Chapter Text
Three hours passed since David called, and told them that the girl's life was lost two days ago, due to another play of the man, who sat on the metal chair for the entirety of his interrogation, grinning like a madman, smirk never leaving his scarred lips, long gash disfiguring his face forever. Not even the infamous vampire healing could heal past the fury that was put in the hit.
Two hours passed since the last words between them and Sam were exchanged, heavy silence falling in the dark living room, sneaking itself into every crevice and nook, warping the already distorted outlook on reality. Fox was taken in, finally, after years of running after clues and hints, he was finally taken in and instead of relishing in the thought, they desperately strained their eyes, searching for any gleam of silver, ears open for any snarky taunt that, and fingers gripping the thin blanket Sam threw over them both, scabbed remains of bitten fingernails digging into their palm as a grounding reminder that this, was not a dream, but a dreadful reality they kept reliving over and over again.
An hour and a half passed since Sam fell asleep, the vampire passing out on the couch when he understood that talking would get him nowhere, head pressed against a pillow, steady breaths rising in his chest to be released with a small "poof" upon every exhale. They didn't say anything, knowing how tired he was, laying still and vigil just in case.
White noise amidst their overthinking, familiar sense of anxiety slowly rising itself to the brim, bubbling under their skin like a poison would in a cauldron, air suddenly smelling of their fear. Werewolf's thing, sense of smell heightened beyond human comprehension and on nights like this, they wished to be normal again, before they magic manifested itself in a form of sharp claws and even sharper teeth, maw snapping at every opportunity, hinges never growing tired. Machine to bite through any obstacle on their bumpy way.
If a vampire fell asleep, why couldn't they, instead of being so desperate to find something that was not there in the first place? It would bring no peace and would fix nothing, yet the irrational thought that kept rolling in their tired mind gave them no reprieve, body kept on edge of a dull knife they kept turning on its own, carving a path to their own demise like it was a walk in a park. Their therapist was right, they were self - destructive, but they never learned to listen to others.
The first session was the last, no matter how much their friends suggested pushing through it. If there actually was someone who could help them, they didn't want it anyway, because time that would be wasted on them, could be used in a better way than pitying a fool who caused it all, by a single stupid decision taken years back.
The avalanche that started as a small snowflake at first, proved to be too difficult to prevent, only head on collision left. And they were fine with that, taking upon themselves more than necessary - "Tank" didn't stick to them out of nowhere, no matter how Asher kept trying to justify the accidental nickname, and how much Sam despised that.
Sam.
He stirred, drawing in a sharp breath, only to nuzzle further into the soft pillow, completely unaware of what was happening to his mate. Bliss of being oblivious, one they tried to keep intact, seeing him so peaceful after he went through the hours of listening to Quinn telling him the story of his and their shared life. No walk through the garden and no roses laid on the ground, only the thorns cut from the stems and bitter disgust.
David's expression was not lost on them, when their name fell from his mouth for the first time, the Alpha knowing much, but not enough to be prepared for what was about to come. The dirt that Quinn dragged from the past, the confessions that made them recoil, cuticles practically scratched raw at this point, the horrors he did and so did they, more or less, just by association to a man like Fox, it all made the bile rise in their throat. Could he still be considered a man after everything he caused and did?
Could they be considered human?
They began to see him as a monster way too late, hazy and young mind trying to excuse his wrongdoings with a simple "I'm not actively participating in this". Until their own friend got hurt in a crossfire, and their blood stained their hands too, never to be clean again. In the lack of light inside their home, they could almost see the faint red streaks, droplets trickling down and down, the sound of the dripping making their ears ring. They shuddered, sensation gone as quickly as it started.
As the clock above the one-way mirror ticked the minutes away and Quinn kept talking about things they stashed away so deep in their mind they forgot about them, their sanity began to dwindle, like a flame on a too short candle knot. When they started pacing from the nervousness, David said nothing, trying to keep a poker face, that began to lose its form with every next word that reached them from the other room. Pacing finally turned into nail biting, then to covering their ears, to finally, sitting down in the darkest corner of the room, face hidden in their knees and silent prayers to no deity in particular being whispered to make it stop. No one heard them anyway, not once in their life, so would anything change now?
It didn't and the story of their life continued, making them shake at the forced vulnerability, walls they kept for a reason being stripped brick by brick in front of the two men that shouldn't hear about any of this from anybody's mouth but theirs. But Quinn was a bastard, using every dirty trick in his sleeve, knowing well there wasn't much else to do but stir some shit.
Well, Sam did hear them. On many occasions, actually, always offering a shoulder to lean on and a presence to talk to, were they feeling brave and vulnerable enough. It wasn't often, occasions being able to be counted on fingers of one hand, because how could they spill all the regret their life held and not be judged for it? No matter how many times he assured them, no matter how many sweet words and promises he spoke in the safety of their bedroom, the only other witness of their vulnerability being the reflection in the mirror, it still was too much to come clean and fully believe what he spoke in that soft tone that made them want to cry.. He was offered bits and pieces instead, having to glue them all by himself, with patience, kindness, and endless love that never stopped flowing from his heart.
In moments like this, when the fear that wrapped itself in spirals and made a home in their mind, they doubted every single act of kindness, no matter how much they knew it was wrong to do. But how could he still love and care for them, in the light of their past shoved against his face, spoken with the tinge of pride in Quinn's tone, no regrets about training his dog to serve so obediently? It was not his tale to speak about, but he did, and they still only managed to hate themselves instead of him because if only-
There were a lot of "ifs" in their life. And another one, fresh and more stupid than ever, occurred to them.
One part of their mind screamed that they were reckless, a coward, an absolute idiot with no backbone. They were cruel for even thinking about this, and they were beyond diabolical for acting upon the thought. The other part just kept whispering what needed to be done, voice laced with the disgust they couldn't handle anymore.
The couch creaked when the weight shifted, the blanket fully draped over the still sleeping vampire, touch careful and tender. His hair was covering most of his face, few day stubble already grown on his cheek, he would probably shave tomorrow morning, but they wouldn't be there to witness it and hear the constant hissing coming from the bathroom, as he cut himself with the razor.
He mumbled something under his breath when the material touched his cheek, hand almost reaching out towards them, only to fall back on the pillow. They sighed, some relief still present amidst the guilt that already began to gnaw at their conscience. Walking to the stairs was easy, climbing them to not make a sound was less, but they made do, thanking whoever dared to listen for him being out cold, and not hearing what they were doing. Or maybe he was awake and just pretended to sleep, vampire hearing never allowing anything to escape without him knowing that. He had to be pretending, just like he was with every consolation he offered, every word whispered that he didn't mind their past, that only the present counted, and he wouldn't want them any other way.
Their brain was slowly betraying them, putting all those fake scenarios and ideas, and yet, they couldn't stop them from flowing and drowning the part responsible for logical thinking. He was their mate, yet all they could see were lies. It was foul to think of him like that, when all he ever did was to try and make them feel loved, finally appreciated, and given the missing part of being a human. Sam never did anything remotely close to how Quinn treated them, he never made them doubt him, so why now? Why in that moment out of all possible ones?
They were no longer Precious. They were Darlin', his and his only. Why couldn't they accept it?
Their past kept dragging itself like a ball and chain that tied itself to their leg, weight growing with every step taken towards their bedroom, fists clenched just like their jaw, back slouched, making their spine ache.
They were a coward, but that was nothing new, just like running away from every problem thrown at their hand.
Opening their wardrobe made them cringe, taking out a backpack brought back a memory of them trying to run away from their home,after a particularly nasty fight with their parents, being a troublesome and rebellious teenager made it all worse. It was Gabe who stopped them then, finding them walking on the side of the road, the same backpack, less worn and tattered, slung over their shoulder, curses being spewed under their nose. He simply asked where they were going, the window of his car rolled down, and speed slowed to match their walking. No judgement, no accusations thrown in the thin air, just simple questions and silence when they finally cracked and began telling him everything. The alpha had the skill that in some magical way untied every tongue, even when the boys refused to admit who broke the window in Keaton's garage.
They refused to get into his car at first, but still somehow ended up on the Shaw's couch, David warily looking at them, glancing up from his game console, Asher and Milo pretending they weren't interested, focusing on the screen of TV instead.
But Gabe was no longer there and they were afraid of Sam's reaction to their sudden behaviour, that lost teenage kid returning with full force, when first shirt fell onto the floor, followed by a pair of trousers. Not much, just enough for a few days they would spend somewhere else, enough to clear their mind and come back with that pitiful look in their eyes, ready for another lecture or closed doors, locks changed, the rest of their stuff put outside or thrown to the trash at the end of his property. They wouldn't blame him at all, actually, not after what he heard about them. It was a wonder he even decided to open his mouth, let alone comfort them, when it was him sitting through an equivalent of personal type of hell. But it was him who dried their tears, it was him who held their hand when David called and when another thing went wrong.
And it was them who would leave, the only thing they were good at. Another pair of doors closed behind their slouched back, the collection growing with every mistake they were destined to make.
They hesitated when between their shirts, one of his flannel's was found, the cotton, checkered material a stark contrast to their usual black. Almost on instinct, their hand reached to it, ready to grab and pack. They wore this particular one so many times, that it was practically theirs at this point, yet he always made sure to make it smell like him, their core thrumming with satisfaction.
Mate.
They were an awful shell of a person, and meeting Quinn, only if through a glass, made them sure of it.
The backpack was ditched, only their wallet, keys and the beyond worn out jacket to their name, when they closed the bedroom door, walking down the stairs like a kid that wasn't supposed to be up after their bedtime. The clock ticked away the hours, and soon enough, the sun would start to rise, another day ready, unlike them.
Another step down, foot placed carefully because they remembered that this particular spot was creaky and any sound was unnecessary in their current predicament. Or maybe it was? Would he get up if he heard it, ready to intervene and talk them down as always? Would he tell them that no matter what their mind conjured, it didn't matter because it was only a temporary thought that they were able to overcome, just like they always did? They worked on themselves, they were able to do so, but they were tired of always falling behind and bouncing back. How many more times they had before the bounce would never happen again, and they would be left right, at the bottom of a ditch they dug themselves?
They almost slipped, hand desperately grabbing onto the railing, still no sound made, and no sign from him. It was pointless to count on a miracle, none would happen. They were in this alone and alone they would stay.
Sam was still asleep, not even moving an inch, and their chest ached. It was better this way, they kept telling themselves, a lone page torn from the little notebook in which he noted all his meetings and "to do's", ink from the pen they picked up somehow staining their fingers as they trembled while writing down the message. At least they were decent enough to leave this behind in a pathetic hope to explain themselves. Not really, because how could they? There was no excuse for what they were about to do.
With paper folded in half so it could stand on the kitchen counter, next to a mug he drank coffee from earlier, they clicked the button on the remote to open the garage door, their bike already waiting for them. Sure, the roar of the engine would probably startle him, but they needed the thrill and reckless way of unwinding. He begged them every time to be careful, to not speed too much, to wear their helmet.
They were already an awful person. And they never learned to listen to others anyway.
"I'm sorry, Sam. You didn't deserve any of this."