Wesley stepped into the hospital room, holding his breath.

The man lying in the bed—there was no way that was Sam. His Sam.

Wes stuttered to a stop with his fist still curled around the edge of the door frame.

The bed was in the middle of the room, thin blankets covering a thin man.

The thin man’s hair was pressed matte against his forehead, a sheen layer of sweat sticking it in place. His face was sharp, angular bones stuck beneath thin and pale skin. The only parts that weren’t thin and pale were swollen and bruised, a multicolor rainbow of browns and purples and yellows decorating his face.

His too skinny arms were folded on his lap. Wes could see the jagged lines that would turn into scars; some were small slices, others thick and rough.

Acid crawled up his throat. Wes nearly collapsed.

“Sam.”

The name burned. Wes could feel each letter on his tongue and his lips, scorched into the fragile flesh there. He never—he couldn’t have—

Tommy hadn’t said anything. Tom had just let him walk into the room without saying a goddamn thing and that had to mean that Sam was looking better.

What the fuck did he look like when he was first flown in?

Wes thought he might be sick.

The man in the bed was asleep. He was laid back straight, head lolled just a little to the side. Wes thought he could hear the breathing coming from his chest, ragged and unsure.

Sam had been the strongest person he’d ever met.

Wes couldn’t uncurl his fist from the hospital door. His fingers were stuck and his mind was stuck and he couldn’t even fucking imagine what Sam must’ve looked like before and—

Sam made an awful sound.

Wes dropped the door behind him and strode to the bed instantly, hands hesitating above Sam’s broken body to see if there was any place that looked worse than the other. He didn’t know what was wrong but no one just made that sound without being injured. He looked around but Sam settled down and his face relaxed in his sleep.

Unsure, Wes fell into the chair next to the bed. It moved from his weight, scraping loudly against the floor. Wes winced and froze, looking to see if he woke Sam up.

Sam continued to sleep.

Letting out a breath of relief, Wes settled into the chair and just— watched.

Tom would be coming with Dr. Plymouth soon and he would make sure that Sam wasn’t in any unnecessary pain or something. Until then, Wes would just— keep an eye on him.

That was the only thing he knew how to do anyway.

Jesus Christ.

Wes hadn’t really thought about what it meant to have been flown in by the military; what it meant that Sam had gone through, being held in captivity or whatever had happened. He had known that Sam was asleep from the pain and trauma on his body and that he had to have extensive surgery, but—

Well, Wes just hadn’t really thought about what it meant. He just hadn’t really thought.

Not that he could have guessed this in a thousand guesses.

Before walking into the room, he never would have thought the great Sam Carlisle capable of looking so—

Feeble. Weak. Broken.

Wes pushed hard against the bridge of his nose, forcing his body to settle the hell down. He didn’t need to fucking cry.

He needed to just sit here and wait for Tom. And keep an eye on Sam.

Sam. Sam was here and Sam was safe and Sam was alive and Sam was this man in this bed, swollen and sunken and two shades away from dying.

It never felt as real as it did at that moment, watching Sam sleep in the hospital bed.

What the hell had he gone through?

As heavily as he was asleep one moment, the next moment Sam was startlingly, thoroughly awake.

He went from sleeping peacefully to his eyes wide open and alert. Wes watched with his mouth open in a gape as Sam looked him up and down, eyes flickering down before crawling back up to his face, and frowned.

Wes felt like he was on fire.

Sam’s gaze shouldn’t be able to do that to him so easily. From lying nearly comatose in a hospital bed, looking for all the world like he was falling apart—and yet, Wes felt a thousand feet smaller and softer and hotter.

“Sam,” he said.

This time, though it burned, it didn’t feel painful to say. He couldn’t believe he was saying Sam’s name and Sam was hearing him.

The frown dissipated. Almost in an annoyed way, his expression melted into something softer and kinder. “Bright eyes.”

Sam’s voice was the same.

It was a bit more shaky and it was scratchy like he hadn’t had water in days, sure—but it held that same reverence that had made Wes fall so goddamn hard in the first place.

The knowledge about how Sam felt about him now, knowing how he couldn’t give a shit if Wes was there or if it was a random nurse he’d never met, surged through Wes. The reference he heard was something else. A misinterpretation.

Wes swallowed back the acid from seeing someone so strong in such a small place; it had a hard time going down behind the lump of seeing someone he loved not love him back.

With a start, Wes realized that none of it really fucking mattered though.

He had been an idiot to think he was over Sam. He had been so dumb to think that he could just get over this deep-rooted truth inside of him. Wes was in love with Sam.

And Sam didn’t give a shit if he was there or not.

It took everything he had to not collapse when the realization struck within him.

“Looking good.” Wes’s voice didn’t quite hit that tremor of a joke and instead came out as a whisper.

Sam smiled anyway. Just a quick one—a quirk of his lips that he quickly smothered, but a smile nonetheless.

“No compliment for me?” Wes asked. “Rude. Not surprising, I guess.”

He couldn’t stop talking. He didn’t know he talked when he was nervous. He didn’t know how to shut the hell up.

“Tom’s gone to get Dr. Plymouth. Nice guy, I guess. Not my favorite here. That’s Deborah, she’s a nurse. You—well, you probably won’t meet her actually, but she’s nice. I guess I could introduce you two, if you wanted.”

Wes stopped short in his rant when Sam started struggling, thin arms pushing on the blankets. After watching blankly for a second, Wes realized Sam was trying to sit up.

“Oh, hey, let me help.” He got up, hands extended. Sam shot him a furious glare and Wes froze.

“I can do it,” Sam said. His rough tone was as strong as it used to be—at least, its effect was. Wes nodded and sat back down, pretending not to notice the obvious struggle that Sam was going through.

When he finally got into a more comfortable sitting position, Wes turned his full attention back to Sam.

“I could go get Tom, if you want.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s fine, Wesley.”

Wesley.

Well. His full name was a far cry from Bright Eyes.

Wes looked down into his lap.

Sam’s sigh was nearly comically loud, interrupting the awkward silence. Wes smothered the smile threatening to expose him.

“I just mean, Tom probably needs a break from me.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure…” He trailed off sheepishly when Sam leveled him with a look. “I guess you never know.”

Sam just looked at him.

Wes looked back.

God, this was awkward.

Wes wanted to hug him. He also wanted to yell at him. He would prefer to be in his bed asleep than sitting here. He wasn’t particularly tired or anything, but he couldn’t think of a single goddamn thing to say that mattered. He prattled on about unimportant things anyway.

“I think you’ll like Dr. Plymouth. Wait, I already said that I think. Either way. Tom likes him well enough and we both know we trust Tom’s judgement.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up. Wes blushed a furious red.

“You know what I mean. Or, whatever. Are you hungry? Are you allowed to eat? I guess you haven’t talked to Dr. Plymouth yet though so maybe you don’t know. Well, we can ask when he gets here and I can run and get you something if you want. Or—”

“Wes?”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Please. Shut up.”

Wes swallowed hard. “Right. Roger that.”

Sam watched him silently after that. His eyes kept flickering around as if he was checking Wes for injuries or taking toll on the changes in his body. Wes fought against the urge to fidget and tell him to stop.

When he realized that Sam had no intention on letting up, Wes decided to say fuck it and he let himself take account of Sam, too.

Past the injuries and the obvious weight loss, Wes looked to find out if he could see how Sam was doing. He wanted to see that spark of life that Sam had always had clutched into his palms and sitting on his eyes and coating his lips. Sam was so full of—- something, something so purely him that it was nearly enthralling. Wes felt beside himself with need to know if it was still there.

“I hope it hasn’t been too hard for you, being here.” Sam said. It seemed to take great difficulty for him to get the words out. Wes ached with the urge to reach over and clasp his hand around Sam’s, to touch him. His fingertips itched.

“Of course not. It’s—Tom’s my best friend and you’re—well, you’re you.”

Sam’s mouth closed, nearly an audible sound as it clasped shut. Wes could see the swallow behind his skin, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. He shut his eyes for a second before letting them flutter open again and this time, he looked every bit the man Wes had first loved.

“Yeah. You’re you,” Sam’s voice was a whisper.

Everything, quite suddenly, snapped.

It was like he had been a rubber band and for months, he had been pulled and pulled, his body stretched to its absolute max. He felt like all of a sudden, the tension let go and he was just—

Or maybe it was magnets. Not between him and Sam, but between the Wes that existed outside of Sam and the one that lived underneath his gaze. With Sam’s attention and soft voice and presence, Wes felt like he had snapped back in place. He felt whole.

He was so goddamn in love with Sam.

It hurt in a way he hadn’t imagined anything ever could.

Wes could hear the Sam that had promised him that he'd come home to him at the same time as he heard the words he’d harshly, casually said to Tom a few minutes ago. They stood side by side and instead of morphing into one, instead of Wes seeing how they were the same person and were capable of both good and bad things, Wes could only see the before and after.

It made no sense.

He wanted to ask Sam which one he really meant. He couldn’t have meant both.

“I can’t believe you’re alive.”

Wes clapped a hand over his mouth. Holy shit, he did not mean to say that. He stared, wide eyed, as Sam slowly dragged his eyes back to Wes’s gaze.

To his surprise, Sam smiled. He let out a laugh—it was soft but it was true and it floored Wes. “You and me both.”

Wes dropped his hand, offering a small smile back. “Can’t believe I’m alive either?” He joked.

Sam’s smile fell. “Yes,” he said sincerely.

Wes cocked his head, frowning. “What—”

The door swung open and Tom’s booming laughter rang out through the room. Dr. Plymouth entered second after Tom’s voice, followed by a nurse, and then Tom’s body.

“He’s awake! And Wes is here!” Tom cheered. Sam and Wes exchanged exasperated, adoring looks. Wes remembered that day when Tom asked him to go pick Sam up from the airport. How apologetic he was and how he just really needed this favor just this once and how when Sam and Wes had been driving back, they had lamented their main connection: anything for Tommy.

“Hey,” Wes said, standing up out of the chair. The nurse went straight to Sam’s side and started poking and prodding at him, checking the monitors he was attached to. Sam paid him no attention and instead focused on the doctor.

“Sam, you might not remember us meeting. My name is Dr. Plymouth. I’m the head of the cardiovascular team here and I’m your primary doctor.”

“Yes, hello.” Sam sat straighter and his face hardened; it wasn’t an angry look but one that screamed of his time in charge. He was a leader with this expression.

Wes liked that, for all their history and issues, Sam didn’t use that expression on him.

“So, I just want to give you a rundown on your injuries and see if you have any questions or concerns that you’d like to discuss. As much of this has been deemed emergency treatment and we’ve gotten your brother’s consent, we’ve done a few surgeries and treatments you’ll want to be aware of.”

“Of course,” Sam said.

Everyone waited; the nurse glanced pointedly at Wes and he noticed that everyone was looking at him.

Flushing, he took a step away from the bed.

“I’ll just—” he gestured towards the door. Sam frowned.

“Yeah,” Tom nodded. “I’ll come get you when they’re done going over all that.”

“Sure, sounds great.” Wes hesitated, glancing over to Sam.

Sam glanced back. Then he nodded. Wes nodded at him and then slipped out the door.

Jesus Christ.

There was no accounting for this feeling. No preparing for it.

Wes leaned against the wall opposite of Sam’s room and tried to slow down his pulse.

It was hammering beneath his skin, a vicious beating that was as distracting as it was intense. He could barely focus on anything outside of that; the rest of his energy went to monitoring the insane dizziness that was spilling out of his head and into the rest of his body.

Wes felt a bit like he was asleep. Like this was all a really bad dream and he’d wake up and be twenty years old, crushing on a stranger he saw across the street and wondering if he had any job prospects in the new town he’d just arrived in.

Everything felt too far away and unreal. Sam’s body, thin and pressed into a bed instead of tall and thick and standing a head above him. Tom’s excitement not about a good day at work or the cute thing that John did but focused entirely on just the fact that his brother was alive. Wes feeling sick to his stomach and heart all at once.

He remembered when his biggest complaint in life was waking up as if he had a bucket of salt water still in his mouth. He remembered when his days were spent trying not to think about his dad and his sisters instead of this—

Instead of Sam.

Instead of Sam in a hospital, inches away from death and saying how much he didn’t want him there.

Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam.

He couldn’t get his name out of his head. It was like each beat of his pulse was in rhythm with that one damned syllable. It was doing it on purpose; it was mocking Wes for wanting to run back in there and push everyone away and just—

Well, he didn’t know what.

Sara’s words ran through his head again and again.

Wes felt more confused than he ever had.

Sam didn’t want him. Sam didn’t care if he was there. Sam promised he’d come back. Sam was here.

Wes stopped short of banging his head against the wall.

He was in a thousand places and feeling a thousand different things all at once. He could feel every aspect of his body—his blood, bones, skin, muscles, tendons, every single bit of him—turning and rolling around, reaching for something new.

He wanted to go home and never see Sam again; he wanted to kiss him; he wanted to yell at him; he wanted to figure out what the fuck he was supposed to be doing.

He was in love with Sam. Wes loved him and he had been pretending that he didn’t. When Sam was gone, when Wes didn’t have to look at him or really, truly think about him, he could pretend like it was just infatuation.

But he couldn’t now. He couldn’t pretend because he wasn’t half of himself. Sam’s presence snapped him back to himself and it was dumb and it was awful because Sam didn’t feel that way and he was so, so stupid.

It hurt. It hurt in a way that drowning or wanting to drown or feeling rejected could never touch. Because this wasn’t just rejection or just the pain of wanting someone that didn’t want you.

This was Wes, knowing that he was not going to be whole without Sam. He would be happy and he would be fine and maybe he’d love someone else but—

He didn’t snap back into place with anyone else.

He didn’t exist fully as himself with anyone else.

He wished Sara was there right now, asking him why he wasn’t into Nick and demanding answers in her sweet way. Because he finally had an answer to give her. It wasn’t that he wasn’t into Nick—it was that there wasn’t a real, true him to be into anyone.

Tears prickled at the back of his eyes, angrily and painful.

Wes hated himself so thoroughly, standing outside of his best friend’s brother’s hospital room, crying because the man he loved didn’t love him back.

He wasn’t being a good friend. He wasn’t a good friend. He wasn’t a friend and he wasn’t good and he wasn’t whole without this stupid, wonderful idiot.

His pulse screamed in his veins and his head swam through a dizzying fog that seemed to exist just to make sure Wes couldn’t stay grounded in one thought.

He was so in love with Sam Carlisle.

He was so goddamn glad Sam was okay. He felt nauseous from the relief of it.

Wes was halfway convinced he’d just go home for a nap when the door to Sam’s room creaked open and the doctor and nurse passed him. From the opening, he could see Tom sitting in the chair across from Sam.

Tom saw him, too. He lifted a hand and waved for Wes to join them.

Wes gulped. He turned as if to watch the doctor exit the hallway, using the privacy to swipe at his eyes. Okay. Here he goes.

“Hey. Good news?”

“Only the best,” Tom confirmed.

At least Tom seemed truly happy. That was something. Tom started to tell him about the updates the doctor had given them and Wes tried to follow but he could feel Sam’s eyes on him and he was hyper aware of his own skin and mind finally coexisting together effortlessly.

Wes opened his mouth to congratulate Sam when Tom jumped a little in his seat, grinning.

“And guess what? The guy gets to eat!” Tom fist-pumped. Wes couldn’t help the laugh that was torn out of his mouth when Sam rolled his eyes. It sounded a little crazy but it was genuine and that was more than he would’ve thought to ask for.

“I told you,” Wes said to Sam. Sam cocked his head, lips gently quirking. Wes ignored it and the way his pulse sped. “You’re hungry.”

Sam’s face pinched for a second in what Wes thought might be disgust before he smoothed it out. “Sure. I could eat.”

“Burgers?” he asked at the same time that Tom said, “Tacos?”

They both froze, looking at each other before breaking into laughter.

“Okay, who’s got the coin?” Wes dug into his pockets, coming up empty.

Tom held a quarter in the air, grinning. “Prepare for defeat, loser.”

“You know, there’s three of us,” Wes gestured between the three of them. “We could just vote.”

“Hell no,” Tom shook his head. “Think I’m gonna let this asshole break a best friend tradition?”

Sam, who had been looking between them confused, dropped his jaw and lifted his hands. “Hey, what did I ever do?”

“Exactly.” Tom stuck his tongue out at his brother before turning back to Wes. He raised an eyebrow and lifted the coin.

“Heads,” Wes confirmed.

Tom flipped the coin.

Wes lost.

“Typical,” he muttered while Tom laughed and cheered.

“Aw, hell yeah!”

“Okay, okay.” Wes tapped at his pockets until he located his wallet. “I’ll just run and grab them then.”

“No, no,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I’ve got to call Sara anyway. She’ll kill me if I wait a second longer than I have to. I’ll do it.”

Wes’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, man, that’s okay—”

“It’s no problem. Sam is awake so you don’t have to be the errand boy anymore,” Tom winked. He turned to Sam, grinning at him. “I’m gonna go grab our lunches. Y’all be good here while I’m gone.”

In unison, both Sam and Wes parroted “Yes, Mother,” back at Tom.

He shook his head at them. “Weirdos.” Tom untangled his body from the chair and slipped out of the hospital room, saluting them both.

Wes waited until the door closed behind him and he was really, truly stuck in the room with Sam for the immediate future.

He looked at Sam; Sam shrugged at him.

Wes sighed before crossing the room. He let himself fall into the chair that Tom had left.

Sam cleared his throat. Wes looked at him and schooled his expression to be one that seemed to walk the line of pain and adoration instead of climbing on either one.

“So,” he said before taking a break to clear his throat a second time. Wes raised an eyebrow. “Do you guys, um, do that a lot?”

Wes frowned before he understood. “Flip a coin for lunch?”

Sam nodded.

Wes laughed. “Yeah, usually like every day at work. We’re somehow never on the same stomach schedule.”

Sam kept nodding as Wes talked and didn’t stop until after he was done. “Oh, okay.”

He frowned, looking out the window. Wes didn’t bother pretending to look at anything besides Sam. He looked a little more like himself when they were talking— less distinctly wrong like when Wes had first come into the room and seen him.

Of course, the way that Wes felt around Sam had little to do with his face, even if it usually looked good.

His general presence hit Wes like a ton of bricks every time. Even hearing a story about him had always been enough to make him feel off-kilter.

“I’ve missed a lot,” Sam said.

Wes’s heart clenched and he pushed down on the feeling. He could be a good goddamn friend to this guy without thinking with his heart or dick or whatever it was that made Sam Carlisle so irresistible to him. He could be a good guy.

“Yes,” Wes agreed, wincing a little when Sam deflated. “But you’re here now.”

“Not sure that counts for much of anything.”

Wes frowned, brow furrowing. “No, Sam.”

Sam looked up at him, eyes snapping to Wes’s.

Wes had thought a lot of things about Sam over the years. He had idolized him and demonized him and sometimes, not as often as he’d like, he saw him for the real and human person he was in between. He saw him through Tom’s stories and he really, really thought he saw him that night under the stars with promises between them, thick as the sky.

But in the entirety of that time, even when Wes thought of Sam at his worst, he was never someone that didn’t count. If anything, his biggest problem was just how much he did count.

Wes thought it was a bit ridiculous that Sam would be worried about what he was doing not counting. His whole life seemed to be one incredible thing after another; even just existing and holding his hand had changed Wes’s life. The idea that Sam didn’t count for anything was laughable.

Wes tried not to get distracted by the eye contact. “You being here—it’s the only thing that matters. You’re going to see a lot more than you’ve missed.”

Sam’s face didn’t lift from its serious expression. Wes couldn’t help fidgeting under the scrutiny, his ears and neck heating in embarrassment. “For Tommy and Johnny and stuff. Like, John’s so little, it’s good you’ll be here when he’s older and stuff.”

Sam tilted his head then blinked, seemingly coming out of his daze. He straightened and nodded. “I—I promised Tommy that I wouldn’t leave again.”

Another promise? Wes couldn’t help the bitter thought.

Sam looked down, face falling. He swallowed heavily. “That’s fair.”

“What?”

Shit. Shit, Wes had spoken out loud again.

Since when was that a fucking problem for him?

He could feel his whole body blush, sweat starting to form at the top of his forehead. He had not meant to say that out loud.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Wes said quickly, words bleeding together.

Sam shrugged. “But you did and it’s true. I’ve made and broken promises in the past. To Tommy and to—to—”

“Still, I shouldn’t—”

“But I meant it,” Sam said. “I told Tom I wouldn’t leave again. So I won’t.”

Wes wished it could be that easy.

He hoped for Tommy’s sake that this time, it was.

“Well, then, see.” Wes tried his damnedest to offer a genuine smile. “That’s what matters.”

“Family, right?” Sam asked, smiling a little. “That’s what you told me on the ride home from the airport. That family is the most important thing to you.”

Wes’s heart ached. His chest had a hole in it and it was spreading and spreading, decaying from the inside like a tooth that’s been exposed to too much sugar.

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes when his voice broke a little. “Family.”

The ache in Wes’s chest spread and spread. He felt like he was becoming the ache rather than feeling it. He was going to keep disappearing into the hole until nothing remained but that and it was going to be his own fault.

He didn’t want Sam to remember anything about him. He didn’t want Sam to pretend to care when he didn’t; when he couldn’t care enough or the way that Wes needed him to.

“Wes,” Sam said his name carefully; less like he was afraid Wes would break and more like he was afraid that he would break the name. It was too much and way too little. “Wesley, hey.”

“What?”

He didn’t mean to snap. You’re not supposed to snap at the guy in the hospital bed.

“Wes.”

“What, Sam?” He was falling and fading and he couldn't believe that love could feel this awful.

“Wes, I don’t—I didn’t mean to break my promise or, I don’t know.” Sam stopped, lifting his hands before letting them fall back onto the blanket.

Wes looked at him. His face was bruised and swollen and the dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced, so deep and dark despite the week of sleep he had. Scars littered his body, promising of a time that Wes couldn’t even dream about. He literally could never have a nightmare half as bad as the one that Sam had lived.

Wes wanted to tell him it was okay. Wes wanted it to be okay.

He didn’t want anyone to ever hurt Sam again. But Wes’s own hurt was so strong, so vivid, that it didn’t feel like something he could control. It didn’t even seem like a part of him. He felt it as a separate part of him, as if he was seconds away from giving into this thing that was so much bigger.

Wes didn’t realize he was near tears until Sam, pleadingly, asked him not to cry.

“I’ll go.” He dug for his wallet to take money out for the lunch he couldn’t even imagine eating now.

“No, don’t—”

The words flew out before he could stop them.

“Why not? You couldn’t give a shit if I stayed, if I went. You’ll just—be nice, either way.”

Sam recoiled as if he’d been hit. He opened his mouth but no sounds came out.

Good. Wes was sure he couldn’t have handled anything that Sam might have wanted to say.

“Just tell Tom I was tired. Or just. I don’t know. Tell him whatever you want.”

Wes stood up and even though he was pretty sure there was no strength in any part of his body he managed to make his legs listen and move. He thought that maybe it was the aching and the darkness inside of his limbs that allowed them to lift rather than any real strength he had.

“Wes, wait! Wesley!”

Wes fought against the way his body wanted to pull towards the sound, the way his heart skipped a beat and his muscles ached to wait and hear what Sam had to say.

His voice sounded so much goddamn better than the way he’d been remembering it.

“Bright Eyes, don’t go.”

Wes closed the door behind him and made it all the way to his truck before he started to cry.

He was so in love with Sam. He couldn’t believe that something so many people wanted could hurt this badly.