DSMP AU Oneshots (angst and comfort)

Needing You (FoolSamPonk) (Angst to Comfort)

TW// deals with depression, brief-partial suffocation/lack of oxygen, anxiety, guilt, thoughts of death, passing out

Third Person POV: Sam//Awesamdude POV

Word count: 1614

(soooo for brief context this takes place like a few days after Techno and the Syndicate helped Dream escape (which gets explained) BUT we're going to ignore the fact Sam kidnapped Michael for this oneshot, m'kay?)
Ponk=they/them

Sam lay heavily in bed that morning, seeing no point in even opening his eyes to greet the sunlight peeking through his blinds.

The past bleak week had consisted of limited contact between his boyfriends. Foolish had become immersed in his latest build out at his summer home, and Ponk was out on some adventure or another. Personally, for Sam, ever since Dream had escaped from prison, he had been out of a job. This has led to the hybrid crawling deeper and deeper into a depressive state without anything to occupy his mind or free him from the heavy guilt and chaos his actions had caused: whether well-intended or not.

Sam lungs wheezed from a deep-seated groan as he reached behind his head clumsily for a pillow. Grasping it, he pressed it firmly into his face. Anticipating tears, all Sam was able to do was release a tense scream; muffled and consumed by the pillow. Once it ended, he simply left it there - making his raspy breath heat up his face as it reflected back, but he didn't care. No one was around. No one would have heard it.

He realised if he did suffocate right now, no one would know. No one: for the next few days, even. If not as a result of the pillow, it would be from his shitty lungs.

At such a thought, Sam sighed emptily into the pillow one final time, coughed violently, then grew disgusted by the warm and choking feeling of being cornered by the item. He angrily cast it to the floor with a painful grunt, before clambering out of bed and poorly attempting to recompose himself - simultaneously trying not to pass out from the sudden movement and lack of air.

Reaching haphazardly for his bedside-table, Sam grasped his black breathing-mask before clumsily fixing it to his face and turning it on - drawing in deep, steady breaths. He slowly let it register how his rash behaviour minutes prior could have had serious consequences - if not upon his life, then upon his badly damaged lungs. Oh well. Maybe it was what he deserved. What did it matter?

Trudging downstairs, the Creeper-hybrid stood in front of his fridge, then faced the pantry - underwhelmed by the lack of options available to him. He desperately needed to go grocery shopping, but had been putting it off. Just didn't have the energy to step foot out the door in the first place anymore.

Reluctantly acknowledging his grumbling stomach, Sam hesitantly grabbed the crusty-end of a remaining loaf of bread. He needed to remove his mask for a moment to eat, wincing at its stale flavouring. Some sweet-berry jam spread across its surface in order to improve the taste. He sighed. It didn't make it any better.

Nearly out of breath by the end of that task, he washed his meagure breakfast down with some water before gratefully reapplying his mask, breathing deeply, and curling up on the couch.

Staring at the clock, Sam noticed it was 1pm. He had slept away most of the day, but unfortunately not enough of it. He still had a while left before the chance would arise to tumble back into a restless void of darkness once more.

Considering the allure of said-darkness, Sam found his eyes closing as he napped briefly where he lay. Minutes later, a rapid sequence of buzzing upon his wrist woke him up.