Sam Drake Short Stories.

Sam Drake Experience: 4

Sam jolted out of bed so forcefully he trips into his nightstand and a chair full of clothes he has in the corner of the room, making loud clattering noises that break the peacefulness of nighttime.

His breath his ragged, he feels his throat sore and now, his feet and legs hurt from kicking things out of his way to escape the nightmare he'd just had. He stumbles in the dark, knocking some more things over as he struggles to catch his breath, then turns on the lamp on the nightstand.

He's in his room, panting, sweating bullets that pierce through his clothed chest, he looks down at the bed, then at himself, looking at a noticeable round wet spot around the collar of his neck.

He takes off the shirt as he still struggles to catch his breath, then the door knocks.

"Sam?" You call from outside.

He looks to his side, the door to his bedroom is opened and from where he stands, he can look at the front door. It knocks again, now louder.

"Sam, you alright?"

He takes a few steps, noticing how his body is so stiff and sore he barely makes it to the door, he opens the door, finding you clasping a hoodie jacket that's a bit too big on you, you look at him with a worried frown.

"Sam" you call back, seeing that he doesn't say anything, he's too busy breathing in and out still, when he runs a hand on his hair to try and compose himself you notice he's drenched in sweat.

"I had a nightmare" he excused, shaking his head dismissingly.

You step into the apartment, placing a hand on his arm and pushing him in, closing the door behind you.

"I see, let's get you-" you motion at the kitchen table "some tea, or some scotch, maybe a cigarette" he sits down and hides his face him his hands, propping himself over the table.

"Yeah, that sounds good" he answers with a shaky breath, then clears his throat.

A cup of tea appears next to him, after he takes it and let's the warmth of it sooth his throat, he feels a blanket being placed over his shoulder. Just then he notices that his sweat as cooled down and he's freezing.

You sit down next to him, pulling the chair closer and rubbing some heat on his shoulders with one hand.

His breathing calms down enough for him to feel his muscles hurt now that they're untensed, he sighs and closes his eyes.

"I spent two days in a cell last week, waiting for Sullivan to come bail me out, and it's enough to-" he stops when his voice cracks. He clears his throat intending to continue, but you place your other hand on his arm, squeezing at it reassuringly.

"You don't have to say anything Sam" you whisper "we all have things that fuck us up" your hand rubs up and down his back while he finishes the tea with one large gulp.

"I'm sorry for waking you up" he laments, finally turning to look at you. You give him a smile with a shake of your head.

"It's nothing, I'm not getting much sleep these days anyway"

He clears his throat again, holding the sides of his blanket and standing up.

"Wanna watch a movie?" He offered, you smile again warmly, nodding and motioning at the front door.

"How about we go back to mine? You don't have a TV in your room"

Sam agrees quietly, and he heads to the door still clutching the blanket to him.

The best thing you knew to do if Sam had a nightmare was to take him out of his bedroom, and plopping down in the couch to talk or watch a movie was always a good idea.