sam sounds so far away. he taps the reflection before him and it ripples; sam is behind him, facing away, but knox knows those tattoos anywhere. he tries to turn around, but his feet are rooted to the spot. and that makes sense, somehow, so he keeps yelling at the mirror and begging sam to turn around. 

his taps turn into palm-faced hits and finally, when frustration breaks through, he raises a fist to punch it. and as his arm flies forward, the mirror cracks and his father is there, an amalgamation puzzle-pieced to his own. 

the mirror falls away and knox stumbles back. brackish ichor reaches for him, but knox turns to run in the direction sam had been, and collides directly into his chest. 

stunned, he looks up, but sam's eyes are not familiar. his gaze is inverted; irises black, pupils gold. knox shivers, about to open his mouth, when sam's own does, and he says, "i'm so sorry."

knox picks up his hand, touches it to his pristine face, fervently says, "it's okay. it's okay, see? you fixed it. you fixed me." 

but sam places a hand over his own and says, "i'm sorry...it's time to go." and knox thinks, instinctually i don't want to go. he steps back, slides away, and runs through blackness. 

and then he's awake, jerking up and nearly falling out of the makeshift hospital bed. and everything hurts and he doesn't know where he is and he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't breathe. 

"i don't...i don't want to go. sam, i don't want to go," he sputters, fingers/hands/shoulders shaking.

samuel carter

☉

while caressing knox, while making sure he was breathing, sam had fallen asleep with a hand on his neck. fallen asleep to the rhythm of his star's pulse. waxing and waning-- but then knox is away and sam jolts into consciousness. his brows are furrowed in surprise and his eyes wide.

"knox--" he clears his throat, it's raw from the knot that kept creeping in the night before. "knox, you're okay-- knox," he gets down, moving over to grab knox's face in as gentle a way as he possibly can.

placing their foreheads together, he looks into knox's eyes, one hand lifts knox' hands up to cup sam's face.

"i am your anchor, knox. i'm right here. you're not going anywhere, i won't let you. i'm right here. listen to me, the sound of my voice, knox. come back to me, please. i'm right here."

sam's voice is weak, hoarse, with emotion and fear. panic and paranoia.

"don't let go, i'm right here."

his eyes check the rest of knox. the iv is still in, he had gotten two new ones and had his gardevoir get some liquid painkiller that wasn't narcotic to put into the bag. it won't work to the extent of 'the good stuff' but it would help to take the edge off, relax his muscles without thinning his blood.

nothing has budged, he's still got bandages and stints where sam had put them, and then sam's eyes found those icey blue eyes he adores so much.

"your sam, right here."

knox prescott

every fiber of his being wants to crawl backwards and away from the same man he wants to see most. because his brain is still catching up with him and he's not sure what's real. but his flinching doesn't phase sam. and when he raises knox's hand, holds it to his cheek, knox stares hard at his own fingers, wills himself to feel the warmth of sam's skin. 

his breath still comes in short rasps because he's still confused, but it's also coming back to him, and it really fucking hurts. 

"m-my sam," he repeats when he finds his voice again. 

samuel carter

☉

"that's me," he smiled fondly at knox as he sees him coming back. "always."

the promise is given with a soft and gentle nudge of his nose against knox' as he slowly began to wrap his arms around him to pick him up, sit him back on the bed. knox' body wasn't light but it was much easier to move without being dead weight.

"let's get back in bed, get you warm."

knox prescott

back in bed. where the fuck am i? he doesn't ragdoll entirely, but he lets sam do whatever he wants to do. and when sam puts him up properly in bed, he realizes he's not on a hospital bed at all. despite the iv in his arm, he's not in a hospital. 

he groans. i'm a fucking idiot. he could have died. if his dream were in any sense real, he maybe almost did die. and it would have been in sam's own fucking house because knox is too chickenshit to go to a hospital. 

too much history there. 

he raises his hands. they're clean. he remembers blood on them. and tentatively, he explores his arms, snorting at the bruises and pricks he finds. "i look like a drug addict," he snarks. his voice, now that he can really hear it, sounds nasally and stuffy. 

his nose still hurts, much more than his cheek. he touches it. "motherffffff." 

he drops his hands into his lap and blinks owlishly at sam. and then his brows furrow and he reaches out to touch sam's puffy cheeks. his stomach turns. "i'm sorry. fuck, sam, i'm so sorry."

samuel carter

☉

sam made a face at the way knox fussed over himself. as he got comfortable, though, sam stretched and then rolled his shoulders. his back popped and he groaned, shifting to place a hand on his lower back and leaned his shoulders back.

snap! "mmn--"

another pop, one that was much. more pained, as he joined knox on the bed with a small smile forming. knox seemed more himself and for that sam was overjoyed, thankful. he'd done it right and knox wasn't dead. he was so not dead in fact, that he was being sassy.

what else could sam do but laugh? not at him, but with him. but then knox went to touch his face and sam winced. he'd about said, 'i wouldn't' but then knox went and did it anyway. and then the hand on his cheek, sam just leaned into his hand.

"i'm sorry i didn't steal you away and avoid the situation altogether."

knox prescott

sam's muscles ache and knox can hear his bones protesting as he stretches. absorbed with himself, he misses the pained look on sam's face.

his teeth grind when sam winces. his cheeks really are puffy and now that knox can get a better look at him, he can see the redness rimming them, the bruises underneath them. i've been trying so hard to get those to go away, he thinks as sam leans into him. 

knox looks away. "no, i'm glad you left." he inhales sharply. "it had to be done. 'sides, it's my fault. i may have lied to you when i said my 'probation was lifted' on the house." he shrugs. "he told me not to come back. i went back. he's a fucking asshole, but i had it coming."

knox reaches for sam's hand because he doesn't know what else to do with himself. the more he talks and the more alert he becomes, the more his nose fucking hurts.

"i don't regret it though. i'm happy you came and spent the night," he mumbles while resting his head on sam's shoulder.

he startles when captain suddenly appears at the foot of the bed. her cheeks buzz with electricity and she scampers back and forth at his feet, expelling her energy before she wriggles her way in between knox's legs. 

he shivers. "your room looks like a weird doctor's fetish come true," he comments. he taps his iv. "do corpses use these? why do you have one?"

samuel carter

☉

of course he'd ask about the iv. sam's not sure he really cares that he stole four ivs from a hospital for knox. knox is better, and that makes it worth the possible inquiry the next time he sees Rory Faust. not that the good doctor will think it was sam, because his gardevoir likely might have been seen, but it could be anybody's gardevoir on the security footage.

and luckily teleportation tracing wasn't a thing... yet. give the league time.

"i sent gardevoir to lilycove to get them. the rest was all online videos."

which has him concerned, because he's not a professional, and he's the first one to tell people to go to a professional. but knox had specifically asked him, no hospitals.

"now that you're more coherent, would you be opposed to going to a hospital? it wouldn't be lilycove, they'll put two and two together too easily."

knox prescott

the rest. well, that explains the bruises on his arms. and the fact that he's not bleeding everywhere anymore. and that he's not covered in dried blood. did he wash me? it dawns on him just how much work sam put into pulling him through. it makes him nervous.

would you be opposed to going to a hospital? he owes it to sam to do this. he can't ask him to steal more, and he can't ask for more of sam's time. 

but they'll draw blood and they'll tell him things he doesn't want to hear and knox has too much on his godsdamn plate right now to spend it whittling away in rehab. besides, he can't afford that anymore. 

'cause there's no way he can go to summer for help again.

"no hospitals," he says softly. he reaches for his phone, but realizes it's not there. "Eden 's a doctor. she'll - well, fuck, she might not see me. she came to the party, but i don't know. i fucked it up again."

he sighs into his sam's shoulder. "i promise i'll text her if you get my phone. but i just...i want to rest here. with you. is that too much to ask?"

samuel carter

☉

"nothing you could ever ask me is too much, knox."

sam's words are serious, but not intimidating. they're delivered softly, honestly, and with a gentle caress of knox's shoulder as sam wraps his arm around knox to hold him a bit. there really wasn't any way that sam could ever not do something for knox.

and it was odd, because sam had always been loyal to death. but he'd fought hard against death, prayed against it, and battled until he fell asleep just for knox. for his knox.

glancing around, he gave knox's head a kiss and got off the bed. he moved over, picking up the phone, and then holding it out for knox to take while sitting beside him once again.

"i'll do whatever you want. it's your body."

knox was not a possession, even if he did claim knox was 'his.' it didn't mean sam owned knox, it meant that they existed for each other. or so, that's how sam viewed it.

knox prescott

it's not true. and if it is true, then that's a whole other topic of conversation they'll have to have together. this is why i should've just said no when he asked...because snippets of last night are still dancing around in his head. even though his discomfort over their discussing of labels had somewhat resolved, he hadn't taken it back. 

and the sam from last night, the sam sitting next to him, is so brazen and open about his feelings for him. and i like him. i really, really like him, so why doesn't it make sense? 

knox takes his phone, licks his fingers and wipes away some of the copper blood left on it. he finds eden's contact and stops, fingers hovering over the screen. he could call. he should call. he opens his camera instead to get a good look at himself, grimacing at his half-purple, gauze-wrapped face. 

he takes a picture with a thumbs up and types out a few lines of text before sending it. and then he darkens his screen and throws the phone at his feet, nearly bonking captain on the head in the process. 

he tilts his head. "kissing's gonna be kinda hard for a while."

samuel carter

☉

there was a hell of a lot that knox was going through in those few moments. instead of saying anything, he just watches, observes. he doesn't make a comment. he doesn't say a thing. he just listened and waited, glanced at knox' wounds and at the iv.

then, knox made a crack about kissing. it had sam smiling, because at least knox was back to cracking jokes.

"i'll just do all the work-- like this," he shifted then, moving his head to the side and giving knox a gentle kiss. He was sure to hold knox' head still while he did so, a small smile forming as he pulled away.

"do you think you can hold down liquids? if so, i can take the iv out...unless your friend recommends keeping it in until they're finished."

knox prescott

oh. well, he hadn't really been asking, but he'll take what he can get. and 'i'll just do all the work' sounds pretty damn good to him too. he thinks back to last night, to what was probably the blatant expression of distaste on his face when sam told him he's as untouched as a fucking angel. i'm such an ass. 

almost as if sam summons eden to respond, his phone buzzes at the end of the bed. he frowns and captain grabs it for him before nestling back down between his legs. his fingers fly over the screen; he doesn't attempt to hide what he's saying from sam. 

there's something intimate about that action too. a trust he hasn't really felt before. 

"we'll wait for her," he says, spinning the phone in his hand while he waits for her to respond. he cranes his neck, touches the side of sam's neck, his shoulder, tracing that same pattern his lips had followed just last night. 

"oh. whoops." he presses his thumb gently on the purplish mark right next to the black line above sam's collarbone. "next time i'll make sure to put them on your tats."

he makes a face and groans. "i won't even be able to do that. it's not fair," he whines. "we finally cross that bridge - and i've been waiting a long damn while to do it - and now i'm gonna have to wear a fucking chastity belt on my nose."

samuel carter

☉