𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

bonus ch. II - 《sam's thoughts》

A/N: funny how the words flow when i'm procrastinating on the actual story lmaao........ writer's block got me fucked up but i'm working on it tho i swear

in the meantime read something i wrote to make myself sad :'(((

.oOo.

"If it isn't my big husband putting his big muscles to good use," Irene teased as she approached Sam, who was hunched over by the lake, rubbing a bar of soap on a shirt against an old-fashioned washing board.

His hazel-green eyes glared mockingly up at her as his soapy hand came up to wipe his sweat-slickened brow, leaving some suds in its wake. He threw a glance at the women down the shore; they had ogled him in surprise and whispered loudly among themselves when he'd joined them earlier, and now, sure as day, their eyes were on him and his wife once again.

He only scoffed playfully under his breath and leaned his face up for her to peck him on the lips. He felt Irene smile into the kiss, and then she leaned heavily on him to take a seat at his side, another load of laundry in a basket under her arm.

"Have you seen our offspring anywhere?" she joked, "All I had to do was mention chores and they left me talking to my own shadow."

Sam chuckled softly; it pleased him to know that their children still remained carefree despite the world around them, that that much hadn't been robbed from them. But it also worried him.

He and Irene believed they had parented them justly, had taught them kindness and caution, taught them the meaning of hard work and to never take their responsibilities lightly.

But looking after themselves had gone almost forgotten in their upbringing. They had done their parenting under the assumption that they would be with their children for as long as they needed them, and would always be a phone call or a visit away no matter what.

He tried to hold on to hope, but Sam didn't see a bright future ahead of himself. He told no one about his dwindling medication; he'd been rationing his pills, taking one every three days instead of the three daily, but he knew eventually he would run out unless they were so lucky to find some on a supply run.

And after that, it wouldn't take long for his condition to worsen drastically; he was well familiar with the complications of his illness. He knew the outcome wasn't positive. Sooner or later, Sam would die.

He shook his head free of those thoughts and looked to his wife, his heart clenching and his sinuses burning. He nudged her shoulder with his, and when she looked to him inquisitively, he surprised her with a kiss. His hand held the back of her head and hers came to cradle his bearded jaw – she had always hated it when his beard grew too long.

His good ear picked up the sounds of cooing and light laughter from the women down the shore, and he felt heat rise up his neck.

Irene didn't question his actions, just smiled softly, her dark eyes twinkling with fondness as she ran her thumb over his lower lip and cupped his cheek with her wet hand, the smell of lavender soap wafting to his nose. Fuck, he loved this woman. Even after twenty-five years of being together, seeing her still made his heart swell like it was the first time.

He was loath to make her a widow.

His only wish was that she wouldn't mourn him for too long; that she and their children would take care of each other and remember him in a good light, for he had had many dark moments that he wished he could take back.

Sam felt the tears build up in his eyes and had to look away from Irene, turning back to his task half-heartedly. Guilt and regret and overwhelming love all built up inside him.

Under the pretense of feeling overheated, he cupped some water in his hands and splashed his face and neck; the tears in his eyes mingled with it, now gone.

He heard their echoing laughter before he saw them: their children skipping down from the camp to come to play by the lake. They waved upon spotting their parents, and both he and Irene waved back.

Irene shook her head slowly and shared a look with him as if to say 'can you believe these kids?', but her gaze and the small smile on her lips were full of love... and sadness.

"What's on your mind?" he asked even though he could see it in her face.

Irene sighed and then inhaled sharply, giving him a tense smile. "I-... I'm scared for them, for you, for us," she admitted. They'd had a similar discussion not long ago, but their circumstances had been too fresh and they hadn't known what to think of it yet. "I meant what I said before, you know, about staying true to ourselves and all that, but... will that even be possible?

"We have two teens and an impressionable daughter. They weren't made for this world, I- I fear it will break them. I fear they will be led astray and ruined. I fear we won't be there for them when they need us most. I fear they will lose one another and themselves."

Irene didn't cry, her eyes were dark and hard, and her fists were clenched around the top she'd been rinsing. Sam put his arm around her and hugged her to his side, then kissed the top of her head. "They'll be fine," he said. "They got good heads on their shoulders; they'll be fine. We'll be fine," he lied with a heavy heart; he was almost certain he wouldn't be there come winter, if not sooner.

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A/N: this was birthed at work during long late shifts and nothing to do.............. always breaks me to think that sam knew his fate from the beginning and shit still went down sideways,,,,,,,,,,, why do i do this to myself :')))

please vote pals, i swear it motivates me so much 💖