he's blubbering so much he bites his tongue. and maybe it's for the best because he doesn't really register what sam is saying, or how he's saying it. he doesn't see the silent jealousy in his golden eyes or hear it reflected in his voice. just leans into that touch, that comfort, and tries to muster what strength he has. 

he looks down at his browned hands, flexes his fingers. nods. 

"can you get two shovels?" he asks softly. 

samuel carter

☉

eventually, knox will tell sam what this means to him. why it means what it does. that ollie was the only there to visit after he'd woken, throat still raw from his own self-poisoning. seven years. and he thinks of this, the pained memory of his own bloody self-infliction hard to swallow past now. phantom pain or something like that. 

sweat breaks over him. he and sam work in silence. just the shunk and scrape of the spade breaking the earth. he looks up, once, and watches sam work with a scowl on his face. 

when it's deep enough, and sam tells him as much, he drops the spade. drops hypatia's pokeball because aether looks so strained. the gardevoir, touching his thoughts, eases the tremors from knox's hands. 

he feels like he should say something. 

"seven years," he whispers. he picks up his hand, places it on his chest. then his other. holds them there for just a moment. "seven years, ollie. that's all it takes." he closes his eyes as fresh tears spill over and even softer, says, "i'm so sorry."

hypatia lifts him. and because she can tell that sam and knox are exhausted beyond measure, delicately fills the grave. knox doesn't argue.

and when it's over, he bows his head and walks into sam, hunching into him with his arms hanging at his sides.

samuel carter

☉

sam doesn't say anything but knox doesn't expect him to. he doesn't know what ollie means - meant - to him. he doesn't understand history resurfacing. painfully. all at once. but he doesn't need him to say anything. just hold him and forgive him for leaving. forgive him for doing this to him. forgive him for making him become a monster. 

the faucet spits on and knox blinks down at himself. at sam's pants and the bottom of his shirt and their shoes. but he can't bring himself to say anything. he's too busy watching all the dirt come off of his vans. 

he takes off one of knox's shoes and then reaches for the faucet. knox opens his mouth to protest, but the water sprays him. the warmth, the steam - it magnifies the smell. he brings his hand to his nose, but the dried blood has liquified again and it's running rivulets and he's bleeding bang bang watching his father slide down the wall ollie slam forward knox sway trip

"shi - s'm." darkness crowds him and he hasn't breathed in some time. his back hits the wall of the shower hard, muscles freezing, trying to keep him upright on instinct alone. 

samuel carter

☉

wide eyes, wild, blinking away bloody water. he sucks in a gasp, turns his head from the water. sam's voice is echoing and the world is still pressing closer. his pulse is fast, light and feathery, and images are flashing before him every time he blinks. 

too much to contain. his arms itch and his throat burns. paint and stomach bile scorching him from the inside out, dripping copper. brown rivulets score sam's face, spattered by the water. 

knox reaches out for him, thumbs pressing against the tattoos on his cheeks. focusing on that black ink. not red. not rust. just part of sam. just sam. safe. 

"heart," he croaks, harkening back to that night in the van, the first time he'd glimpsed sam's dark side, "hurts."

samuel carter

☉

sam is upon him, pressing him against the wall, hands up his chest. and knox drops his hand onto sam's own, squeezes him hard, closes his eyes. but that only beckons the nightmares waiting for him, so he opens them again and stares hard in sam's eyes.

and thinks, i am so tired. 

he grits his teeth, not understanding. not knowing that sam is defying/denying ollie. that he is light and promise and sees knox for who he is, for who he could be. and not just in this instant but the next. 

"every atom," he says and there is still fire in his throat. swelling, filled with pills and paint and anything else that could cut him up from the inside out, "belonging to me."

he shudders. speaking chases it away. pulls him back inside himself. where the water is taking everything away, not painting it anew.

it passes, finally, and he presses his forehead to sam's, mumbles, "as good belongs to you."

samuel carter

☉

he exhales. and the water keeps running past them and they should move. they should do something other than stand there in their sodden clothes. but he doesn't. he feels the circles sam makes on his hip and breathes in tandem with him around the water. 

until knox looks down and actually notices why sam's leaning the way he is. 

he startles, puts his hands on sam's shoulders and says, "sam, what - " and then shame washes through him. guilt chokes him yet again. he looks away, jaw tightening, shoulders tense. 

"sit down. let me see it."

samuel carter

☉