

a present from the war, ever lingering, never wavering. with a small nod, he continues.

"i was, and still am, claustrophobic and phonophobic. and now apparently i'll have to overcome a newly rooted fear in elevators or just avoid them completely and use stairs when accessible."

Rory Faust

"i've never really slept, even as a baby. i'd lay quietly, sometimes coo, most of the time just wear myself out until i passed out somewhere."

it was still true, twenty-six years later. he had to physically exhaust himself to fall asleep. annoying as it was, it'd become habit.

"the war made it worse. this abduction hasn't helped matters either... i slept maybe two hours last night."

Rory Faust

"what sort of help?"

sam wasn't entirely sure he wanted anything even remotely close to pills. he knew some home remedies, natural remedies, that helped him sleep. things that weren't addictive. things the body didn't rely on.

he used those when he needed to, and other times he just let the feeling of insomnia and ptsd have their way. just to remind himself that he was alive.

Rory Faust

therapy, that's what he was worried about.

thoughts of straight jackets and padded cells flash through his mind, but he ignores them. comments growing up from trainers with nothing better to do bubble up to the surface.

growing up in a graveyard isn't natural.

you'll probably just become a ghost; or worse, end up in a straight jacket.

graveyard freak.

sam's eyes focus on rory, only two seconds of hesitation were there. he slowly nods, gripping the chair.

"i'm not comfortable with any of this. my usual therapy consists of brushing it off and pretending it doesn't exist. i'm aware this isn't a healthy coping mechanism, but thus far it's worked well. they say a popped bottle is quite a hazard to reseal."

in other words, sam was worried that if he did finally do something about all of his life's trauma, he would end up bubbling over and losing his mind. it seemed irrational. truthfully he didn't want to lose control of himself.

not to therapy, not to medication; not to anybody.

Rory Faust

wasn't that what they all said?

yes i will.

"if you recommend seeing therapy first, then i'll go through with it."

the words feel like taboo. they feel like a promise he's not sure he's willing to keep. since they've left his lips, he knows he'll follow through, and there is immediate regret in his soul. he doesn't want to deal with any of it. but he's not a fool and he knows he can't run from himself forever.

Rory Faust