by Aiden Bates
“It’s okay, Adam.” Sam reassured him, nodding his head. “I promise, it’s okay. You can open the door.”
Still, Adam said nothing, merely stared at Sam for another long moment—long enough that Sam thought he would have to repeat himself, when he finally gave a small nod of his head and nudged the front door just hard enough that it swung open of its own accord to reveal Dustin, hunched over and leaning against the frame of the front door, panting softly. A vague part of Sam wondered if he’d even driven his car here, or had just opted to running the half mile to Adam’s house.
“Baby, there you are—” Dustin said, nearly sobbing as he began to walk into the house when Sam held up a hand to stop him.
Almost on cue, as if guided by Sam himself, Adam’s arm shot out again, his palm slamming against the doorframe to bar Dustin’s entry.
“Don’t call me that,” Sam said in a low voice. “And you can stand right there and tell me what you’re doing here.”
Dustin had the nerve to look genuinely surprised—as though they hadn’t already had the discussion of them being over, Sam was going to remove the mark, and raise their child alone. As if Sam had not explicitly asked Dustin to never contact him ever again. The Alpha standing outside let out a bark of a laugh, as if incredulous at the question, and shook his head as though he were baffled.
“I came to try and talk some sense into you, baby—” Dustin said, a shaky smile on his face.
“I told you not to call me that anymore,” Sam snapped. “I thought I’d made it clear that you and I are over.” He pursed his lips, his free hand clenching into a fist and relaxing in quick intervals to try and shake out the anxious energy crackling against the surface of his skin. “And—fucking really, Dustin? I ask you to never contact me again, and you can’t even wait a full fucking day before you’re trying to harass me into coming back?”
“Sam, I’m sorry!” Dustin said, though his tone was far more exasperated than apologetic. “I lost my temper, and I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry!”
“Oh, you’re sorry?” Sam growled, wanting this whole conversation to be over like it should have been back at his old apartment. “Does your being sorry undo the fact that you tried to hold me down so that you could hit me until my baby died, Dustin?”
“Sammy—” Dustin tried to speak up, but Sam wasn’t done.
“Does your being sorry change the fact that you said, to my face, that you were going to hit me until you were sure the baby was gone—just because you thought it wasn’t your baby?” Sam continued, his voice rising until he was shouting so loudly that his voice was hoarse. “But you don’t really want to think about that, do you?” Sam had to bite back the urge to spit—the welcome rug didn’t deserve his ire. “And that’s why we’re over, Dustin. I don’t know how many other times or in how many other ways I have to spell it out for you: you ended our relationship the second you tried to threaten my unborn child—all because you had convinced yourself that it might not be yours! Think about that, Dustin!” Sam snarled, his hand clenching into a fist tight enough that he felt the crescents of his nails digging into his palm. “You were going to snuff out a life before it had the chance to form just because you couldn’t stand the thought that it could have been someone else’s!”
“I can’t help it!” Dustin shouted, his tone desperate again. “I just get so jealous because I love you so much and—”
“Then I don’t want your love.” Sam said, shaking his head. “Not if that’s what your love is.”
“Sam, just listen to me, baby we can work this out—” Dustin pleaded.
“That was always the one thing I couldn’t stand about you, Dustin.” Sam growled, lifting the knife he held in his hand to the mark on his neck. “You could never take the word no and just let it lie.”
“Sam, no!” Dustin cried out as he tried to lunge—to stop him, no doubt—but Adam was unflinching as a mountain and twice as stubborn to move, and held Dustin back as Sam sliced across his mark.
It wasn’t deep enough to threaten his life—just a slice across the skin, just deep enough to negate the canine scars that had marked him as Dustin’s for the better part of a decade. Still, it was a sharp, sudden pain that lanced across his skin as he felt it tear open along the path he slit with the blade. There was a moment where it almost felt like the snapping of chains that had been coiled around his neck for so long he had grown used to their weight. For a brief moment, the severing of their bond felt like relief.
Then the loneliness began to creep in.
Aranea was moving—likely to help him address his newfound wound—and Dustin was fighting to get to him, being held back by Adam. It was all distant as this newfound emptiness began to consume him—like he had slit the seam of his body and everything that had made him the man that he was was rushing out of him, emptying him like a forgotten sack. Sam became aware that tears were streaming down his face only when he felt them hit his collarbone, but still he continued to stare unflinchingly at Dustin, who had frozen, gaping at his lost bond mate, at the man that now had no connection with him.
“Is this a clear enough message, Dustin?” Sam asked, his voice a quivering whisper.
Even that seemed loud to Sam’s ears, but still he refused to move, to react any more than his crying. So what if he was feeling the despair close in on him. This was better than abuse. He had to firmly remind himself of that as Dustin gawked mutely: this was better than abuse.
“Sam—” Dustin choked out as he shook his head, clearly not believing that this was happening.
“Just…just fucking go, Dustin.” Sam whispered, nearly mouthing the words for how quiet they were. “And don’t ever fucking bother me again.”
Dustin stared at him, though he had staggered back, far enough away from the door that, as Sam moved toward it, there was space between them, far enough away that he was almost to the walkway. Just was well. Sam couldn’t smell him and didn’t want to, though even as he shut the door, he didn’t look away at his former lover, his former Alpha. Let him sob and throw a tantrum and make a scene; it wasn’t Sam’s problem anymore.
Dustin wasn’t Sam’s problem anymore.
There was something strangely freeing about that truth, Sam realized, even as he let the knife he was holding clatter to the floor. There was liberation in his loneliness, he knew, even as he brought his hands to his eyes and wept. As awful as this creeping despair was, as pervasive and insidious as his grief was, it was preferable to the constant fear of upsetting his bond mate, of dreading when the next fight would happen—because the next fight was a foregone conclusion; a when, not an if. That things would end was something that Sam had been begrudgingly coming to terms with. Another when, not if, though he had not thought that it would end so soon, so abruptly, and so utterly violently that he would be left bereft at the doorstep to his new home, kneeling beside a knife he had only just used to carve his mark out, crying hard enough that his sobs wracked his entire body.
Distantly, he became aware of Adam, carefully, gently trying to coax him into standing, likely to get him somewhere else to tend to his neck. The wound was not deep, but it was bleeding, if sluggishly. He heard Adam speaking, but his whole world had closed in until it was just him, hugging his stomach, and the roaring in his ears. He was gently being nudged, he noticed after a few moments, and forced his world view to expand, just enough to hear Adam.
“Sam, hon, we need to get you into the kitchen, okay?” Adam was speaking in a soothing voice, and it was a balm on Sam’s very soul as the Alpha’s large hand rubbed gently up and down on his back. “We have to sit you down to look at your neck. Can you stand for me?” Sam tried to force his legs to cooperate, but they could only tremble, and he stumbled into Adam’s side. Adam was quick to catch him, his hold soft but solid. “Shh, shh, all right, sweetheart. I’m gonna carry you, okay? You’re starting to crash but that’s all right, we’ve got you. You’re safe now, okay?”
“Adam,” Sam whispered, letting out a so
ft whimper as the Alpha scooped up his smaller frame, his large hands supporting his back and the bend of his knees. “Adam, I’m a little scared.” He whispered.
Which was something of the truth—however much he was now free of anything that bonded him to Dustin, that openness came with an insurmountable level of uncertainty, to say nothing of the drop that he had been so dreading up until that moment. He fought the urge to squirm against Adam’s hold, reminding himself very firmly that Adam was not Dustin, that as long as he had Adam, he was going to be okay. Adam made soft shushing noises as he stood, still cradling Sam against his broad chest. Sam tucked himself against him, nuzzling gently into his collarbone, barely refraining from trying to bury himself to hide.
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Adam spoke in that hushed tone, as if there were only him and Sam in the whole house. “It’s all right. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”
Adam continued his quiet reassurances, and Sam continued to leech off of Adam’s considerable body heat to try and stave off the numbness that was beginning to consume him, even as Adam carried him over to the kitchen. Unfocused as his gaze was, Sam still noticed that the other Alphas, save for Aranea, had all moved to the living room to give him the space that he likely needed from being crowded. He had no doubt that they all worried for him, though he was grateful that they weren’t all frantically swarming him; he was fairly confident that he couldn’t take it if they did.
He saw Aranea standing by the kitchen table, a First Aid kit on the tabletop, her hands ready to begin treating the wound, and Sam suddenly felt a pang of anxiety hit his chest as Adam began to lower him into a seat. Logically, Sam was aware that it would make the most sense for Adam to just put him down on the chair and let him be while Aranea tended to his wound, but it didn’t stop him from suddenly clutching at Adam’s chest like his life depended on it, a soft, undignified whimper escaping him as he clung to his friend.
“Sam, honey, I’m just setting you down.”
“Don’t,” Sam sobbed, turning his face to hide in Adam’s neck, ashamed of his own weakness. “Please, don’t leave.”
Again, distantly, his logical mind was telling him that Adam just letting him sit at the table did not equate to Adam leaving him, it didn’t stop his heart from hammering against his ribcage at the very notion of Adam letting go of him.
“Adam, that wound needs attention.” Aranea spoke in a calm voice, but even in the throes of his anguish, Sam could pick up the urgency in her tone—he was worrying them all overly much, he realized as he burned with shame.
“It’s all right,” Adam said, and Sam felt them turning around. Before he could think to voice his curiosity as to what was going to happen, Adam, still holding onto Sam, sat on the chair originally pulled out for Sam. “The cut’s on the side facing you, so this’ll work, right, Arie?” Adam asked, and Sam felt the Alpha’s hand, smoothed over with callouses, carefully comb back the hair at the side of his neck, presumably to let Aranea get a better look at it.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Aranea said, though Sam was still reluctant to pull his head away from the crook of Adam’s neck. He felt Aranea’s smaller hand gently run down his back in one soothing stroke. “Just try to keep your head still for me, all right hon? It’ll sting a little, but that’s just because I have to get this cleaned.”
Sam was aware that she was explaining what she was doing for his benefit, that he might not be startled by anything that she did—especially considering that she was going to be touching his newly severed mark. He was infinitely grateful for that—even knowing what she was doing, he couldn’t stop himself from flinching when he felt the stinging tingle of the peroxide as Aranea carefully cleaned his wound. To her credit, Aranea was quick with treating the wound, and before long the wound was clean, and she was carefully applying a gauze pad along the length of the cut.
“You’re doing good, Sam.” Adam said, his tone quiet and soothing. “Just a little more, and we’ll get you all taken care of.”
Sam nodded, still trying to muffle his whimpering and crying, too occupied with burying his face into Adam’s neck to look up.
“Here, can you press this down for me?” Aranea spoke up her voice still gentle and maternal as Sam heard her rummaging in the First Aid kit again. “I just have to tape it, and then we’ll have you all taken care of.”
Sam made a move to do as she asked when he felt Adam’s warm fingers gingerly pressing at the edges of the gauze, away from the wound.
“I got you, Sam.” Adam murmured, keeping his voice low in his ear. “Just relax, all right? I got you.”
Sam went lax again, his body still a quivering pile of bones and anguish but still Aranea continued, carefully using some medical tape to hold the gauze in place. Sam still clutched at the front of Adam’s shirt, acutely aware of every noise in the house—suddenly everything was too loud, too much, and rang in his ears. He flinched at the door knocking, likely the actual delivery person with their food. He could hear the door open—probably Ben or Michael answering the door—and the exchange was fast enough that within a few moments someone was bringing something in the kitchen. Sam could smell the broth of the pho he had been craving.
“There we go.” Aranea said, and Sam heard the clicking of a First Aid box being shut. “It’s all bandaged now—just try to keep an eye on it for a few days or so, all right, hon? That way we can keep it from getting infected.” She stepped away from the table, likely to go and grab her food. “All right boys and girls—grab your food to go, we’re heading out.”
“Aww, but—” Sam heard Trevor begin to protest, likely because he was concerned and wanted to stick around to keep an eye on his friend, but Aranea was a woman who brokered no objections.
“We’re leaving. We have to catch the game still, right?” Her tone was clear in its intent: giving them a polite out so they could leave without Sam feeling like it’s his fault—though he would feel that way regardless of their reasons for leaving and giving him space. “We’re heading out, hon.” Aranea murmured softly as she returned to his side, her hand gently rubbing his shoulder. “We’ll come back tomorrow to check in with you, all right, sweetie?” Sam swallowed but nodded, forcing his head away from Adam’s neck to look at her. “We all love you very much, hon—please take care, all right?” She spoke in a quieter tone then, and Sam realized she wasn’t addressing him, but Adam when she said, “Look after him, all right? If anything changes, just call us.”
“Will do.” Adam said, and Sam could feel the Alpha’s voice rumble against his chest as he spoke.
Sam closed his eyes and rested his head against Adam’s chest, still weary and achingly heartsick. his eyes stinging in warning of the tears that were quick to return. He was aware of people murmuring and footsteps of people leaving, but it was all distant again, his world closed in once more, his senses turning within himself until he was so in his own head that he was only aware of Adam because he could feel his heart beating rhythmically against his ear.
7
Dropped on a Dime
As he began to cry again, softly into Adam’s already tear soaked shirt, Sam felt the Alpha moving—standing up and walking, he realized—and he managed to maneuver Sam so that the hand holding the bend of his knees could lock the bolt on the front door. Sam barely refrained from wincing, the shuttering, metallic click of the lock sliding into place grating against the quiet that had settled over the house.
“Sam,” Adam said after a moment, hesitating by the stairs. “We need to change your shirt hon—there’s blood all over the side of it.”
“Huh?” Sam stammered looking down at the collar of his shirt.
Sure enough, the side of his shirt, just off of his chest, had a streak of dried blood on it, a shock of dark crimson against the soft gray of his shirt.
“I can get it washed for you, but we need to get you changed.” Adam said, but he paused for a moment. “Are you okay with standing? If you’re not, I can still carry you, I just don’t want y
ou to feel helpless. I’m with you no matter what, all right?”
“Yeah,” Sam said, sucking in a deep breath. “Put me down. I think I’m all right.”
Adam did as Sam asked, carefully setting his feet down on the ground. He kept his hand on the small of Sam’s back while he took a moment to right himself, and Sam was grateful for the support, uncertain as his legs felt. When he felt like he was able to walk without his legs giving out from under him, he gave a nod of reassurance to Adam as he stepped away from him, and Adam let out a soft sigh.
“All right, then,” Adam sighed, scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave him a nod. “Let me run up and grab you a clean shirt. I don’t want you to try and take the stairs on shaky legs, okay?”
“Okay,” Sam said, leaning against the wall, his whole body aching with the emptiness that had filled it. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Is there any specific shirt you want me to get?” Adam asked.
Sam groaned and shook his head, his hand coming up to hold his temple.
“No, no, that’s all right. Can you grab some pajama pants, though?” Sam asked tentatively. “Or just, like, sweatpants or something.”
Sam couldn’t rightly explain the why of it—what he was experiencing was certainly not a heat, as that wouldn’t be possible while he was pregnant—though his skin was suddenly hypersensitive, and even the shirt that he was wearing was scratching against his skin.
“You got it, Sam.” Adam said, and with one last reassuring grin, he bounded up the stairs.
Once Adam’s heavy footsteps were far enough away that Sam felt alone again, he let out a particularly harsh sob that had been pushing at the back of his throat. It was quickly followed by another, and another, and then suddenly he was crying all over again, his sobs heavy and stealing the breath from his body. In truth, Adam likely heard all of it—and really, he wasn’t gone for that long—but it was just enough loneliness that the reality of everything settled around Sam, and it settled poorly.