#now you KNOW i can't say no to some JOSSAM BABYYYYYYYY

[queenofbaws]

Mm a 9 and 17 from that great ol list for my fav angsty couple jossam mayhaps? 👀👀👀

Later, when all the lights were out and he lay awake listening to the wind screaming outside the windows, her body hunched and shivering beside his beneath every last one of the blankets, Josh would convince himself he hadn't been ignoring her when she'd first stumbled into the guest cabin.

Eventually, he'd even believe it. He was, after all, nothing if not a consummate mindgame professional...even when the mind in question was his own. But believing was one thing; knowing was another.

He had ignored Sam when she'd shown up. Not because he was heartless, not because he couldn't be troubled to find out why she was breathing so hard, not even because he'd finally managed to find a spot on the couch where sleeping might've been possible. No. No, no, no, friends and fans, it wasn't any of that. He'd ignored her because, in that moment, he'd hated her. Hated her more than he could explain.

So the door opened. And the door shut. And a second later he was buffeted by a blast of icy air that should've sent him reeling.

The keyword there, of course, was 'should've,' a word doing a lot of heavy lifting, in fact, because there was too much spite in him to shiver. He'd sworn from the moment he'd hidden himself away that no one and nothing would get him to move (not unless it was one of his sisters, anyway), and by God, he'd meant it.

Josh didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't so much as shift under the ratty little lap-blanket he'd thrown over himself back when he'd first stretched out on the couch. He just laid there, arms under his head, and listened to the ragged in-and-out of her breathing. For someone who prided themselves on being so athletic, she sounded awfully winded.

Not his problem. If she'd been stupid enough to set off running through the ice and snow, that was her prerogative. She sure as shit hadn't thought to do it last night. Maybe if she had, they wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe if she had, Hannah and Beth wouldn't...

The pit of anger in his chest tore open afresh, and he sucked the already raw flesh of his inner cheek between his teeth, grinding it there until he tasted blood.

Not his problem. Whatever had brought Sam out all the way over the river and through the woods to the guest cabin was not. His. Problem.

So he continued to ignore her...until he couldn't.

He didn't know how much time passed like that, him lying in front of the fire and her standing by the door, breathing in strange, rasping whoops, but it was long enough for doubt (maybe even worry) to begin wheedling its way through the mess of indignation and hurt clotting out the rest of his thoughts.

If she'd come to find him, why wasn't she saying anything?

If she hadn't come to find him, why was she there?

If she was trying to avoid him, why wasn't she at least moving away from the door and its awful fucking draft?

If she wasn't trying to avoid him, why was she...well...avoiding him?

And why was she still breathing like that?

Eventually, when the mystery of it all became too much, he propped himself up on his elbows, twisting around to get a better look at her. "You know, when a guy says something to the tune of 'leave me the fuck alone,' usually what he means is - " But then he did.

Get a better look at her, that is.

"Jesus fuck, Sam," and just like that he was on his feet, skirting the couch to kneel beside her where she'd fallen, an awkward lump on the cold, swollen hardwood. The sight of her there, pale and shivering, weak and exhausted, didn't erase his anger so much as push it to the side for the time being, making room for its good friend fear. Would this nightmare ever fucking end?!

He reached for the hood of her jacket and she moved as if to swat him away. Her arm didn't even come close. It was like she couldn't figure out where he was, couldn't decide whether he was above her or beside her, and after a second she simply gave up, collapsing into herself once more.

"Fine," she muttered in a voice that only sort of sounded like her own. "Five minutes."

"Five minutes? For what? You don't have a goddamn bio lab to get to up here in the middle of the woods, so who's rushing you?"

Sam swallowed hard. So hard, in fact, she had to open her mouth after to catch her breath, making him think of a little kid with the flu. "Need to...get back. Just...had to...sit."

Realization started creeping in, shouldering fear and anger both to the sidelines. He did manage to get at her hood that time, pulling it back just enough to see - fuck - how grey her lips had gone. Now he understood why she was breathing like that. Now her confused mumbling made sense.

"Dammit," he breathed, his mouth running on its own, entirely detached from the rest of him. "Goddammit. Don't tell me you're fucking hypothermic. Don't even - fuck."

It was like he'd been waiting for something like this to happen; he moved without thinking, checking off imaginary boxes in his head as he went. Sam's jacket was soaked with snow, so it had to go, ditto with her earwarmers and gloves. She barely even reacted as he moved her around, pulling her arms out of sleeves, her feet out of boots, so as he struggled to lift her under her arms, he was disheartened but not surprised to find her little more than dead weight.

The couch was four feet away. Five, maybe. And even so, every step was a monumental effort, Josh straining under her weight, Sam clumsily trying (and failing) to find her footing to help. He half-carried, half-dragged her in front of the fire, and when his strength gave out and he had no choice but to set her down on the floor, the agonized little whine that slipped out of her broke his heart.

"I know. I know it hurts. Thawing out isn't exactly going to be a walk in the park either." Josh was surprised then; surprised at the sound of his own voice in his ears, surprised at how all the venom he'd been soaking in earlier had gone out of it. He took the lap-blanket off the couch, wrapped it around Sam's shoulders, and tried his best not to think about what that might've meant.

Slowly, bit by bit, he watched the color come back into her face. Heard her breathing even out. The shivering didn't stop, and there was a glazed look in her eye, but he figured that was par for the course...at least until she tried to stand again.

"Excuse me? Where do you think you're going?" he asked, the weight of his hand on her arm more than enough to keep her rooted to the ground.

"Out," she said raggedly, her voice still strange. "I have to get back out there."

"And freeze to death. Uh huh. Okay, yeah, sure." He tried not to sigh aloud, knowing confusion and babbling both came part and parcel with the whole hypothermia deal. Still, tired and frustrated and thrown for a loop himself, he did his best to distract from the conflicting emotions threatening to choke him the only way he knew how: by being a smartass.

"How about this," Josh suggested, turning to face her more fully. "Solve my riddles three and I'll consider letting you bumble back out into the great white beyond, huh? Sound fair? Cool. So here's riddle number one. How many fingers am I holding up? And this is probably against the spirit of the thing, but I'll give you a hint: No, neither of my hands has six fingers, so if that's what you're thinking, you're - "

She turned to face him too, but he realized immediately it wasn't to look at his hand. The glazed look he'd noted before had changed, the glassiness of her eyes having welled into tears that refused to fall. "I have to go," Sam insisted though her body remained slumped and weak. "I have to find them, Josh. I...I can do it. I just...I just need to get back out there."

And then the cabin was very quiet; and then, so was his head. The fire crackled, popped, hushed in its grate. Even the wind seemed to soften outside the window panes.

What was left of his anger left him in a gout, bled dry by an invisible wound, and when he saw she didn't even have strength enough to cry, he wrapped her in his arms and did it for the both of them.