The next time Sam woke up, it was for real.

He jolted himself awake in the hospital bed, body jerking a bit as he reacted to being fully conscious for the first time in God only knew when.

His body felt separate from his mind in a way it never really had before. He could feel the aches in his limbs and a soreness that was inexplicably throbbing on his side and forehead. He felt the tenderness of his muscles in a way that was different from when he’d experienced pain. He had very recently proven to himself that he could handle pain; but this gentle aching, this disassociation of his body from his suddenly very conscious mind, bothered him.

He hadn’t fallen asleep feeling like this. It seemed odd to Sam that he would feel like this when he woke up.

After a few minutes of just breathing and trying to reallocate his thoughts with his limbs, Sam lifted his head.

He looked around the room; it was blank and beige and as boring as every hospital room he’d ever been in. He hadn’t even realized he was in a room the last time he’d been semi-awake. He’d been so out of it, so panicked, that the idea that he was in a room or that a room even existed seemed foreign to him.

But now—here well, he could tell very much that he was in a room. He could tell that it was very much a real, non-dream, non-purgatorial room.

Sam nearly laughed.

He was awake. He was alive.

He hadn’t anticipated being alive. Sam had decided that he would die in order to complete his self-appointed mission. That fight had been the hardest Sam had ever fought, the surest he'd ever been that he’d actually completed something. Sam had truly in-his-gut known that he was going to die if he fought El.

The dream-like state he’d been in since he’d first woke up had him convinced he hadn’t actually survived the fight.

He had actually survived that fight.

How had he survived the fight?

Sam’s body was hooked to machines that he didn’t fully understand; when he tried to move his arm, a long, thin wire moved with it. He ignored it in favor of checking out the person in the room with him.

Tom. Goddamn. His little brother was in the room, alive, waiting for Sam, who was also alive.

It didn’t feel like a small miracle that he was sitting in the same room as Tom. He had thought that would never happen again.

Tommy sat in the chair next to the bed, head lolled in what had to be an uncomfortable position. He was bent low in the chair, snoring and fast asleep. Sam wondered how many nights he’d slept in a position like that, waiting for Sam to wake up. He hoped he’d gone home at nights. He hoped that at least Sara was able to convince him of that.

The doctor had said he’d been in the hospital for a week? Or asleep for a week? Either way, that was a long time. Sam hoped that Tom hadn’t called off work that whole time; that was a lot of time off that he should be saving for a vacation or time with his family, not bent in a hospital chair waiting for his dumb older brother.

Tommy looked younger in his sleep. His face was smoother and his body less pulled in anxiety. Tom had never been particularly stressed or old, but it had been a very long time since Sam had seen his baby brother sleeping.

He watched for a few minutes. Gratefulness tugged at his chest, filling him with warmth all through his veins. He could feel the warmth beneath his skin, the prickling like happiness shooting through his blood.

Tommy was safe. He was okay and he was here.

Sam had killed El. At least, he was pretty goddamn sure he’d killed El. Considering he was alive and Tommy was here, he was pretty sure El hadn’t survived that fight.

The thought of the man made his stomach recoil and a surge of anger heat his thoughts.

Sam struggled to push himself up into a sitting position, looking around for the glass of water he faintly remembered existed. He hoped it was full; it felt like ages since he’d actually had a drink of water.

Apparently, regardless of how long he’d actually been asleep, his muscles were just shy of atrophied. He couldn’t force himself up.

The rustling of his body against the crinkly bed sheets made more noise than he anticipated. Tommy frowned in his sleep and Sam froze.

He tried to lower himself back into a regular position as quietly as he could. It was pointless. Tom woke up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

His expression lit up with recognition when he saw Sam moving.

“Hey!” Again, his voice was twice as loud and jubilant as it had ever been before. He looked positively thrilled. “Hey, you’re awake again.”

“Looks like,” he croaked out.

His throat scratched. It didn’t hurt the way the tube did but was still incredibly uncomfortable. He coughed, trying to get the itch out.

Tom jumped up, reaching behind Sam’s head to the nightstand. He came back with a big glass of water with a straw in it.

“Here, drink up. Your throat’s probably killing you.”

Sam nodded, lifting his head to wrap his lips around the straw. Tom held the glass steady while Sam greedily sucked the cup dry.

“Damn, man.” Tom refilled the glass and Sam drank about half of it before nodding, leaning his head back against the pillow.

He was exhausted.

How was drinking a goddamn glass of water exhausting? Sam needed to talk to the doctors and see what the hell was going on with his body.

“Better?” Tom asked, sitting down in the chair. He scooted it closer to the bed, resting his elbow on the mattress. It dipped a little but neither brother paid it any attention.

Sam nodded again. “Yes. Thank you.”

Tom shook his head, waving a hand. “No, nah. No problem.”

Sam didn’t know what to say.

He was so tired. He wanted to know how he’d gotten to the States— at least, he assumed he was in the States. Tom was here and the doctor and nurses were American, so it felt like a pretty solid guess.

How had he gotten the hell out of that cave? Had he killed El?

Was someone waiting for him? Coming for him or Tom or—

Wes had been here. Tom had said that Wes had been here.

Sam was so fucking tired.

“Sammy.” Tom’s voice rang out small and timid, the way it had that time Sam had almost drowned when they were kids. It jolted Sam back to himself, shoving him back fully in his body and his duties as a big brother. He couldn’t think about himself when Tom had that tone of voice.

“Yeah, bud?”

Tom picked at a stray string of fabric coming off of the blanket. It unravelled as he tugged at it, but Sam didn’t mind. He’d let Tom rip the entire blanket apart if he wanted.

“I just—what the hell happened?”

Sam inhaled. It whistled through his teeth and settled uncomfortably in his lungs.

What the hell happened?

Sam didn’t know. Not really.

He’d gone on a mission. It’d gone sideways and he’d been captured. But Tom knew that— he’d at least inferred it. Tom was asking why this happened and if things were okay now. But Sam couldn’t answer that. Sam didn’t know how he’d gotten out of there alive. He didn’t know if he was the only one alive.

He needed to call his commander. He needed to talk to the U.S. Government pronto and figure out if El was just a one-off man or a part of something deeper and more sinister. He needed to know if fucking up the mission fucked up more than just the lives and families of the men he’d led.

Sam needed to know if Edward was okay.

“You know the job’s dangerous,” Sam said instead.

Tom nodded. He didn’t look up from the blanket. “I know, yeah.”

“Tommy.”

His little brother’s head popped up, eyes wide and focused on Sam’s.

Sam cleared his throat and gave Tom a hard look. He waited until he was sure Tom was listening. “It doesn’t matter what happened. What matters is that I’m okay and I’m here.”

Tom’s shoulders fell and his face relaxed. Lines and muscles that Sam didn’t know Tom had fell away, melting the age right from his face.

“You’re right. Yeah, of course.”

“Of course.”

Tom pulled out his phone, shooting Sam a half smile in apology. “I just want to text Sara and let her know. She’s been itching to visit but, you know, immediate family only.”

Sam nodded his understanding. “Give her my love.”

Tom grinned. “As if I’d risk not.”

“How has she been doing?” Sam loved seeing Tom talk about Sara and John. His love for his family was nearly all-encompassing. It was stronger than most other things Sam had seen in his life. Especially after spending time with them that last time Sam came to Poplar, he couldn’t help but be glad that Tom had them. He hated the idea of Tommy being by himself.

He was pretty sure even if Tom wanted to, Sara would never let him be by himself.

Tom spent the better part of a half hour giving Sam the low-down on his girlfriend. Apparently the career change she was thinking about when John was old enough (in their eyes) to go to daycare meant more schooling and not a little bit of money, but they were confident that they’d be able to swing it.

Sam offered to pay for the courses. Tom’s jaw fell open before he refused the idea entirely. Sam let it go, making a mental note to bring it up when he didn’t look quite so pathetic.

Seeing the photos of her and John nearly took the little breath that Sam did have away. His nephew was the spitting image of Tom as a baby, all round cheeks and happy eyes. He couldn’t believe how big he’d gotten since he’d last seen him.

Guilt churned in Sam’s chest, the way it always did when he thought about how much he was missing in his brother’s life. None of this would have happened if Sam had just been better—if he’d just given as much of himself to his family as he had the military, as his family deserved.

It was an odd balance for him to walk, this feeling of dissatisfaction and need for his previous, young life. He missed it terribly; he was so glad he got away. It swam in his head, confusing and exhausting him.

“They’re both excited to see you,” Tom slipped his phone back into his pocket, finishing his spiel about how John, little as he was, definitely would remember Sam. Sam knew it was bullshit but he thought it was nice anyway.

Tom leaned back in the chair, popping his back.

“Tommy, you could go home,” Sam said. “I’m fine, no need to stay here.”

Tom looked affronted at the idea. “Screw that, no way.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Sam argued. “You have to leave at some point.”

“Do not.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Do not.”

“You sound like you’re seven.”

“I don’t care. I’m not leaving.”

Sam held his hands up in defense. “Fine, but don’t look at me when Sara shoots you for not helping at home.”

Tom narrowed his eyes, sticking his tongue out. “Joke’s on you. I got myself a manny.”

“A manny?”

“Like, a male nanny.”

Sam’s mouth parted in a gaping O. “You hired a goddamn nanny so you could sit at my bedside?”

Tom laughed, tossing his head back. “No. God, that would be funny, though. No, I was joking.”

“Oh.” Sam didn’t get it.

“I meant Wesley,” Tom explained. “Poor guy’s been switching between being here with me and being at my house with my kid and girl.”

Sam’s heart spluttered. His cheeks burned when the machine picked up on the irregularities but, luckily, Tom didn’t seem to notice.

“Doesn’t he have work?”

Tom gave him an expression as if he himself had said that a hundred times. Sam almost laughed. “Guy’s relentless. Says he won’t be tricked into being a shitty friend.”

Right. Wes was Tom’s best friend. Sam had almost forgotten that.

“Personally,” Tom looked down at his hand, examining his nails. “I think you really did a number on the guy.”

“What?” This time, it was Sam’s voice that was too loud and incessant.

Tom looked up briefly before refocusing on his hand. “Nothing, never mind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Me either,” Tom said dryly.

Sam’s heart hammered. Both of them pretended like the machine wasn’t beeping erratically, calling Sam out on his bullshit as easily as his brother did.

Sam felt frozen trying to figure out what to say. What did Tom mean by that? Had Wes told him about their kiss—about the promise between them that he’d broken and trampled and cherished so much?

Tom didn’t look back at him or hurl any new information about Wes. Sam wanted to press but, more than that, he really didn’t want to talk about it with anyone— especially his kid brother that apparently had information that Sam hadn’t offered him.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Tom turned back to him, the same frown from before pulling at his face.

“Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Tom steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Sam did the same in preparation.

“I just—don’t go back.”

That was not what Sam was expecting. He blinked twice before getting out a strangled: “What?”

“Don’t go back.” Tom reached up and grabbed one of Sam’s hands, looking at him imploringly. With his own hand between his younger brother’s two, he could see for the first time how truly thin he’d gotten. The skin pulled at the tendons in his hand, leaving it flatter. It looked older. It didn’t look like his hand. Sam was sick with the thought that his whole body was like this, a deflated caricature of what he used to look like.

“Tommy—“

“I know it’s not fair of me to ask. I know that I’m not being fair. But you’re my brother and, Jesus, man, I almost lost you. You were—you’re so—just.” Tom took a deep breath, then another. He blinked rapidly before clearing his throat. “You’ve done your part, you know. Please don’t leave again. I can’t take it.”

Sam’s throat threatened to collapse.

Here, in plain English, was his brother asking him for the same thing he’d always insinuated.

Here was Tommy, little Tommy, with tears in his eyes and holding his hand, pleading him to just fucking stay. To let family and life and him be enough to keep Sam there and alive.

Even the thought of staying left his bones with an itch to get up, to fight something, to run. But Tommy was so earnest. He’d always hated that Sam had been in the Navy and he’d always been so proud of him, anyway. But he’d reached his limit.

Sam thought he could understand it. He imagined seeing Tom in the hospital bed, frail body thin and boney, weak from exhaustion and torture and a surgery that Sam still didn’t really know anything about. It churned his stomach, making him nearly sick with nausea at the mere idea of it.

If Tommy felt a quarter of the way right now as Sam did considering his baby brother beaten and broken down, then he had no right to refuse this request.

Briefly, because he couldn’t help it, Sam imagined a life in Poplar. He imagined a happy one.

It looked like late nights talking to someone he loved and a job that he liked and was good at and didn’t make him flush red with adrenaline and fear every few minutes. It was having Sunday dinner with Tommy and his family, barbecues with neighbors that turned into friends, and weeknights that blurred into mornings in a delightful, domestic way.

It was a life of happiness and contentment and family.

It was a life that Sam desperately wanted. It was one that he really, truly didn’t deserve.

Tom dropped his hands and folded his arms across his chest, lifting his chin up. “I know it’s not fair of me to ask. But I don’t think it’s fair of you to go, either. I know you think the country needs you and maybe they did but you gave them enough. And now I need you. Your nephew needs you and— and, I don’t know. We need you here and you need to accept that.”

Sam tried twice to swallow around the lump building in his throat.

How could he argue with that?

“Okay.”

“I really think you need to reconsider,” Tom’s voice took on a desperate level of pleading and Sam clicked the button for the bed, forcing it and his aching body up straighter.

He looked his brother in the eye. “Tommy. I said okay.”

Tom stopped abruptly; his face emptied of any emotion. In a small way, he asked, “Really?”

“Really.” Sam promised. “I won’t leave again. I’ll stay here. I won’t go.”

Tom’s shoulders collapsed with relief. He let out a strangled choke, a sob that seemed to be wretched straight from his soul. “Sam.”

“I promise, Tom,” Sam vowed. “I won’t do this to you again.”

Tom grabbed at Sam’s hand again, squeezing it so hard Sam nearly winced. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Tom.”

Sam could see the heavy way that Tom swallowed, the hard unsureness that he wore on his expression even as relief influenced his every move.

Sam meant the promise he’d vowed to his brother. He meant it more than he’d ever meant anything else.

His desire to escape was an old one. He felt it in strong bursts, of course; but the genuine impulse felt like instinct rather than true desire. He didn’t need to keep running.

And he couldn’t ignore that being there, being in that place, had put his family at risk. He still didn’t know how or why El knew about his brother or about Wes; until he knew for sure that they were safe, that no one else had access to or want of that information, he wouldn’t risk them by going back into the field.

Everyone had to retire at some point, he guessed. No reason why his retirement couldn’t come now.

He would need to debrief though. “Hey, Tom, has anyone from the Seals been in?”

Tom’s face pinched, his eyes narrowing. “No. Why?”

Sam threw his hands up in mock defense. “No need to give me that look, alright? I just need to debrief. And, apparently, tell them that I’m officially off active duty.”

Tom smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Right.” He scratched at the back of his ear, shrugging. “There might have been an inquiry about you. Or two.”

Sam bit back the smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, warden. Will you let the next one through, please?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “They couldn’t have talked to you until you were awake and out of ICU anyway.”

“Oh.” Sam looked around, frowning at the hospital room. “Is this—am I still in the ICU?”

Tom laughed. “You’re not kidding? No, man. This is clearly just a regular room.”

“Clearly? Really, you’re going to say clearly? How was I supposed to know?”

“Just, like, Marine intuition.”

“Marine intuition isn’t a thing. Also, I’m a Navy SEAL, not a Marine.”

“Well, same difference...”

Sam remembered why he used to punch his little brother, even if it had always been fairly jokingly. “Shut up.”

“Good comeback.” Tom grinned.

“Just—” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just let them through next time, will you? It’ll be good to get this out of the way.”

Tom nodded. “Alright, sure. Should I—uh, should I let other visitors come see you?”

Sam shrugged. “Sure, I’d love to see Sara and John, if you think they’d want to come in.”

“Oh! No, yeah, of course. Sara is definitely coming in. John—well, maybe when you’re a little bit better. I’m not quite sure how important any of those wires are and John one hundred percent will rip them all out.”

Sam laughed. “Seems fair.”

“I meant, though—” Tom cut himself off, tapping his hands against his knees. “I meant, like, Wesley.”

The heart monitor went off again. This time, Tom wasn’t half as graceful. He shot it a look, then shot Sam one.

“I don’t care,” Sam lied.

Tom acted as if he didn’t have time for Sam’s bullshit. “I don’t believe or care about that.”

“Then why ask?”

“Because—look, I don’t know what the hell went on with you guys. But I know enough to know that he’s not just here for me every day. But even then, he is here for me most of the time. So I’m not going to let you hurt him by being all Sam-ish and cavalier—”

“Sam-ish?”

“—So if you don’t think you can stop yourself from being a jerk, I don’t want Wes to come in. But,” he gave Sam a pointed look when Sam tried to interject to defend himself, “if you think you can be nice, I’m sure he’d like to see you.”

What the hell had Wes even said?

The fact that he’d even said anything to Tom rubbed Sam the wrong way. He tried to clamp down on the feeling that Tom’s blatant assumptions made bubble up in his throat. He didn’t do anything wrong, for God’s sake. Well, sure, he was kind of a dick—he didn’t write or call at first but he meant the promise of coming home. He meant what he told Wes and he trusted the feeling of something between them, thick like fate. He was a bit of a dick when he didn’t call but he was dealing with it. And then—he hadn't meant to be kidnapped and kept as prisoner. That was hardly his fault.

And Wes was here, also not trying to get ahold of Sam in any way, not sending any letters or calling even though all he’d have to do is ask Tom for his information, the same as Sam would’ve had to do. Wes was here, doing the same shit that technically Sam had been doing, except he was demonizing Sam to his own brother.

Sam carefully paused, trying to push down the sudden rising heat in his gut. “I don’t actually give a shit. Wesley can come, or not. Whatever. I’ll be nice.”

Tom frowned but it seemed to satisfy him. “Well, okay. Best I can ask for.”

“Yeah.”

The anger he felt didn’t fit in his new smaller, weaker body. He was exhausted by it.

Sam clamped his lips shut and swallowed a yawn. It burned in his throat a little and he nodded towards the water again. This time, he carefully wrapped his own fingers around the cup. It was harder than he’d care to admit to hold the cup steady enough to drink from, but the pride on Tom’s face when he managed more than made up for the ache in his fingertips.

“I should grab Dr. Plymouth,” Tom said.

Sam waved a hand towards the door, raising an eyebrow. Tom laughed.

“Okay, okay. Don't fall asleep.”

“No promises,” Sam joked, though they both knew he’d do his damnedest to not pass out. He’d had enough sleep to last him a life time.

Tom took the cup away and sat it on the nightstand, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder briefly. The brothers looked at each other and Tom squeezed almost too tight. Then he dropped his arm, ran his hands across his cheeks discreetly, and left the room.

When he opened the door, he made a startled sound and started speaking, his voice becoming muffled by the shutting door. “Oh, hey—“

Sam decided it didn’t matter; he’d let Tom deal with the doctors for now. He was tired and he was cold and he was residually still mad.

He leaned deep into the pillows, letting the sleepiness wash over him.

Sam’s head and heart hurt. He would get better and he would rebuild his life here. He would become someone good, someone that didn’t abandon his family, didn’t get beaten and tortured and have his family threatened. Sam had spent his whole adulthood trying to become someone brave and worthy.

He didn’t die that day, clutching El’s neck between his hands. But he had been willing to. He had become someone brave and he had become someone worthy.

Now, he was going to be someone worth loving. Someone truly, happily living life.

He was going to become the kind of person worth calling and someone who would call.

Sam fell asleep to the thrum of the heart monitor and a new, secret promise inside of his chest.