but you've just said it yourself, what if the change they made wasn't for the 'better?'

his head hurts. his fingers hurt. he is trying to wrap his mind around the twisted case of morality that's presented itself to him. to sam, a lie is as bad as murder. to sam, a sin is a sin. there is no varying degree.

his moral compass does not exist. bad is bad, good is good, black is black, white is white. but at the same time, it is all just gray.

"i didn't want to get them the chance to change in a way that wasn't in our favor."

knox prescott

how does sam not understand this? surely, of all people, he would understand the finality of death. that there is no changing, no repentance, no absolution. and that they were just following orders. fuck, knox has been on a security detail before, running through the motions and doing the same shit they just did to them.

"you mean my favor," he says bitterly. 

he jerks the car to the side, jostling captain back awake. and then he slams on the breaks, twists around in his seat. fresh pain twists around his sides, but he grits his teeth through it. 

"what if that were summer? would you have killed her too? because it wasn't in our favor? you don't get it, sam. because aside from the fact that you fucking murdered two people, we now have to deal with the consequences. i have to deal with the consequences! this was a warning and you just sent a godsdamn declaration of war." 

his fingers dig into the seat. "i didn't fucking ask for this."

samuel carter

☉

and then, finally, something breaks. he's not cold. it's hot, white hot. it's a deep rage. he turns to look at knox, brows furrowed.

"no, i mean our favor."

sam tilted his head to the side at the mention of summer.

"summer isn't a threat." he gripped the seat, despite the pain in his fingernails. he shook his head at the mention of knox 'not asking for this.'

"so, if i'm understanding correctly, you're not frustrated i've murdered two people. you're frustrated that i've potentially upset your abusive father?"

knox prescott

"and if she were?" his voice rises an octave because he can't believe he's really hearing this. before him play a dozen scenes, all of which summer is standing over him - gloating, warning, striking, following orders to protect herself. he's never blamed her for it. he's never hated her for it. 

he slams a hand down and then yanks himself back again so he's facing forward, out as the rain drums down against the car. 

"i knew marcus. i was friends with marcus. and at the end of the day, sam, even after what he did, i didn't want him dead. i'd never want him to die." he balls a fist, but his anger is gone, spent. he's not very good at holding onto it. 

"how could you think i'd be okay with this? how are you okay with this?" he lifts his head and his eyes are glassy now; all that ice has melted and it flows freely from him now, stinging his cheeks. "is this what you want? because i'm fucking terrified right now."

samuel carter

☉

the high pitch clearly indicates that knox is overwhelmed. the way he's going on about how the man who had just willingly ratted him out was his friend made sam think,

'maybe you should have better choice in friends...' but he doesn't mention it.

instead, he watches as knox cries.

and it's sam's fault.

knox is terrified.

and it's sam's fault.

he's stunned speechless. he doesn't know what to think or what to do. a gut reaction, when threatened, was to lash out. because it wasn't knox that cornered him, it wasn't his mother that cornered him, he lashed out in the only way he knew how in such a high and tense situation.

sam panicked, but his panic turned into malice and destruction. it was a gut reaction, something he'd been warned about in therapy and hadn't been able to control. he was trying to protect knox, but all he's done is made it worse.

so he frowns, brows furrowed, and glances away.

"i don't want you to feel afraid..." and a thought occurs to him. a thought he hates.

no, please, anything but that.

"do...do you want to take back your promise?"

his own voice hitches. because the one person in the whole universe he wanted to protect, maybe needed protecting from him, and he doesn't know what to do. he doesn't know how to act. he's lost, confused. what has he done?

what have i done? i am a monster.

knox prescott

and just like that, sam absolves him. he offers him a way out, but not a way back. knox doesn't answer him. he looks away from the rearview, away from those eyes that still refuse to hold any remorse. and he thinks this is what i deserve. 

at the end of the day, it's not about them. it's not about sam and knox. it's about the people he's hurt, the people sam's hurt, and how it wouldn't have happened if he'd just gotten it right the first time. 

stop, stop, stop. he fists his fingers in his hair and curls up, forehead against the steering wheel. his breath comes in gasps and his ribs ache, but the pain feels wonderful. 

"i want you to care about what you've done," he says. "i want you to tell me this won't happen again. i need you to tell me this won't happen again. i, f-fuck -" he wants to be held. he wants sam to tell him that this was all just a bad dream. but not this sam. he wants his sam. 

and he can't cope with the fact that they're the same. 

samuel carter

☉

there are too many questions floating around in his head. there are too many things he's trying to figure out. he needs more information, more data to be collected. he can't piece it all together, it's not forming a clear picture.

all he's getting is tears and sobs, a hurt and fractured star, slowly flickering in and out.

...what is the difference between me murdering those men to keep us safe, and you constantly needing a high to make yourself feel safe?

it's not that he doesn't understand murder is wrong, he just doesn't think this one was unjustified.

i know murder is against the law. i understand taking life is an ultimate move. i know, very well, that death is something they cannot come back from. it is an absolute victory, a problem solved.

"i care that i've made you afraid of me...and i hate myself for that." it would eat away at him until the day he finally greeted death. "but what aren't you wanting me to do again, knox? are you wanting me not to murder around you specifically or as a whole in my everyday life? or are you saying you don't want me to interfere in your family affairs anymore?"

at least knox hadn't taken back their promise... not yet anyway. and how terrifying that it was still on the table? that knox had the power to rip away life itself from sam's bones?

to rip himself away from sam's soul?

knox prescott

there is a roaring in his ears. and sam's words aren't making sense to knox because they're not the things that anyone says. they're not the things that people can say. not like that. and his tears are slick in his hands and he's thinking maybe it's because the thing burrowed in his skin has been waiting for someone like sam to come along. 

pretty eyes with a heart of gold and a soul as black as ink. 

he presses splayed fingers into his ribs and he pushes, digging, curling, and he whimpers at the pain, but that doesn't make him stop. because he's scared all that ink has spilled and it's thrumming through his veins and he wants it to end. 

on the edge, on that precipice, where pain finally brings him release and clarity, he goes slack. he raises a hand and finds the door handle, opens it with his shoulder. 

the rain soaks his side, and then his whole person, as he slips onto the grass. it stings like pins and needles on his face, but he tilts his head back and he parts his lips to wash away the taste of lead in his mouth. 

samuel carter

☉

"knox?!"

all sense of morality, all question of what he should or shouldn't do, it leaves him. instinct -- which admittedly got him in this mess to begin with -- causes his body to fly out of the truck and into the rain. not a care in the world, he's been soaked to the bone for reasons far less important than making sure knox is alright.

he kneels close, noticing the pain and moving knox' hands away from his ribs.

"what's wrong? i can't help if you don't tell me what hurts. do you need eden?"

knox prescott

sam touches his hands and knox inhales sharply. he opens his eyes and the rain keeps coming; shutter flashes of a mirror, sam's inverted irises. is that when i first saw you? is that why i've wanted you? 

do you need eden?

he laughs. he laughs until his throat is raw and he's coughing and sputtering and crying, because she's always been who he needs most in this world. 

he shakes his head, slicks his hair back, and touches sam's soaked shirt. feels his warmth, his person, and reminds himself of all the evils he's ever done. 

"my heart hurts," he says. his teeth chatter from the cold. but you're all i have left. and i need you.

samuel carter

☉

that pointedly did not answer the eden question. sam glanced around, brows furrowed. he can hear knox' chattering teeth. he's cold himself, in the rain. but it feels welcome, like home. soaked to the bone in the rain, he feels calm.

"okay," to knox' heart hurting. his tone is clear. panic.

he pulls his gardevoir out and gives her a silent plea within his mind. she moves her hands over them, the rain not much of a bother to her, as she lets loose a HEALING PULSE.

"if this doesn't help, we'll head home. are you up for teleporting?"

he's moved his hands to help support knox, to take him into an embrace without touching his bruises. he's memorized where they are on knox' body by now. how many. the sizes.

his eidetic memory forever burning those images into his mind. along with the terrified look in knox' eyes.

you monster. but he asked for it.

the immediately calm that washes over his mind has him looking to his gardevoir. her eyes are glossy, and he wonders if she can feel his pain. if she can show his brokenness when he can't. or perhaps it is knox' pain. or even a collection of both of the very strong emotions coming from them.

either way, it is become of them that she weeps.

knox prescott

he is so tired. aside from the whirlwind of tonight's events, this has been his first day out of bed for over a week. his muscles are sore, his brain is overworked, and all he wants to do is forget this ever happened. 

sam's gardevoir soothes him and he thinks i didn't know she could heal this hurt too because his heart doesn't feel as heavy. he looks at her, at this beautiful creature who healed his wounds, who would lay down her life for the boy standing beside knox. 

we're all fucked up. we all have our demons. and sam lived through war. it's not the same. it's not the same to him as it is to you. 

but shouldn't it be?

he doesn't know the answer to that question, but he does know this: he doesn't want to be afraid. sam did what he did to protect them. if his pokemon cut someone down, he knows he'd stand by them. 

he grabs sam's arm, but it's less because he wants to touch him, and more because he just wants to leave. and then he blinks, leans back into the car, and grabs the duffel bag.

"we can go," he says softly. 

samuel carter

☉

sam reaches for his gardevoir, a hand on knox, and in an instant they're in sam's house. they're atop mt. pyre in a small one room efficiency/shed of a living space behind the reception. the moment they're there, sam sets the duffel bag beneath his bed frame. then he's standing, making his way toward the shower and turning the hot water on, before stripping his clothes off.

"a warm shower'll help with the shivers. is your heart okay?"

sam's thinking logically. he's no idea knox' hurt might be emotional, aside from the tears falling from his gardevoir. which he honestly just figured were his own.

it was why he'd gotten a gardevoir. to help him train his emotions. well, that, and teleportation...

everything's a logical move until it's not with sam, it's just how he rolls.

knox prescott