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apprenticestanheight · 5 months ago

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Never Again, and Never By Choice - Chainshipping

okay!! two days into july and I'm posting the fic that was supposed to come out in June but didn't bc I also happened to learn how to make hexagon cardigans in june and that pretty much mostly swallowed me whole. I'm taking a break from crocheting, however, until I can find a job and buy loads of yarn ahead of needing to make people christmas gifts and the like, so hopefully this month will genuinely be productive.

Fic type - this is a balance between fluff and hurt/comfort that tilts more in the

Warnings - there are a few mentions of sex and sex related things! Enough are in the fic for me to say that this fic is for an audience of 18+, minors do not interact! Some of (most, if not all) occur in tandem with references to weed, and a lot of the fic deals with weed use, including using weed to self medicate for things like anxiety. There are also depictions of PTSD symptoms and some are talked about in depth or mentioned a few times, like Adams fear of the water being so bad that he can't get himself to shower unless he follows a hyperspecific routine. Adam is v e r y knowledgable about the things he uses to self medicate so there are some specifics about the weed type he usually smokes, and this differs from canon in that gabriela doesn't die and john is at least alive until 2006-ish. strahm also survives, as does lynn, mark, and amanda.

When Amanda rescues Adam from the trap, the initial feelings are confusion and anger. He'd not known it was her until the memory hit him a weeks out from his time in the hospital, and by then, the confusion and the anger had shifted into resentment. Not particularly at his circumstances or at her, but at John Kramer, at life as a whole.

They're stupid things to be angry about, even if one is entirely justified. How he manages to be pissed off at life, at the world, over the actions of another person, mystifies him for a long time.

He keeps his anger at John under wraps even after he's agreed to become one of Johns apprentices, one of Jigsaws disciples. It's boiling, it'll burn you if you touch it and it'll scald you if you dare even think about getting too close, but he lets it dull into a simmer as the years go by.

His anger, his spite, and the money John provides him for the photos he takes are enough to make him let his anger turn into something less than it was initially, and in late December, when he finds himself reeling after taking a photo of a headless body in Mexico, he wonders why he does it.

There's, of course, the obvious answer--each job he does gets him around $500, and the most recent of the lot came for double the price plus the remainder of the cost of Gabrielas plane ticket. The condition was, Adam flew down to Mexico and first talked to Gabriela, tried to convince her to join their mission. When it'd worked, Adam bought her the last available ticket on his flight back to Jersey and was met with $1000 wired to an offshore bank account that Adam would transfer directly to his regular bank a day or two after once again arriving on Jerseys shores.

All in all, taking a few photos and dropping them at the local police station while wearing nondescript clothes, not speaking a word, and shrinking in on himself in a way that made him look like your average Joe to the cameras that were undoubtedly watching had yielded just barely more than $1100.

Thanks to a couple extra sets of hands--namely, Detective Mark Hoffman, Agent Peter Strahm, Amanda Young, Lynn Denlon, and Lawrence fucking Gordon himself--things were quick, and Adam was making a decent amount of money by doing the jobs John had given him every week-ish, if not every three or four days.

John chose the people, Amanda, and Hoffman abducted them, Lynn and Strahm set up the traps, and Lawrence handled the medical side of said traps. Gabriela had started with helping setting traps up initially but had since been the one who recorded the casette tapes of that stupid fucking puppet, and Adam had been the one who took the photos from the beginning.

All in all, Adam didn't totally hate his role in it--it meant, while he'd occasionally brush hairs with Amanda, Hoffman, Strahm or Lynn, he'd never really seen or talked with Lawrence.

He misses Lawrence like hell, if he's being honest with himself, but--it's better they don't talk.

Not until at least a bit of time has passed, even though Adam is a little miffed at the idea of reaching out to Lawrence on the anniversary of one tragedy to be like "hey, old friend! Remember when we spent nine hours in a bathroom together, right before you sawed off your own foot and crawled away, leaving me for dead? Amanda stole my shirt from evidence and even though I've washed it, the bloody handprint you left stained the shirt and I entirely lack the heart to put some peroxide or bleach to an otherwise perfectly good piece of clothing." Which would, in the process, be a direct reminder of another.

He doesn't see Lawrence, and he only acknowledges that he misses him on the nights he chooses to be honest with himself or the days wherein he chooses the same.

Adam just--he does what John needs him to do. He takes the money John gives him after a job, makes sure he has enough to make the rent of the crappy apartment he lives in, and he makes sure he has groceries that will feed him and keep him full.

Gabriela occasionally tags along on the jobs, and all that to say brings him to the very beginning of September 2005. It's the first day of the month, Gabriela has decided to tag along because she's finished setting up the traps for the insurance broker they're going to put through the ringer after the traps have been tested a few times, and she's keeping Adam company because she's one of the four or five people he talks to in his day-to-day, and she's apparently worried.

She's talking about how Lynn needed her to help because Strahm had been busy with Mark cleaning up the messes that they, as the apprentices, left behind. Adam is zoning in and out as he snaps one photo after the next, all of which pertain to the crime scene and all of which will be dropped off at the nearest police precinct once they've developed fully.

He knows he has to visit John today, too--John wants to have a chat, apparently. He's having these little chats with everyone, which is something Adam picks up from Gabriela at a point in their interactions when he's zoned in. He'd started with Amanda, then went to Lawrence, then to Strahm and Lynn and then to Gabriela. She'd joked he was saving the best for last and skipping the worst, like a parent refusing to acknowledge the child they'd silently disowned.

It's when she brings up Lawrence that he brightens up like a goddamned Christmas tree--his ears and cheeks go lightly pink with embarrassment as soon as he's registered the way that his head snaps up when his name falls off her lips.

"Amanda and Lynn were talking about it," she says when she notices his face. "Lynn joked that the two of you needed couples therapy. You two haven't talked since Lawrence left you, and--Amanda thinks it's killing you piece by piece. She's right, isn't she?"

Gabriela is only ten months younger than he is, and while he appreciates having an apprentice in their little group who's about as close in age to him as she can get, it's not always the best thing for his mental health.

"You too?" He asks. "And I thought hearing it from Amanda, Lynn, Hoffman, and Strahm every other damn day was bad enough. Now you're in on it?"

He takes the last photo and pivots on his feet, heading for the exit as Gabriela laughs.

"You two do have something weird going on," she says.

"How can we?" Adam rebuts. "It's been four years, almost, and we haven't spoken at all."

"Thats what it is," Gabriela responds. "It's that--you care about him, clearly, or at least enough to think of him once every week. Lawrence, though, he does care, too. He's apparently more vocal about his caring than you are, but Amanda says he's always been the more open type. She says he's "less apt to have reservations about the people he works with, and he lets his feelings just exist in the open.""

Adam laughs. "That sounds nothing like him," he wonders, for a minute, if he really has the authority to say something like that. He hasn't talked to Lawrence in four years just about, even if he has thought about him multiple times a day, every single day, since they last spoke.

"Well--Amanda wanted me to tell you his new phone number is in the phone book," she says. "If you wanna give him a call, maybe give him a few minutes of your time to ease both your mind and his."

Adam shakes his head. "You headin' back around to your hotel? I gotta pay John a visit and then get these photos printed and developed. How much longer til you get to head back to your place?"

"The hotel stay is for the next two days, while they clear the infestation out of the units. I'm gonna grab some food and then go to the hotel, all this walking has made me hungry."

Adam snorts. "You need a ride? Your hotel is like, ten minutes east of Johns place."

She shakes her head, but hugs him anyway. "Thank you," she says. "But I'm gonna walk the way to the restaurant, build up more of an appetite and then get something good for supper."

He hugs her back, lets himself acknowledge just how much he's needed her friendship these past few years. She's kept him sane for a good bit, and without her, he's half sure he'd have killed himself by now.

They go their separate ways, Adam going to his car and heading to Johns while Gabriela went to grab food and then go home.

Johns place is also, coincidentally, Amandas place. He's living in her apartment and she's taking care of him in the last of his days. Adam suspects Johns not got long left, and he knows that this visit could very well be their last.

John is, surprisingly, well enough to be sat up in his wheelchair. He's got a black jumper on that looks to be a few sizes too big, and what of his hair remains has gone completely white. His eyes are pale, his skin the same color, and generally, John looks like what he is, someone fast-tracking it on the highway to hell.

"I thought it important to have you here to discuss this arrangement," John says. He invites Adam further into the room--he's leaned against the door, while John is sat by his desk and in front of the window, curtains open to a surprisingly sunny day while Jersey rides out the coattails of summer.

Adam steps in, walking until he can sit in the desk chair to Johns left. John tells him to do so, and he does.

"You and I have an arrangement that allows you to be given a certain amount of money for every job you do," he says. "If you weren't lying to me when you told me the time you'd handle doing said job today, you should've just arrived from having finished up there. I have arranged through the correct, most trusted of my channels to ensure that our arrangement can continue for half a decade, at minimum, after my passing, on one condition."

Adam has the decency to fight his grimace, even though he loses.

"Don't worry, Adam," he says. "It doesn't mean you'll be getting any more involved with things than you already are. It, actually, pertains to your trap-mate, Lawrence Gordon."

Adam shakes his head. "Whatever it is, I can always find something different to do other than what I've been doing."

"Adam, I'm not asking for much," John says in that diplomatic tone that used to make Adam punch-a-hole-in-the-wall type angry. It's eased into a scream-into-a-forest level anger, though not by too much as the years have passed them both by. "Just--call him. It's been four years since, almost. Amanda and I have tried time and time again, but he's convinced we're as deluded as he is. He thinks you're dead."

"Almost was," Adam says before he can stop himself. "I mean--could you not have sent Amanda in before I'd been stuck in the dark for a week?"

"We're all entitled to our mistakes from time to time," John shrugs. Adam has the brain to hate that remark--people who've dared make mistakes in his line of sight, even ones so minimal as smoking a cigarette while leaned against an alley wall, have died or been severely maimed for it, but John gives himself the courtesy to make a mistake like it's nothing. Typical. "Call him. I have no method of verifying that you'll have called by the end of my life, but if you lie to Amanda, she'll know and she'll tell me you lied to her."

Adam purses his lips. Of course Amanda would know he's not the greatest liar.

"I'll call," Adam resents how quick he is to give in, but he needs the money. That money has his rent paid off in full within the first two weeks of the month because of how frequently traps are coming and going, how many new victims John has within a week despite only having maybe a hundred survivors in total, less than 1/3rd of that group willing to tell their tales.

John smiles knowingly. "I know you will," he says. "Have you yet moved out of your apartment? The one with the cockroaches?"

Adam sighs. "Workin' on that," he says. "My buddys gonna let me sublet his place starting on the one year anniversary of the trap, he's moving down to LA so that he can try to legitimise his band or something like that--I'm assuming I won't be put back in chains for admitting I hadn't really listened when he offered to sublet his 1000 a month apartment for less than half the cost."

John shakes his head. "You have a good rest of your day, Adam," he says. "The payment for todays job will get to you by the end of this week."

Adam gets up, leaves the apartment and drives back home. One part of him wants to shower the odd feeling off of himself as he gets into his car, but he knows he can't do that without having a breakdown. It's been four fucking years of not being able to do it without losing his mind, why would it be any different that time around?

A few days later, the night before the four year anniversary of their trap, Adam calls. Lawrence picks up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey," Adam greets tiredly. It's seven and he's prepping a bowl so that he can smoke, jerk off til the memories blur and it's Lawrence he's thinking about, then eat half of the oreos in the sleeve he'd picked up from the convenience and conk out at around 10:30 only to wake up, still high but reeling from a nightmare at around two in the morning. "Uh--this is Adam Stanheight. I found your number in the phone book."

"Adam," Lawrences voice sounds relieved. Incredibly so. "Hi. It's been a bit."

"Four years, thereabouts," he says. "Look--I was thinking, maybe we could grab dinner or something? I've gotta move into my new place tomorrow and get that stuff sorted, but if you want, there's a couple good spots around ten minutes out from it by foot."

"Yeah," Lawrence nods. "Tomorrow works--give me a place and I'll meet you there for eight?"

"I was thinking Lilahs--it's a great, sit-down style restaurant that has deals on most of their menu all the time. My mom knows the owner and I've eaten there a few times, it's really good food. I dunno if you drive, but I can pick you up if you need me to."

"I drive," Lawrence says. "Lilahs?"

"Lilahs Diner," Adam nods. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow, at eight?"

"You most certainly will."

Adam licks his lips, finishes prepping his bowl and scrounges around his jeans pocket until he finds the lighter as he waits for Lawrence to speak again.

"Adam, are you still there?"

"Don't tell me you've got more to say?" He wants Lawrence to have more to say, but the sarcasm is easier than not these days. "Go ahead, if you do. Spit it out."

Lawrence laughs, and Adam swallows thickly--it sounds like it comes out easy, like he's laughed so much and found so much joy in things since their trap that none of it is difficult for him anymore.

"It just--it's really good to hear your voice, is all. I've missed it, and I've missed you."

"Damn you, Lawrence," he laughs dryly. "It's seven o'clock on a Saturday night and I'm trying to prep a bowl, but you and your sentimental ass are gonna make me cry where I stand in this kitchen."

"Well, I can't help it," Lawrence answers simply. "I'm a sentimental ass from time to time. Are you helping John still? I hear whispers about it from Amanda on occasion."

Adam snorts. "Yeah, lets not talk about that on the phone. I'll have to smoke two bowls if we do, and even though I'm going to have to smoke two anyway, I'd really rather space them out by at least six hours so that I have time for the first high to wear off."

Lawrence laughs again. Adam has a terrifying moment, a terrifying thought, that he could drown in the sound of it and die happily in the process.

"All right," Lawrence says. "Tomorrow night. Lilahs Diner. Eight on the dot."

Adam nods. "Tomorrow night, Lilahs, eight," he says. "Goodbye, Lawrence."

He hangs up before Lawrence has the chance to respond, grabs his bowl and his lighter and heads out onto his fire escape.

He smokes, jerks off until the memories blur and all he can think about is how Lawrences hands would feel draped against his hips, holding them loosely, and falls asleep for half past midnight, after he's eaten the entire oreo sleeve and somehow managed to cook a frozen pizza successfully and subsequently, eaten it in it's entirety.

For the first time in four years, Adam wakes up after getting eight hours of sleep, which does mean eight hours of nightmares, but he decides he's fine with it as he brushes his teeth, narrowly avoiding getting his hands wet because the fear of water is at it's worst when he's fresh off of a night like that one.

He spends his morning getting what little of his life he didn't donate or take to the dump into his car, putting the total of four boxes and two heavy weight garbage bags worth of clothes into the backseat of his car and the trunk.

His mother gives him the couch his father had hated and Scotts left behind a tv, coffee table, rocking chair and all of his bedroom furniture because they weren't his taste, so all Adam has to do is change the sheets on the mattress to his own and wash and donate the other ones.

All in all, Adam is getting way more than he deserves out of that apartment even though he knows Scott probably thinks he'll sell most of it. He has no plans to sell most of it, though, and it's a hell of a lot more than he'd thought he'd be getting for a two bedroom priced at $350 a month.

He runs his only decent pair of black jeans and an appropriately casual button down through the wash once he figures out how the washer works, spends most of his day outside of that tidying up, unpacking the four boxes he'd brought along and making lists of things to grab in the coming weeks.

The list is mostly menial stuff--a few new pots and pans because the last set he'd owned had been older than he was, a few more mugs to compensate for just how lonely the Nespresso Scott had left behind looked sitting on the counter, some new bedding and a few books to fill up the bookshelves Scott had left either half empty or completely bare bones.

Come half-six, Adam goes through the motions of showering--it's a whole step-by-step process he's created over the years, a tried and true method that's been perfected as the time has gone on, though not always successful in the avoiding-a-breakdown part. He's out of the shower for around 7:20, spends the next twenty minutes taking a 1mg edible and waiting for it to kick in.

One milligram is so menial that it almost does nothing, except it does have it's pros--it takes just enough of the edge off for Adam to not loathe social interaction and for him to feel comfortable enough in his skin to not want to crawl out of it at the smallest inconvenience.

It takes the edge off in a way that makes him certain he'll be as close to normal as he was five years beforehand, a little standoffish and more than a little sarcastic, but well meaning and well mannered enough considering his traumas.

He leaves the house at 7:45 and is at Lilahs with five minutes still to spare.

Lilahs is exactly what it sounds like--a family owned, sit-down style restaurant. It caters to the lower-budget families and individuals in the broader Jersey area, and it's been Adams favorite spot to eat since it initially opened when he was sixteen.

It's got a rustic kind of feel to it--the hardwood flooring has been washed to a dark but-not-yet-black kind of brown colour, and the tables and seats match. There's local artwork hung up on the walls, a jukebox that feels so nineties it hurts and has exclusively 90s country and rock to match, and a bar at the back with a smiling bartender behind it.

Adam has a second where he remembers the last happy memory he has with his mother, her taking him to eat dinner there the night before he was kicked out by his father at seventeen.

The memory is quickly soured by the bitterness he'd felt the next day, grabbing everything he could fit into his backpack while his father screamed at him and his mother stood by his door, her arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. His father was a shit person, but his mother wasn't the greatest either, even if it's tough to remember as much when there are more positive memories than not. He's low-contact with her now too, something he's only been able to find peace with since she told him of her divorcing her father and mellowing out of her bitterness at him in the past little while.

Everything changes when he spots Lawrence, though--he's sat in a booth near the back, and he looks so good that Adam bounce\s between gobsmacked and jealous like he's sitting on alternating ends of a see-saw depending on the second.

His hair, though less blonde, has grown out just enough to be attractive to a point where Adam, dimly, feels woozy. He's cleaned up good--no stubble lines his face, though Adam knows he'd still be able to pull it off some-fucking-how, and he's dressed as close to casual as a person like him can get.

He's wearing a white button down with the top few buttons unbuttoned just enough to let his neck breathe, and the sleeves have been rolled up relaxedly to his elbows. He hasn't seen Adam yet, and Adam takes in what appears to be a mostly peaceful expression.

Adam makes his way over and slides into the seat across from him, smiling gently. "Hi," he greets.

Lawrences face breaks out into a grin. Adam wishes he'd agreed to meet with Lawrence four years earlier.

"Hello," he greets. "Been a while."

Adam nods. "Too long," he doesn't mean to say it, but it slips out, and fuck it if it isn't how he feels. "I'm sorry--I wanted to reach out, and I've been wanting to reach out for the last four years, but it was just too much. I couldn't deal with it at first. I still have trouble dealing with it."

There's the edible--making him a bit honest, a bit more willing to open up. He knows Lawrence won't pry too much, but is scared that, if he does, Adam will soften up like butter and say everything on his mind. The good, the bad, and the ugly all the same.

Lawrence shakes his head. "You don't owe me an apology," he says. "But--Amanda told me how long you'd been left to rot for, and I'm sorry about that. Nobody should ever be left in the dark that long." It was a week, but it'd felt like a year.

"You didn't leave me in the dark," Adam responds. "John did that, and he pays me so I think he's exempt from feeling guilt-- he probably thinks he is, too."

It makes Lawrence laugh, and Adams heart flutters in a way he chooses to ignore.

"So how've you been?" Adam asks, finally getting to a question that's at least a little easier to answer, a topic that doesn't hurt nearly as much to talk about.

"I've been good," Lawrence responds. "Things have been finalized for a bit, and I see my daughter two weekends a month and on holidays. I've had time to sort my shit out, start in therapy, and I like where things are in my life. You?"

Adam blinks--the last four years of his life have been shit.

"I've--it's--damn it, Lawrence," he laughs. "You sound so put together compared to me. I hit thirty next month and still, my life is shit. I just moved into a new apartment and therapy hasn't even been on my radar because I don't have insurance."

"I've been doing EMDR," Lawrence says. "It's designed to help you recover from trauma, and--I hate to say it because I was skeptical at first, but it's been a really big help."

Adam nods. "I'll keep that option on my radar," he says.

It's at this point that a waitress comes around, passes them menus and brings their odd small talk to a halt.

There comes a point, while they're looking at the menus, wherein Adam starts up with something sarcastic about John. In the end, he's glad for it because making the remark is like breaking a dam and watching the floodgates open, because that's all it takes for them to be like they were in the bathroom--Adam being sarcastic and Lawrence responding in kin.

The rest of the dinner follows that same formula. Adam is quick to settle into an almost abrasive kind of sarcasm and Lawrence is quick to respond in a way that makes Adams heart damn near rise out of his chest.

They're done with dinner at half past nine, and Lawrence offers to drive Adam home but Adam declines, wants to walk himself home so that he can conk out without thinking too much about Lawrence or how the dinner had gone.

And that he does--he gets home for quarter to ten, is out by ten thirty thanks to the edible finally doing what it does best.

A few days go by, and suddenly, it's the end of the week. Lawrence is spending the night at Adams because Adam has convinced him to smoke a joint with him, and Adam is thrilled by the prospect of seeing Lawrence stoned out of his mind.

"These joints are indica dominant," Adam explains. "They'll make you tired--they're like a superpowered melatonin, almost, if melatonin got you so stoned that you genuinely stopped believing time was real. These bad boys help me with nightmares more often than sativa. I'm not usually one for joints, but I figure this is either your first time ever indulging in weed or your first time in more than a decade, so joints would be easiest."

Lawrence smiles in a way that Adam can tell indicates Lawrence didn't expect him to be so knowledgeable about his self medication of choice, and the notion almost makes him laugh.

"A joint also takes longer to smoke, and edibles are torturous if getting high right out the gate is your game," Adam continues. "Edibles take anywhere from fifteen minutes to half an hour before they've kicked in, and I hate the waiting game unless i'm walking somewhere or have something to do. It makes me antsy, and then when the high does hit it doesn't flow naturally. For me, taking an edible without having something to do between here and there is one of the most frustrating things I've ever dealt with because the high just--it smacks me across the face when I've got nothing to do, nowhere to go, and am just sitting in front of my TV waiting."

Lawrence says nothing. Adam continues rolling the joint and rambles all the while.

"Joints, though? I don't really find they hit while I'm smoking 'em, but the second I step off the fire escape and come inside, they hit me whip quick. Bowls tend to have the same effect, but unlike bowls, joints keep me asleep longer. I haven't gotten a full eight hours of sleep without a full eight hours of nightmares in four years, but with a joint, I can sometimes nab eight hours and get two without nightmares when I get lucky."

They head out onto the fire escape, and Adam takes the first puff for the sake of mercy. When Lawrence takes the second, he coughs. Adam laughs, rubs his back and moves to sit with his back leaned against the rickety railing, across from Lawrence, who sits with his back leaned against the window that leads to the fire escape.

"Coughing happens," he says. "And the burn in your throat sucks, but I'll get you some water once we've smoked our way through the joint, and it'll help."

They smoke the joint in it's entirety, which ends with Adam laughing when he burns his fingers taking the last puff. However, Lawrence makes no move to go inside, just stares at the bleary mid-Septembers night sky with his mouth slightly open and his shoulders slumped.

"What's on your mind?" Adam asks.

"When John goes, do you think you're going to keep up with it?"

"I'll keep taking the photos until I either get caught or the money runs out," Adam says. "I've barely started to get my life together and I'm almost thirty, Larry. Unethical as this all might be, I've gotta pay rent for the next few years, and while I've been looking at getting my GED and going to college, college will put me so far in debt that I'm somewhat scared I won't be able to climb out of it."

"But don't you hate it?" Lawrence asks, meeting Adams gaze. His eyes meet Adams with a ferocity, the likes of which Adam has never seen in his life, but craves more of like it's one of the cigarettes he used to hold so dear. "I don't understand how you don't hate any of this."

Adam laughs before he can stop himself, crab-walks closer to Lawrence and rests his feet against Lawrences calves.

"I do," he says. "I hate John, I hate what he does and everything he's stood for since his diagnosis and quite possibly even beforehand, but--it's a job. I hated the stalking, but I still did it because I needed the money. This, for me, is no different. One payment every week-ish, I make rent in half the time it would've taken me to make it this time five years ago, and I still have money for groceries and other expenses. I hate it, but this is the first time I've lived in true comfort since I was a kid with a father that hadn't started hating me yet. I take it where I can get it, Lawrence."

"A person starved will eat anything," Lawrence says. "You've finally gotten a taste of luxury--"

"It's not luxurious by any means," Adam laughs. "Sorry to cut you off, but I've never lived like that. I went from a home with termites and a father owned by his bitterness to a variety of cockroach infested couches, then to an apartment so full of the fuckers you could hear them running through the goddamned walls. This place is the first decent place I've lived in throughout the course of my entire life, and yeah, the buddy whose subletting it to me left a lot of his shit behind, but he's an asshole without much care for me unless I can be of use to him, so it seems a fair trade to me."

Scott was his best friend for a time, had been such since elementary through to when he dropped out of high school and up until the trap. After Adam had escaped, he'd become so riddled by his trauma that it took him over, practically, for those first two years.

Scott had decided he'd not much wanted to deal with all of Adams baggage and had gone pretty low contact up until he'd decided to move, figuring Adam could use his old place after being stuck in the same apartment he'd been taken from.

It'd been one of the only things Scott had been completely and totally right about on a very short list of other victories, and Adam had been grateful for it from the get-go despite knowing his and Scotts conversations wouldn't likely be about more than the rent or random issues with the apartment he couldn't fix on his own, seeing as Scott was pretty much his landlord.

"Well--it's a nice place," Lawrence says.

"Yeah," Adam shrugs. "Back to the topic at hand, why ask? Are you not going to keep up with it? Keep doing it? I thought you'd believed in Johns mission."

Lawrence laughs. "It's complicated," he says. "I mean--the idea of it is understandable, I guess. The morals are questionable at best and despicable at worst, but I just don't know how ethical the execution is."

Adam moves further up, resting his feet against Lawrences thighs while making sure to not put his full weight on Lawrences right leg for the fear of irritating the stump one way or another.

"We get stoned and wind up talkin' about John Kramers ethics, hm? That's quite the interesting turn of events."

Lawrence shrugs. "I'm not going to have this conversation with anyone except for someone I can trust completely," his hands rest limply by Adams calves. Adam can tell by the flash of desire through Lawrences eyes that he wants to tug Adam closer.

Adam gets as close as he thinks Lawrence will be comfortable with--he sits in his lap, bends his knees and plants his feet by Lawrences hips. Lawrence seems entirely too happy to use Adams kneecaps as elbow rests, and he does.

"First off, you sayin' you trust me completely like that is--woah," Adam laughs before he can stop himself. As he laughs, he lets his arms find their resting places on Lawrences broad shoulders. "And secondly, I don't think the execution is ethical whatsoever. Matter of fact, if we're talkin' about how ethical this stuff is, it's the opposite. It's not ethical. I heard Amanda talking about putting a diabetic and a smoker in a trap last weekend. I wouldn't do that to a person just because they smoke cigarettes, but that's just me. To each their own, I guess."

Lawrence smiles. "I've been thinking about this for so long," he says. "Not--not this specifically, but just--oh my God. I've missed you a lot this past little bit."

Adam has to fight every single urge he has to kiss Lawrence. "I've wanted to reach out since I was rescued," he says. "Just couldn't. I couldn't pinpoint why for the longest time, but I realized the night I reached out, over the phone."

Lawrence nods. "I remember," he says. "When we agreed to meet for dinner."

Adam licks his lips, lets his gaze move to Lawrences.

"I realized that that day--hell, the time from the moment I woke up in that bathtub to the moment I was released from the hospital--felt like an open wound. That time of my life has felt like an open wound every single day since I left the hospital, every single day since John asked me to join his cause, and I couldn't bear messing with it. I just wanted to leave it to fester or to heal, deal with the implications until it did on it's own, but that's just not how things like this are meant to be handled," Adam says. "I'm gonna get myself into DSME--"

"EMDR," Lawrence corrects. "Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing."

"I'm gonna look into that," Adam says. "And--I'm gonna keep doing this. Keep talking to you, keep buggin' you whenever I can because it's the only way. I can't do this recovery shit alone, and it's been four years of trying and then failing and then trying again, and I'm sick of it."

Lawrence smiles softly. Adam gives into the urge to press his forehead against Lawrences, lets his hands go to Lawrences neck.

"All that I ask is this," Adam whispers. "Promise me you won't go anywhere?"

Lawrence licks his lips. Adam can feel Lawrences breathing against his mouth, is so close that he can almost taste what it'd feel like to have Lawrences lips against his own.

"I promise," he says. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm not going to abandon you like that. Never again, and never by choice."

Adam doesn't know if it's the weed, or the exhaustion, or his own, unadulterated, unfiltered stupidity, but he leans in.

"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he whispers, praying to God that he's not.

"You're reading this just fine," Lawrence says.

Then his lips are against Adams, and Adam is so awestruck by it that he almost feels like he's flying. It's the best kiss he's ever had in his life, a statement he can make knowing damn good and well that it's not the weed talking but rather the way that Lawrences lips feel against his own, the sureness of his hands as they find Adams hips and the way he reacts when Adams hands instinctively trail right up Lawrences neck and into his gorgeous hair.

They don't pull away until they're breathless, and Adam wants more but knows better than to be greedy.

Lawrence chortles. "How long have you been wanting to do that?"

"Since I walked into the dinner, lightly stoned, and saw you in that white button up," Adam laughs, presses his forehead against Lawrences shoulder. "Oh, my God. You looked so good in that, y'know? Almost lost it. You looked so good it made me woozy."

"That might've been the weed," Lawrence says. "How much did you take?"

"Only one milligram," Adam responds. "Enough to soften me up a little, like when you set butter out on the counter for an hour or two when you're planning to bake and need the butter not to be as hard as a rock."

Lawrence laughs. Adam presses himself as close as he can get, cherishes the feeling of being that close after so long spent being literal miles apart in physicality but feeling an ocean apart in every other aspect.

Time passes. They sit outside, practically moulded together, and in silence. Adam catches himself zoning out just before he starts to doze, wonders briefly if they kept themselves that way until they starved to death, if he'd die happy to have been in Lawrences arms. As he thinks further on it, he realizes he would've died happily in the bathroom that day, if in a little bit of pain, if Lawrence had stayed and died with him.

"I think I'm in love with you," Lawrence whispers. "You're not the only one at fault for us not seeing each other sooner, and I think I was scared to admit it, but I know now that that's the reason why."

Adam smiles. "I love you too," he whispers back. "C'mon--inside. I'm tired, but I am not going to fall asleep with you on my fire escape."

He gets himself out of Lawrences lap and heads back in, Lawrence hot on his heels.

Adam strips, changes into a baggy pair of sweatpants and leaves himself without a shirt. Lawrence changes into a pair of basketball shorts and leaves the button-up he's wearing unbuttoned, and after Adam gawks at the view for a good few minutes, they cuddle up in bed together.

In the end, Adam sleeps for a solid fourteen hours, and for the first time in ages, he doesn't have any nightmares. Part of him thinks it's the high and another part of him thinks it's because of Lawrence, but he chooses, at the end of the day, to believe that it's both.

#adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #adam stanheight x lawrence gordon #lawrence gordon x adam stanheight #saw 2004

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annisa--adler · 2 months ago

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Take a sip and breathe for me, will ya'? She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to ground herself, just like her therapist always told her to do. Jesus, her therapist--she hadn't been able to tell her therapist about any of this shit. She'd been vague and had been beating around the bush for months because what exactly was her therapist supposed to fucking say? What would she say when Annisa blurted out 'Some evil robot clone that looked just like me tried to kill me and now someone's taunting me over it.' She'd get sent right back to the hospital all over again and that wouldn't help anybody. So instead, she'd been keeping it inside--and until just a few weeks ago, the only two people that knew about it at all were Leo, who had been there with her, and Cy, whom she'd told in an anxious confession while waiting together in the doctor's office. It wasn't until the other week when all of the Adler siblings had gathered in Ava's tiny apartment, all gawking at the headless clone in a pool of blood, that it all came to light. It was only then that she had to recount to her wide-eyed siblings the encounter with herself and that freaky ass clone. She could still hear the sound of it gnashing its teeth at her, trying to claw her eyes out as she helplessly writhed around on the floor until Leo had knocked it out.

I don’t know how you sleep at night after all that, and I can’t fathom how you’ve managed to hold it together as much as you have. But that means there’s a strength in you that you don’t even see. God, she'd missed Adonis. He always had the kindest words and a softness that Nisa really needed to hear sometimes. She'd missed him when he'd been locked up and she'd gone to see him as often as she could--but she wasn't able to tell him about all of this, not when he was behind bars, not when she knew it would just drive him crazy. And even though his words were reassuring and loving, she still felt like a fucking basket case. She shook her head and said "But that's just it, I'm not holding it together--clearly. I mean, I haven't done that since..." She trailed off, not sure how to say it. Looking at her brother, she said "That used to happen a lot when I was sick... But it doesn't happen anymore--or at least, I thought it didn't." Honestly, it was unfair. She was eating now so why was she still experiencing symptoms as if she wasn't? Wasn't her fucking early-onset osteoporosis enough? Sure, she was feeling a little sorry for herself but it all felt fucking unfair. Then again, she could almost hear Cy's voice in the back of her mind: Life isn't fucking fair, dude. He was cynical but he was also right--besides, no one knew that life wasn't fair more than Cyrek did.

Think of it this way—every time you look in the mirror and face that fear, you’re giving that piece of shit a giant ‘fuck you.’ She nodded and quietly took another sip of her drink before speaking again. "But Donnie... Somebody knows. I mean... Someone delivered the head to Leo and the body to Ava." God, Ava must've been so fucking terrified to find that shit. "Somebody knows that Leo and I tried to get rid of it. And I don't know what it means, I don't know what they want, but... I'm scared. And that was just one but who's to say there's not another fucking clone out there?" Perhaps her biggest fear was that it was hiding in her closet, like some fucked up shitty scary movie. What if it was just lying in wait, waiting for her to go to sleep so it could finish the job that it's prior clone had started? Thinking about that, it felt insane, like some crazy impossibility, but... It was possible, was it not?

She saw him tilt the bag of Takis her way, a silent offering, but she couldn't think about that right now. Besides, the Slurpee would take care of her low blood sugar, right? Besides, her refusal wouldn't remind him of old times, of the bad times--right? She hated to think of how much her sickness had hurt him, had hurt all of her siblings--she remembered that screaming match with Cy like it was yesterday. He had just caught her purging in the middle of Easter dinner, a new low for her. He'd accused her of not taking her recovery seriously, which she wasn't, and more importantly, he accused her of lying to him, which she had. They screamed at each other in the kitchen while everyone else sat in the dining room listening to them and Annisa could only imagine how fucking uncomfortable and awkward that had been for everyone at the table. She'd ruined a perfectly good holiday again. Gingerly, she took a Taki out of the bag and munched on it, the spiciness sizzling on her tongue. She tried to ignore the thoughts that seemed to be growing louder and louder in the back of her mind. At least the spice is like a punishment--shut up!

You don’t have to worry about becoming one of those things. I won’t let it happen. pinky promise. She gave him a sad, yet grateful smile and intertwined her pinky with his, just like they had so many times before as little kids. In that moment, she wanted to apologize--apologize for all the trouble she'd ever caused him and the rest of their family. But she held back. It wouldn't help anything, not really. It'd just make him feel bad. So instead, in a soft voice, she said "Thanks, Donnie..."

he missed his sisters—every single one of them. to say he worried about them while he was locked away would be an understatement so severe it bordered on absurdity, especially with cyrek’s life spinning out of control under the weight of his new family responsibilities and gang members. each time adonis allowed his thoughts to wander, a crushing wave of guilt would sweep over him, flooding the back of his eyelids with the harsh realization that, in their time of need, he had been utterly absent. they needed him—and where was he? in a prison of his own making, compounding their burdens with his reckless choices. if only he hadn’t been caught. but regret had its place, and right now, he needed to focus on what could still be done. he had to be the brother they deserved, not the disappointment he'd been.

he clung tightly to annisa, his arms wrapped around her as though the force of his embrace alone might somehow anchor her, ground her, or offer her the stability she so desperately needed. her unraveling tore at him, tugging at the very core of his soul, where his heartstrings no longer beat in rhythm but instead resonated with the dissonant clang of war drums—a cacophony of desperation and fury ready to lash out at anything that dared to harm her. he wanted to tear the world apart for her, to wage a battle against the faceless enemies that haunted her, but that kind of violent instinct wasn’t what she needed right now. no, he had to be more than just brute strength. he had to think, to help her find her footing, to guide her back to herself.

breathe, donn. focus. this wasn’t the time for machismo, for playing the hero in a war only he could see. he needed to help her, to truly help her. what were those grounding techniques again? five things for five senses? he mentally scrambled for something, anything, to pull her out of the spiral.

when he finally returned to her, it wasn’t with words or grand gestures, but with a massive 7-11 slurpee, a monument to childhood comfort. the plastic dome encased a swirling, purple haze of cherry and blue raspberry, a sugary snowstorm that called to mind memories of simpler times, of home. he set it in front of her with a quiet confidence, knowing that sometimes the smallest acts of care could mean the most. “i got you both flavors. take a sip and breathe for me, will ya?”

a soft, sad smile tugged at his lips as he slowly tore open a bag of blue takis, the crinkle of plastic oddly soothing in the quiet. he knew she might not eat, knew how deep her turmoil ran, but still, he offered. maybe the crunch of something familiar could break through the chaos. “you ever think you’re reacting exactly as anyone would after witnessing themselves... well, you know... attack you and die?” his voice was gentle, but firm, a hand reaching out in the dark to offer some semblance of validation. “i mean, it’s fucked up. i’d be traumatized, too. anyone would be-hell, probably even more scared than you are right now.” his eyes flickered with the weight of his own unspoken fears, though he kept them at bay, for her sake. “i don’t know how you sleep at night after all that, and i can’t fathom how you’ve managed to hold it together as much as you have. but that means there’s a strength in you that you don’t even see.”

she had always been stronger than she believed. reminding her of that truth had always been his struggle. he tilted his head, his voice softening as he tried to reach the part of her that still fought. “think of it this way—every time you look in the mirror and face that fear, you’re giving that piece of shit a giant ‘fuck you.’”

he took a couple of bites from the bag of chips, licking the blue dust from his thumb, before setting the bag down in front of her—a silent invitation for her to join him in something so simple, so human. even in these dark moments, he wanted her to feel normal, to have something to hold on to.

“i promise you,” he said, his voice dropping to something earnest and unbreakable. “you don’t have to worry about becoming one of those things. i won’t let it happen. pinky promise.” and, just like when they were children, he extended his pinky toward her, the simple, sacred gesture of their shared past. his eyes softened, full of an unspoken promise that no matter what, he would be there for her, now and always. he would not fail her again.

#tw: body horror mention #tw: blood mention #tw: ed #tw: purging mention

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