Fic: Don't You Breathe, White Cortina, Sam/Gene, by talkingtothesky
Title: Don't You Breathe
Rating: White Cortina (there's a bit of blood, but it's nothing serious)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 643
Notes: For the 'near suffocation' square on my whump bingo card from last year. With love to little_cello.
All Sam's careful negotiation has come to nothing, this time. Instead the nasty little scrote has launched himself at Sam and grabbed his neck between two squeezing hands, in an effort to stop him talking, stop him breathing. Sam kicks and struggles and punches, vein throbbing dangerously at his temple. Gene's yelling something, he's not sure what, and he'd be rushing forward to pry those fingers right out of their sockets if not for the bomb and the tripwire that stands in his way. Sickeningly, it's only once Sam stops fighting that Gene can safely put a bullet in his attacker's shoulder without risking hitting Sam too. Sam is limp in Fletcher's grasp when the bullet impacts and forces the latter to let go to clutch at the wound and stagger away. Sam nearly falls to his knees as his airway is released, but miraculously manages to stay on his feet, crouching with one hand on the floor as he hacks up spit and blood and hauls in great gasping gulps of air. Gene watches each unsteady jerk in-and-out of Sam's chest with furious relief.
It's lucky bomb squad arrive within the next fifteen seconds else all that would have been for naught. They disable the bomb, snip through the trip wires and Gene's off, propping Sam up so his legs don't have to and rubbing his back. "Don't talk," he orders, as Sam coughs weakly into his neck.
---
Eight hours later, Gene's awoken by a truly disturbing sound. Sam is wheezing. Gene snaps on the light, sees him clawing at the chain around his neck though it's not actually tight. Christ, why didn't they think to take that off before bed? There's the line of bruises round Sam's throat, and his nose is running, eyes streaming...Gene winces, his own eyes prickling with moisture. He clambers up on his knees on the mattress, squinting for the little circular fastening at the back of Sam's neck. Curses his shaking, clumsy fingers as he finds it and fumbles his first few attempts. Then it's off, the silver falling away into Sam's hands. Gene kisses the back of his head. "Breathe, Sammy. I'll get water."
When he returns with the glass, Sam's still sitting bolt upright where Gene left him, but the necklace is on the nightstand. Gene sits down carefully on the edge of the bed as Sam drinks his fill, wincing every time he has to swallow. When he's done, Gene takes the glass from him, puts it on the floor, picks up a box of tissues. Realises he's acting a bit like Sam's mum, but he can't let Sam go back to sleep with tear tracks down his face. That's if he's going back to sleep tonight. Somehow it seems unlikely. No sooner has he finished dabbing Sam's nose and under his eyes, Sam's face crumples. He presses his forehead hard against Gene's chest, and though he's silent his spine shudders as he cries, Gene stroking up and down the length of his back, heart cracking in his own torso.
---
When the light filters in through the curtains in the morning, Gene opens his eyes to see he's still holding Sam's hand, both of them still lying on their sides facing each other. Gene doesn't move for a long, long time, letting Sam sleep, carefully observing his face for any sign of a nightmare returning. Those bruises will fade, in a week or so, as will the cut in his mouth where he bit the inside of his cheek. As for his mind, well...Sam's not exactly balanced, but he's tough. He'll find his way back to what counts as his normal, soon enough.
"I'm still here," Sam sighs with relief when he wakes up.
Gene pretends not to know what he means. "Course y'are. Where the hell else would you be?"
Rating: White Cortina (there's a bit of blood, but it's nothing serious)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 643
Notes: For the 'near suffocation' square on my whump bingo card from last year. With love to little_cello.
All Sam's careful negotiation has come to nothing, this time. Instead the nasty little scrote has launched himself at Sam and grabbed his neck between two squeezing hands, in an effort to stop him talking, stop him breathing. Sam kicks and struggles and punches, vein throbbing dangerously at his temple. Gene's yelling something, he's not sure what, and he'd be rushing forward to pry those fingers right out of their sockets if not for the bomb and the tripwire that stands in his way. Sickeningly, it's only once Sam stops fighting that Gene can safely put a bullet in his attacker's shoulder without risking hitting Sam too. Sam is limp in Fletcher's grasp when the bullet impacts and forces the latter to let go to clutch at the wound and stagger away. Sam nearly falls to his knees as his airway is released, but miraculously manages to stay on his feet, crouching with one hand on the floor as he hacks up spit and blood and hauls in great gasping gulps of air. Gene watches each unsteady jerk in-and-out of Sam's chest with furious relief.
It's lucky bomb squad arrive within the next fifteen seconds else all that would have been for naught. They disable the bomb, snip through the trip wires and Gene's off, propping Sam up so his legs don't have to and rubbing his back. "Don't talk," he orders, as Sam coughs weakly into his neck.
---
Eight hours later, Gene's awoken by a truly disturbing sound. Sam is wheezing. Gene snaps on the light, sees him clawing at the chain around his neck though it's not actually tight. Christ, why didn't they think to take that off before bed? There's the line of bruises round Sam's throat, and his nose is running, eyes streaming...Gene winces, his own eyes prickling with moisture. He clambers up on his knees on the mattress, squinting for the little circular fastening at the back of Sam's neck. Curses his shaking, clumsy fingers as he finds it and fumbles his first few attempts. Then it's off, the silver falling away into Sam's hands. Gene kisses the back of his head. "Breathe, Sammy. I'll get water."
When he returns with the glass, Sam's still sitting bolt upright where Gene left him, but the necklace is on the nightstand. Gene sits down carefully on the edge of the bed as Sam drinks his fill, wincing every time he has to swallow. When he's done, Gene takes the glass from him, puts it on the floor, picks up a box of tissues. Realises he's acting a bit like Sam's mum, but he can't let Sam go back to sleep with tear tracks down his face. That's if he's going back to sleep tonight. Somehow it seems unlikely. No sooner has he finished dabbing Sam's nose and under his eyes, Sam's face crumples. He presses his forehead hard against Gene's chest, and though he's silent his spine shudders as he cries, Gene stroking up and down the length of his back, heart cracking in his own torso.
---
When the light filters in through the curtains in the morning, Gene opens his eyes to see he's still holding Sam's hand, both of them still lying on their sides facing each other. Gene doesn't move for a long, long time, letting Sam sleep, carefully observing his face for any sign of a nightmare returning. Those bruises will fade, in a week or so, as will the cut in his mouth where he bit the inside of his cheek. As for his mind, well...Sam's not exactly balanced, but he's tough. He'll find his way back to what counts as his normal, soon enough.
"I'm still here," Sam sighs with relief when he wakes up.
Gene pretends not to know what he means. "Course y'are. Where the hell else would you be?"