Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

8:27pm
The job finished at 7:45pm. What was taking them so long? Sam couldn’t stop pacing around his cabin, his boots pounding almost as loud as his heart. Where the hell was his Darlin’?

They never took long to respond to Sam, never. So after 42 minutes, more text messages than Sam could recall and 19 missed calls- Sam couldn’t have been more worried.

Perhaps they went over to David’s or Milo’s for a while? No, they would’ve told him. Maybe their phone was dead? But why would that make them almost an hour late home? Fucking hell, he could practically hear his non-existent heartbeat from how fast it was beating.

Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

“Darlin’? Is that you?” Sam asks without a second thought, to a now very confused David.

“No, and from that i’m going to guess that they aren’t with you?” His voice turns from a disinterested grumble to a confused mumble.

“No, they haven’t gotten back yet- I was gonna ask if they were with you?”

“…they never showed up to the gig, why would they be with me?”

What?

“What?” Sam could feel the world around him freeze, a ringing filling his ears- the anxieties from the Inversion still lingering.

“What do you mean they never showed? They left the house at 3.”

“None of us saw them, Arden had to step in for them.” Sam could hear David sit up, walk into another room, and shut the door. “If they aren’t with you, where are they?”

“…”

“Sam?”

There was a chill in the air, a lump in his throat, and a weird feeling in his stomach.

“I don’t know.”

Where the fuck was his Darlin’?

Chapter Text

3:08pm

Soft, muffled tunes radiate from the beaten up radio. One too many late night fights got them pent up and, sadly for the radio, it was the closest thing Tank could punch. They don't even want to go to this gig, they just need the spare cash, they want to treat Sam, not the other way around for once.

Gosh, Sam was a damn saint for them. A light in the dark that Quinn had left them in, someone to heal their scars and keep them from jumping off a cliff at any minor inconvenience. He was exactly what Tank had needed.

He was home.

And Tank would rather be cuddled up on the sofa watching literally anything on the TV, as long as they were next to Sam, than go to this gig- it would be so boring. Just ‘added protection’ for some ‘club’ meeting. Milo wasn’t even going. because Sneaks had said something about the ‘club’ being a cult, something they were looking into.

It didn’t matter, what mattered is that they were going to have a boring time, in a boring place, while standing there all bored and sad. What a perfect way to spend almost 5 hours.

Lost in their thoughts, turning a corner, not changing gear, and noticing a figure on the road at the last second. Then they swerved and rolled further and further from the road, only stopping when that large oak tree came into view, then into the front of their car.

Pain.

Oh God there was so much pain.

Everywhere.

They can’t even open their eyes, they don’t want to.

Not when they can feel hundreds of shards of glass cutting into their skin, covering the ones that already littered their skin. There was so much pain, it was hard to focus on just one thing: so they opened their eyes.

Big mistake. Oh no, they felt fucking sick now.

Crimson blood, a lot of it. Dripping everywhere, dripping off the branch- oh the branch. The old, withering, infested branch was digging into the shoulder, right under their bones, they could feel it inside them, the bone touching the wood. They could throw up, they’d been in fights, and they’d been gruesome; but this was pain and suffering and gory.

They need to get out. But how? There’s a massive branch lodged into their shoulder, they couldn’t move their other arm and hot tears fall down their face without them noticing. All they notice is pain. Pain and an oddly familiar zip.

If they could move their head, they’d turn to look at the vampire next to the car. they’d turn to look at the car door opening, the figure breaking the branch and pulling out of their arm, the figure now pulling them out the car and healing their shoulder.

Adjusting their rapidly shrinking vision, their stomach falls in a pit of dread. And as it goes dark, they hear that velvety voice right next to their ear that makes them feel sick.

“Imagine seeing you here, precious”

Chapter Text

8:39pm

It didn’t take long for Sam’s mind to go into overdrive. All the fights, all the times he’s healed them- telling them to stay out of trouble- it’s gotten into the way he thinks. What if they went off to go fight? What if they lost this time? They weren’t invincible, they know that, so what if this was the time they couldn’t punch back?

David’s voice snaps him out of his head.

“Hey, we’ll find them, okay? Don’t worry yourself too much”

Sam knew David wasn’t just reassuring him, he was reassuring himself. He was as worried as Sam was, even if he hadn't exactly seen them much recently. But with Quinn on the loose, David couldn’t help but worry, it’s all he was doing; but unlike Sam in this moment, David knew how to hide it.

David had built himself up to the alpha status after Gabe’s passing, he needed to, his pack needed him. He couldn’t let them know what he was really feeling in that moment- because they need a strong leader, not some scared puppy.

The forest seemed more deep than usual, more dark, like someone had stolen all the light- like the scenarios running around Sam’s head- his light, his mate was no where to be found. He couldn’t help but steal glances over at David and Angel as they searched, knowing that David has his comfort yet Sam had none.

His mind continued to race, with every speeding step, every slight sound, only the worst case scenarios clouded his brain. A fog of blood and smoke and tears, he needed to find them, fast. He had covered damn near half the forest at this point, and nothing.

He wanted nothing more than to use his vampiric speed to his advantage, speed across the land in a matter of seconds, but he knew that wouldn’t work. He knew that everything would be even more of a blur, it wouldn’t help anything.

God, what if they weren’t even in Daliah? What if they ran away? Ran after a lead for Quinn? What if they couldn’t take all of it anymore? Oh God no. Please no. They’d told Sam about their emotions, most nights ending in tears from how emotional it was for them, even they only got two sentences out. He put the picture together quickly.

And now those thoughts wouldn’t stop rushing in. ‘If they’d tried it before, what's stopping them from trying again?’

“Please.” Sam begged silently to the bitter air, “please no”

Then a howl pierced the air, unmistakably Asher, and Sam couldn’t stop himself. He’d never ran that fast, ever. All he knew is that he needed to get to them, needed to make sure they were okay.

So when he saw what the grey wolf was standing next to, he felt bile rising in his throat.

Glass shattered all over the glass, a mass of metal crushed from impact, a bloodied branch poking from the great oak. There was so much blood, and Sam recognised that it was Darlin’s from the countless times he’d healed them.

Oh God.

“Where are they? Asher?” His voice sounded more like a growl, he couldn’t stop it, he needed to know. The longer he stared at the scene, the more suppressed emotions and memories flood back to him- the tension, the crash, the forced turning, the unforgiveness, the uncertainty. He couldn’t deal with it, especially if his Darlin’ had to go through that too.

“They aren’t here… shit” David appears from the other side of the car, tears lining his sharp eyes as he scans over the scene, again and again. Sam could only imagine what was going through his head- memories of Gabe’s passing, the lack of family, the isolation.

Neither of them could speak, they were just staring at the wreck. Sam’s eyes lingered on the blood, still fresh, and all over the driver seat, the tree branch… the grass about 10 feet away, like someone had been dragged out of the car…

In three strides, he makes it over to the pool of crimson. Two scents flood his senses: his mate, and their worst nightmare.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

?:??

Opening their eyes took at least ten minutes, their whole body just felt so heavy. The blinding light didn’t help either, neither did the freezing pole their barely covered form was stuck to, and the pressure in their head, and the rhythmic dripping water placed so perfectly to always hit their elbow. They tried to move but a sharp pain shot through their whole arm- bad idea.

They try to orient themselves, but considering all they could see was a damp, dingy basement with a few deteriorating boxes and a standard wooden door, they couldn’t really do that. What happened? Well the last thing they remember… what was the last thing they remembered? They remembered kissing Sam goodbye on their way to a security gig, then driving to the other side of Daliah, wanting to take the long route, then swerving off the road and crashing.

So how did they get here? Why did their neck have that familiar dull ache? How long had it been?

The sharp sound of the door creaking open makes it all rush back to them.

Quinn.

Quinn had been the figure that made them swerve. Quinn had taken them out of the car. Quinn brought them here. Quinn had tied them to this pole, muttering about having his blood bag back. Quinn had already been torturing them for at least two days, from what they could tell.

“Are you going to be a good pet and be mine again? Or do I have to do a bit more convincing?”

God, he didn’t even have to look up at him to hear the nauseating smirk on his lips; it made them feel so violently sick. The dots in their vision only worsen when a harsh slap forces their head to turn before a tense hand grips at their chin, forcing them to look up into his sick blood eyes.

“Go fuck yourself.” They manage to muster, earning a finger being dug into a wound in their side, but they hold back their tears and yells, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

“Now, now, precious, why would I do that when I have you all tied up like a gift for me?” he chuckles in that sick, degrading tone- and bile rises in Tank’s throat as they register his words.
No, god no, they didn’t mean like that.

He traces his sick eyes all over their body, the blood dripping from all the open wounds, the prominent ribs from the lack of food he had been giving them, the tired eyes silently begging him to give up and kill them already.

“You should really be nicer to those who give you hospitality, Pet~” He drawls on, his hand tracing over both old and new scars all over their skin. They can’t help coughing up the bile in their throat, Quinn stepping away just before it touched him. Fucker.

They let themselves loose focus for a few moments as he steps away, the peace quickly interrupted by an overwhelming burning on their thigh, making them squirm and hiss. An iron poker sits in his hand, his sick fucking hand, as he brings it to his shoulder, before swinging it down at their knee.

They don’t react when he yanks their head to the side, exposing their neck and pulling hair from their scalp. Nor do they react when he adds to the dull feeling in their neck by biting them again- a sharp ache spreading from his fangs as he drinks. He doesn’t stop drinking as he traces a sharp object over their abdomen, droplets of blood sinking down until they meet the large stain of their blood on the floor.

He pulls away and is so close to them that they can feels his cold breath on their neck, making the still dripping blood dry slightly as he speaks,
“Now, you stay here and be good. I’m going to get food, because i like to buy people dinner before i fuck them”

What a hopeless romantic- wait what? No.
No.
no.
please no.
He’s fucking with them right? Right?
Oh God please be fucking with them. The slamming of the door forces the ringing in their ears to come back- damn tinnitus this isn’t a good time. They can feel their heartbeat speeding up. They need to get out of here, now.

Chapter Text

Sam didn’t know what time it was. He didn’t know when he’d left the Daliah forests and entered David’s house. He didn’t know when the rest of the pack had showed up, and he didn’t know how long it had been. All he knew is that his mate was missing, and that bastard had something to do with it.

Looking around, everyone was doing something, apart from him. God he felt so guilty, like he was stuck in his body, like he was fighting a losing battle.

“Sam.”

A calm voice snaps him out of his own head, Asher’s mate.

“Sam, it’s been days, you need to eat. We will find Tank, okay?”

Oh how he wishes it was that simple. How he wishes it was all okay. Shaking his head, he turns to face David from across the room, the same emotions swirling inside both of them.

Reluctantly grabbing the blood bag from Asher’s mate, he stands up and walks over to Sneaks as they lean over a computer. Files and maps cover the screen, all the information they’d found on Quinn so far. The stealth could tell Sam was standing behind them without turning.

“Found anything?” He asks, obvious fear and frustration building in his Southern drawl.

“No… he’s illusive as shit, i’ll give that”

Sam takes a step back, heading out to the porch- moonlight casting down in bright waves. How long has it been? He was so caught up in all the scenarios flooding his head he didn’t know.

He could feel hot tears running down his face, he doesn’t remember a time where he felt this scared, this helpless.

What if they never found Darlin’?
What if they were too late?

No- he wouldn’t go down that path, not again, he couldn’t. He needed to be strong. He needed to find them. He needed to heal them. He needed to comfort them. He needed them to be safe.

He needed to find them before it was too late.

Chapter Text

Everything hurt. They couldn’t focus on one thing; it all was burning and freezing and painful and numb. They didn’t even know how long they’d been here anymore. Days? Weeks? Months?

God they felt like they were going to faint and throw up and scream and cry until they couldn’t anymore. The dull ache between their legs, the numbness in their neck. They were practically being supported by a broken arm and dislocated shoulder.

This was worse than anything they'd dealt with before. Oh, this was so much worse. This was hell on earth, this was pure agony.

The last thing they remembered was Quinn branding them again, the blisters practically coating their left leg, before he got impatient with their reluctance to get back with him that he hit their arm with the poker and threw it down before leaving.

If they got their arm out of the chain, they could read it and use it to… break the rest of the chains? defend themselves? How could they do that when it was taking all their energy to remain conscious?

They could imagine it now, breaking the chains just as Quinn waltzes in and he breaks his stupid, dumb, ugly ass face and they run into their mates arms. Just that thought kept them going. That’s all they needed.

Braving it through the sharp pain that shoots through their whole body, they slide down the pole- their skin ripping from their arms and bare back- and somehow manage to free one wrist from the chains. Perfect.

They put all their energy into reaching for the poker. They didn’t care that it was still boiling, they had enough blisters on their skin anyway. 

Hit after hit after hit, the metal of the chains won’t fucking budge. Shit. What would they do now? Their mind races faster than ever: Quinn left muttering about making sure someone didn’t starve to death- was he talking about them? how long had it been since they’d eaten? how long had they been here?- it doesn’t matter. 

Based on that, Tank knew they didn’t have long until Quinn came back.

Theoretically, since they freed one hand from the chains from pure agony and most likely dislocating it- where’s the harm in doing that for their other wrist? Sure the arm it’s attached to is broken and in immense pain whenever they move, but they have no time for that.

By the time they’ve freed both hands, put their shoulder back into place and gotten out of the chains, they feel so, so weak. They wouldn’t exactly mind if they fell asleep and never woke up- they’ve dreamt about it many times before, even done things to help with that dream- that’s what their mother always said growing right? To follow their dreams?

They missed those times, when the dream they wanted to follow was to travel the world, or become a journalist. Now the dream that continuously creeps into their head at night is to never wake up. Sure, it would hurt the pack, hurt Sam- would it? Would they care? 

No- they would care- they’re family and family is meant to care for one another- but that’s never true is it… it’s not like their parents gave two shits growing up anyway, they cared in the wrong ways.

God, how did they get in this train of thought? Where were they again? Right, creepy murder basement, need to leave. Their legs feel heavy, and everything hurts. Was that box always tipped over?

They come back to their senses and they’ve fallen into the ground, their leg resting on the now barely-warm poker. They don’t have the strength to get up- ironic how most days that’s usually the joke they make about not being able to get out of bed and when they say it out loud no one laughs because it isn’t funny, even though they like to joke, even about the bad things, it’s like a way to cope for them-

What was that? Is that… yelling?

It’s so far away yet it’s too loud, and they strain their whole body by covering their ears- Quinn. 

Shit. 

They need to leave. They don’t care about the pain that is practically crippling their body as they stand up. They don’t care about that little voice in the back of their head telling them to sit back down and press the poker into their eye. They don’t care about how cold the rest of the building is when they climb up the stairs.

Where were they? Where were their clothes? Why did the yelling stop?

Why did they leave the basement after hearing Quinn getting closer?

Why did the ringing in their ears come back?

Why was their vision going in and out?

Why were they chained up again?

No, no, no. They were so close and now that stupid velvety tone is pressed up against their ear.

“Naughty, naughty, Darling~ .Did you really think you could leave before i have my desert?”

Fuck. 

Chapter Text

They knew they didn’t have long. They got out of the new chains a while ago, and they heard Quinn leave so shouldn’t they be happy? They get to escape, but why aren’t they happy?

Emotionally, they don’t feel anything, so why would feeling happy matter?

They could barely move across the room to the stairs, and crawling up each one was a fucking chore, so they weren’t exactly surprised when they couldn’t open the door. Great.

Before he left, that bastard had fed from them again, muttering against their skin about all the things he wanted to do, everything he would give them if they just came back to him. He left them to consider their options- like they hadn't been doing that since the accident.

In Tank’s mind, they had three options:

1)Agree to whatever fucked up shit Quinn wanted

2)Escape

3)End it before Quinn did

They never thought about one of those options now as their fractured and weak hands hit the bitter concrete, over, and over, and over. Why did this happen to them? Why did their mind do this?- go down this sick and twisted rabbit hole until it’s all they can think about.

Its all they can think about.

No. 

Not again. 

Please. 

They don’t know who they’re begging to now, they know that no one is listening to their silent pleadings. Why would anyone listen to them? No one cares. That’s why they were still here right? They’ve probably all forgotten about them, they probably don’t care anymore. Sam’s probably moved on…

They have no ties left here…

No reason to stay… especially in this rotten basement…

No. They promised Sam they wouldn’t ever go back to that-

‘He doesn’t care’ the voice in their head speaks, urging them to look around at what’s in the basement one more time.

‘If he cared you wouldn’t still be here’ It continues, their eyes landing on a leaning mirror in the corner of the room.

Somehow, they make their way over there and manage to move their arm to sip the dust away- oh god they looked like shit; they didn’t look human anymore. They couldn’t recognise themselves under the burns, and cuts, and bruises, and blood.

They started to chuckle, a dry cough leaving their throat instead- they were going hysterical, maybe? They stopped after the coughing ceased.

What was happening? What- the voice came back- that godforsaken voice.

They let out a pained whisper as they give in, “I don’t wanna live”

They don’t even remember how to think for themselves anymore, they just follow the voice. Punch the mirror. Pick up a shard. Stab yourself.

Again.

Again.

Again. 

Again. 

Stop. That won’t do enough damage.

They’re on auto drive as they listen mindlessly, until they feel the filthy, frigid floor on their sickly skin. Everything feels blurry, muffled, far away. They don’t register the figure entering and rushing over, muttering nonsense. They can make a few words out: ‘bleeding’ ‘why’ ‘i. turn. you?’

Why would Quinn want to turn them? To be able to hurt them more with less consequence? To get blood drunk? “No” they croak. They don’t want to be in Quinn’s grasp longer than they have to.

There’s a new voice now, telling them to let go…

and they can feel… themselves… slip…

Finally.

They can’t feel it anymore, they can’t hear it anymore, they can’t respond anymore…

—

Sam practically flings himself off the sofa and out the door at the Stealths words.

“We found where Quinn-“

That’s all he needed before he ran, ran up to the pack, all shifted and  on their way already. He forces himself to slow down as he catches up to them, his vampiric speed faster than any wolf.

Time passes in a blur, slamming the door open, shoving that bastard into the wall and letting loose. 

Two months… two fucking months of his mates life this sick son of a bitch had taken. And he still had a smile on his face while Sam hit punch after punch, bruises forming then healing almost instantly. The only thing to snap Sam from his thoughts, are his thoughts.

This fucker. How fucking dare he hurt my Darlin’- Darlin’. Where are they? Find them.

He throws Quinn to the side as he runs through the house, slamming every door open, checking everywhere he could’ve hidden them. Behind a pile of boxes in the garage, a door- bingo.

He flung the door open, rushing down the bloodied steps, and gazing upon a scene he could only ever imagine as a nightmare. 

So much blood, his mates blood, everywhere. Broken glass. A body, barely breathing- no.

No, no, no, no, no.

“Darlin’!” He yells, his voice breaking as he takes their almost limp form in his arms, shaking them slightly, trying to keep them awake. 

“Darlin’ please open those eyes”

“Please Darlin’, you’re bleeding a lot”

“I can heal this” He repeats to himself as he exerts magic into their many wounds. Again, and again, and again, and again. Too weak now.

“Fuck, i can’t heal this Darlin’…” He mumbles in defeat, one stray idea crossing his distressed mind.

“Darlin’… i won’t do this unless you want me to… can i turn you?”

He watches silently for a few moments, praying to everything good in this godforsaken world that they would say-

“No” They murmur, Sam barely able to hear it.

His heart shatters. His mate… dying in his arms… to late to be saved by other means… and they don’t want to be turned…

“Okay Darlin’” Tears coat his cloudy eyes as he places one last soft kiss on their forehead.

The vampire doesn’t move when his mate stops moving. He doesn’t move when David rushes down and looks at the scene. He doesn’t move them Darlin’s body is taken from him, nor does he move for hours after.

As the realisation passes, David and Vincent are still waiting for Sam to come up the stairs, and they can just barely hear his pained whisper from the top of the stairwell.

“I don’t wanna live”

Chapter Text

They don’t remember how it happened, but they’re out of the basement- though they aren’t free. Quinn stood in front of them, close enough to block them from standing up. They can just barely make out his words through the ringing in their ears.

“I’m going to let you go, pet…” His sick hand is trailing against their cheek, making them shudder but then stop- no, the rules, they can’t.  “But just know I'll be looking for you, to continue this wonderful game we have going. And remember the rules, Darling~”

Oh god the rules. How could they ever forget such forcing words that has been drilled into their head for the past however long. No healing without permission. No sitting without permission. No eating or drinking without permission. 

Easy rules, they’ve been following them for what feels like a year, so they can’t break them now; they don’t want the consequences.

“Do you understand?”

They barely manage to nod, pain radiating through their whole body; even more pain flooding their senses as Quinn throws them out the door.

As their head pounds and sunlight fades, they rush to figure out what to do, where to go?

Did any of them even care anymore? 

It had been so long, the bitter winter had turned into wet dribbles of rain hitting their bruised skin. They had no one left for them.

———

Knock, knock, knock.

God, they check their phone, the screen’s brightness practically blinding them- the lock screen of their mate and Aggro staring at them along with the time- 3:26am. 

They’d been working on this paperwork for over 5 hours, Milo was still at that security job, and they needed sleep.

Knock, knock, knock.

Who could possibly be trying to get their attention, at their front door, at this time? It could be Milo, but no he has his key, and would assume that Sneaks was asleep.

Groggily, they make their way over to the door, unlocking it and getting ready to tell the other person to go fuck themselves for making them-

Oh God…

What… happened to them?

“Tank?”

Chapter Text

Oh God…

What… happened to them?

“Tank?”

They immediately collapse, only being held up by Sneaks, whimpers of pain leaving their lips every second- all the bruises, broken bones, open wounds, burns, bones that healed wrong- god Sneaks could only imagine the pain they’re in.

The stealth could barely hear their fearful mumbling-

“i don’t know why i came here”

“you probably don’t care anymore”

“he said he’d find me”

“i lead him to you- shit”

“don’t heal me, he said i couldn’t without permission”

They don’t get much more out before devolving into broken sobs of pure agony. Every bone in their body hurt, every inch of skin, everything.

They help Tank lay carefully on the sofa and immediately call Sam… once, twice, three times…

On the fourth call, Sneaks is debating just calling Marie and David-

A sniffle breaks the cycle of their beeping ringtone, and a croaking voice breaks the sniffle. 

“Hello?”

That was not what the stealth expected, usually Sam answered quickly- and was he crying? It makes sense, his mate has been missing, presumed dead for just over two months, but he doesn’t sound himself.

The stealth knew that he wasn’t taking care of himself, that he didn’t believe Tank was dead. They’d seen it firsthand, when they went to go check on him and he was just laying in his bed, red eyes both suggesting a lack of the little sleep he needed, and he hadn't been feeding. Last they checked, there were even burns on his arms from the slight crack in the curtain; he didn’t have the energy to heal it himself and Sam had been neglecting himself for so long his body didn’t heal it for him.

But even now, they can tell he hasn’t changed. He is either sitting around in pure sorrow, or putting every ounce of his energy into finding his mate.

“They’re here.” They speak softly, knowing that neither Tank or Sam would want to be hearing any loud noise right now-

“What do you mean?” Now he sounded like energy, they could hear him moving around.

“Tank. They just showed up at my door, they’re beaten pretty badly… I’m gonna call David and Marie-“

The line cuts off. They know it was purposeful and go to make the two other calls.

Before the line can even connect to David, the vampire speeds into the doorway, looking so much worse than when anyone last saw him.

They saw the heartbreak in his eyes as he found Tank laying there- his Darlin’ beaten within an inch of their life.

Marie showed up within minutes, she could hear the hidden distress in Sneaks’ voice when they called. She made Sam sit down, feed and relax, and try and get his strength up because Tank would need him when they woke.

David showed up not long after, tears already breaking his strong façade before he even saw Tank- they were always like a little sibling to him, he couldn’t bear to see them like this.

This would take a toll on all of them- of course it would. Sneaks saw their strong, invincible best friend as a beaten shell of what they were. Sam had dug himself into a hole and found his mate in a deeper one. David had accepted Tank's death mere days ago, many nights going by where Angel was trying to comfort him before he was able to get on with everyday life.

Now, after Marie had healed all she could, they had to wait. Wait until the broken shell comes to the waking world once more. 

———

Everything- hurt less… that’s weird…

Did Quinn heal them in their sleep? No he wouldn’t do that, and they weren’t allowed to sleep without permission- and they don’t remember him saying they could sleep-

Did they break two rules without even knowing?

Shit.

Wait, where were they? This wasn’t the basement… and the few times he let them out, the house didn’t look like this…

God, the light is bright, and there’s conversation in another part of the room- too loud. Their head hurts, but not as much as before. Nothing really hurt anymore, it all felt numb- apart from their head.

A pained groan escaped their lips and immediately, someone stood by their side. They had shut their eyes and couldn’t find the energy to open them, but they could sense the aura crouched next to them, vampire- but not arrogant and abusive, no… this was kind, caring, this was Sam.

“Darlin’… you’re okay, i’ve got you” 

They feel his strong arms gently wrap around their half-broken frame, tears welling up in both their eyes.

They were home, and they weren’t leaving.