The Long Game, Lucas Sinclair

she's just as fine as her torso (not fine at all)

◦☆＊★ ━━━━━━ ★＊☆◦

tw: suicidal thoughts, in a sense (surivor's guilt)

"She's not waking up. Why isn't she waking up?"

Their words were muffled, disoriented, cloudy in her ears. It all sounded like giant blurbs, random sounds that blended together to make one, giant noise. Sam's eyes fluttered, eyelids twitching. A bright light flooded her vision. An immense ache shot through her body, the sort of ache that made her writhe with every movement. A small, stifled groan left her lips — it was a sign of life.

She thought she was dead. In Sam's opinion, it wasn't too bad of a consequence.

Someone was lifting her, bridal style, from the car and into the Byers household — Steve Harrington, she was pretty sure, or maybe it was Hopper. The person's body tensed when Sam's writhed. A whimper pushed past her lips, and she sank into the cushions.

"She's waking up," Mike said. He blinked, refusing to look away. "Please... wake up."

Waiting for Will and Sam to wake was painful. They sat around the Byers' house, everyone dispersed, with an eerie silence hanging. Lucas and Mike shared an armchair — they were across from Sam, and Lucas was nervous. His nails were bitten raw, and he had barely spoke a word.

Corey sat with Sam's legs on his lap, an arm hovering over her torso to keep a cloth applied to the wound. His eyes scanned her face, watching for any sign that she was waking. When her brow twitched, he sat up. Then, Sam's eyes fluttered open.

Her vision was foggy. Small bits of light mixed together, dull colors dancing in her vision. She blinked, and the blobs turned to shapes. She blinked again, and the shapes turned into Corey's face. Drawing in a quick breath, Sam muttered, "Core." Then, Sam made an attempt to sit up. Then, her head spun. "Shit."

Nancy rushed forward, and she rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. Voice low, she said, "Hey careful. How're you feeling?"

Sam dismissed her question, squinting so the light didn't burn her sensitive pupils. She shook her head and backed into the sofa.

"Bob," she whispered. "Where's Bob?"

Everyone's collective silence was enough. She knitted her brows together, tears welling in her bloodshot eyes.

"No," Sam mumbled, shaking her head.

She moved slowly. With her hand on Corey's arm, Sam hoisted herself up, so she was sitting normally. It nearly winded her, and the throbbing torso was worse. She lifted her bloodied shirt, head craned down so she could see her torso. The skin surrounding was purple, and someone's jacket — Max's by the look of it — was wrapped around the actually patch of flesh missing from Sam's body. It was soaked completely with blood, no longer green like it had been before. A deep green bruise was forming on the outer end of the wound.