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vampire-bite · 1 year ago

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“Who did this to you” with Sam and Bright Eyes?

hi so fun fact i was not here for the frederick videos, i never saw them. but i love found family so i read through some recaps and. did my best. idk man, this isnt great but its self indulgent!

i guess im a bright eyes apologist now? i tried to make this pretty neutral cause I havent seen the videos but. i guess im an apologist

i also guess the end of this is open? sam and bright are not completely good with each other by the end of this theyve just started to open up to the idea that theyre more similar than they thought

if you prefer reading on AO3, its over here

@badthingshappenbingo

By the time Bright decided to show back up, the sun had already started to rise, enough that—although Frederick had only agreed to rest if he continued to look—Sam could do little more than stand on his porch and watch the woods around him for any sight of the unruly newborn vampire.

They'd stormed off the previous night, and despite the undeniable tension between the two, Frederick had nearly driven himself mad looking for them all day. He still cared about them, and probably always would, no matter what they were like. Sam really couldn't bring himself to be surprised, but he also knew that it wasn't safe for Bright to be out on their own when they were still in the bloodlust.

It had been over twenty-four hours since they’d disappeared, and they were bound to need blood soon. From the less-than-close eye he’d kept on them, he knew they left more time than ideal between feedings, but he hadn’t said anything.

He recognized the actions, remembered doing them himself, but this was different. The situation was their own fault, and they should have known better.

The light from the rising sun filtered through the trees, meaning they would’ve had no real way of getting back even if they wanted to. He was getting ready to call Vincent and ask if he’d seen anything, when a figure broke through the treeline and practically threw themselves onto the porch to get out of the sun.

Bright was panting heavily, had burns running down their arms and legs, and, most concerningly, was drenched in blood.

Sam felt his stomach drop at the sight of them, soaked in blood, and he wondered how much of a mess they’d left in their wake. He stared at them, feeling anger bubble up inside of him, and reached forward to grab their arm. “Where have you been? What the hell did you do?”

They just glared at him, yanking their arm away and scowling; it just made his annoyance rise. He wasn’t the one who had run off to god–only-knew where, likely leaving a trail of destruction.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You ran off. Do you know how worried Frederick was?”

Their expression darkened in response, and they snarled, something dangerous crossing their features. “Fuck that,” They cursed, trying to brush past him in a swift movement only for him to grab onto their arm hard enough that they yelped when his hand closed around a burn.

He couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad, caught up in the anger he felt. “You’ve already been told that you can’t just run off on your own, and this is exactly why.”

“What does it matter? I came back. I’m still alive.” They tried to wrench their arm free from his grasp, and just glared at him when they failed, “I’m not listening to another lecture.”

His voice was darker when he spoke next, angry and harsh, “What. Did. You. Do?”

For a moment, he thought they weren’t going to respond at all, from the way they bared their teeth—fangs out—and how he could practically see their walls going further up. There was a long moment of silence.

Then, before he could say anything else, their bitter voice muttered, “Why don’t you just kill me already, since that’s clearly what you want?”

The words made his blood go cold. They were just trying to provoke a reaction, he knew it, but the words were still disturbing; as much as he didn’t want to dignify it with a response, he couldn’t help himself.

“You think that?”

They paused, eyeing him cautiously for a moment before they nodded and gave him a look like it was obvious.

“I know it. I can see it in the way you act,” They said, no doubt or even anger left in their tone, just resignation, and it gave him pause, “You want to hit me.”

He reeled back, letting go of their arm and staring at them in horror. Of course he didn’t want that. It was hard to tell whether they were being serious or just trying to provoke him further, but their tone made him lean towards the latter. The words were chilling.

Their eyes were fixed on the ground, so he reached forward to put a hand on their shoulder to try to get their attention.

Once they saw his hand coming towards them, they flinched away, making him freeze.

Suddenly—with all the anger and resentment stripped away from them, without Frederick’s pain and his own self-hatred weighing down on him—it seemed like he was seeing, really seeing, them for the first time. And the person standing in front of him wasn’t the bitter, wrathful newborn who had bitten off more than they could chew. No, in front of him, their body trembling slightly, was a frightened kid.

“Shit,” He muttered, watching them shrink further away from him, “Kid—”

“I’m not a kid! Stop treating me like one!” They snapped, the venom in their voice falling short of hiding the hurt and fear behind it. Sam wondered whether that pain had always been there; if he’d just missed it because they’d done better at concealing it.

He remembered how he’d acted as a newborn, the anger that filled every moment, the pain and hate he’d felt. And suddenly, their actions seemed like more than just a bad attitude.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Their eyes barely flickered up to him, a scowl forming at the words. “You know that, right?” He spoke slowly, forcing himself to seem much calmer than he felt despite the guilt starting to build.

He stepped towards them, and they responded by continuing to back away, only stopping when they had almost gotten into the sun. They glanced back, clearly calculating, and then took another step back—apparently unconcerned about getting burned again as they got ready to bolt.

Rushing forward, Sam grabbed their arm and pulled them back against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them to keep them from running.

They fought against his hold, screaming at and fighting against him, but he didn’t budge.

Finally, when they found themselves completely unable to get free, their body went limp, legs giving way beneath them. And then they were crying, sobbing loudly and openly, and all he could do was hold them up as they broke apart.

All the fight had left them; they buried their face into his shoulder as they shook more intensely than before, clinging to him in a way that left him clueless of what to do. Something inside of him twisted violently at the sight of them so torn apart.

“I’m sorry…” They sobbed, tears soaking into the sleeve of his jacket, “It’s all my fault. You’re right to hate me.”

His heart twisted further at the words. The look they gave him, hopeless with guilt, made him feel sick. So he just held them tighter, resting his chin on top of their head and holding them to try to give them any sense of security he could.

Bright continued to shake in his arms, though their sobbing died down into whimpers that sounded like they were in pain; and Sam realized with even more clarity that they were just a kid. A kid who was scared, and angry, and resentful of having their life taken from them. A kid who was hurting just as deeply as he had been. As he still was.

A kid who he had been failing since they were turned.

And, most pressingly now, a kid who was hyperventilating, breath coming out in short, rough bursts of air.

"It’s okay, kid. I’ve gotcha. Just—” Both blood and tears were soaking his clothes, he felt horribly out of his depth. His voice dropped to a quiet murmur as he tried to be soothing, “You've gotta breathe for me.”

For all of their fronting, when they were like this, he could see how utterly drained they were. He knew they hadn’t been feeding as often as they needed to be, and he was willing to bet they hadn’t been sleeping. They might’ve not needed to, technically speaking, but they were so clearly exhausted that he knew it’d do them good.

They shook their head, wheezing as they grabbed at the back of Sam’s jacket desperately. He gently rubbed their back to try to get them calm, feeling obligated to at least do that much. “With me. In….And out…”

Their breathing began to even out slowly, still coming out in shaky hiccups but being more steady than the gasping they’d been doing before.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” They just sounded defeated, frame still trembling. “I don’t deserve it. And I don’t want you to pity me.”

He’d be the first to admit that he hadn’t kept as close of an eye on them.

It was just easier, letting them handle themselves with the bitterness they showed everyone. Besides, with the way they isolated themselves, the pain and hurt they caused Frederick couldn’t slip through their bond. But he was beginning to realize that it was likely a mistake.

He shook his head and frowned. “I ain’t pitying you. I don’t hate you, either.”

Really, when it came down to it, he didn’t. Attitude or not, he couldn’t bring himself to truly hate them. And they were his responsibility.

“And you don’t need to deserve anything. I’m not doing anything except keeping you from having a damn panic attack.”

They didn’t seem convinced.

Trembling fingers pulled up the bottom of their shirt, revealing several wounds on their torso and stomach, including one that looked like they’d been stabbed and another that looked like the imprint of teeth.

“The blood is mine,” They whispered, voice filled with shame and so quiet he could barely hear it even with his enhanced hearing, “Mostly, at least.”

Oh. Oh.

Suddenly, his earlier harshness seemed cruel. He’d assumed the worst of them. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, exactly, but he didn’t know if he’d have jumped so immediately if it had been anyone else.

They looked up at him, expression unreadable, and shrugged. "Someone attacked me."

Nonchalant. Stoic. It was like this was a regular occurrence, like they’d grown used to it.

“Who? Who did this to you?”

They frowned, looking hesitant to answer him.

“Who did this to you?” He pressed, trying to be at least slightly gentle with his pushing at them so that they wouldn’t bolt or panic again despite the force in his voice.

A protective feeling was flaring up in him, something he didn't expect to feel towards the sour teenager. And yet, he couldn't deny the urge to hold them close, make them feel safe; and he knew he had a responsibility towards them in this situation, no matter how either of them felt about it.

Even as he tried to be gentle, they still seemed panicked, shaking against him. He sighed softly, shaking his head and gently placing a hand on the stab wound on their stomach to start healing it.

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to do. But I can at least get the bleeding to stop,” He said, voice staying as soft as he could manage, “Talk to me, kid. If someone hurt you…”

They pushed at his chest, scowling once more, “What? You’ll pat them on the back?”

He rolled his eyes in response to their reply, but paused after a moment, a bit of guilt returning as he realized they were being completely genuine. It was almost hurtful that they thought so low of him. But he supposed he hadn’t given them much of a reason to think otherwise.

Keeping his hands firmly against them, one still healing them while the other rubbed soothing circles against their back, he watched them glance down at his hand and go to speak, only to just bite their lip and drop their gaze to the ground.

“Bright….”

Their breath stuttered out, uneven as they seemed to melt into the gentle touch. Yet, despite how it was clearly easing them, they pulled away and sat on the edge of the porch. Their legs hung down, dangerously close to the sunlight, for only a moment before they pulled up their legs to their chest.

A long silence fell between the two before they finally spoke.

“Don’t,” They started, a small whimper leaving them as they pressed their forehead to their knees, “Don’t do that.”

He reached his free hand out, hesitating before placing it against their jaw; he began rubbing his thumb along their jawline as they took another deep, shuddering breath. They rubbed at their eyes as tears began to form again, and he swallowed thickly.

Pulling the hand he was using to heal away from them, he looked over the—admittedly messily—healed wounds. The stab wound, at least, was completely healed, as well as the bite mark. Many slashes were scabbed over, but several smaller cuts were still open even if not actively bleeding.

Brushing their hair out of their face felt like far too gentle of an action, considering their tumultuous relationship, but he did it anyway. “Do what?”

They sniffled, angrily wiping at their eyes once again before pulling their legs closer to themselves, arms wrapped around them tightly as they hugged their legs against their chest. “Pretend to care. I can’t stand it.”

That stung more than he wanted to admit, more than he understood, but he just nodded.

“Not pretending, kid.” The denial came easier than he’d expected, and quicker than Bright had expected if the look on their face was anything to go by.

Still, they just scoffed, curling in on themselves more as they stared at the sun shining on the ground. They reached out one of their hands, tracing a finger along the edge of the light and staring at it longingly. Sam just watched, frowning, as moving forward and getting the slightest bit of sun on their skin made them wince and recoil before trying again.

Moving closer, he gently placed one of his hands over theirs, holding them down and out of the light. He squeezed them lightly, both to help keep them out of the shade, and to try and offer some form of comfort.

“Can you at least tell me why they did it?” They stubbornly shook their head and he sighed. “C’mon, kid. You’ve gotta give me something to work with here. I want to help you.”

The last part seemed to break them, but the response he got just left him more confused. “Everyone here thinks I’m just a screw up.” Muttered beneath their breath and dripping with unconcealed resentment. Yet, they didn’t look at him, eyes still firmly fixed on the light that they couldn’t truly feel on their skin ever again.

He knew the look in their eyes. He’d felt that same longing for over a decade now.

“There’s something wrong with me,” They whispered, voice breaking slightly, “And I don’t know what it is. But I know everyone can see it. And I know I can’t fix it.”

For all that they had tried to seem strong and rageful, there was an undeniable pain in them that he hadn’t seen before. Now that he had, he couldn’t believe that he’d ever missed it.

Then again, maybe he just hadn’t wanted to see it. It was too similar to the same pain that he had become intimately familiar with; that he felt every day since he was turned.

“I don’t want this. I never would have chosen this.”

He had been feeling thick, stinging guilt the whole time, and it had clouded his mind. It still did. But the sinking feeling that their two situations weren’t so different was starting to weigh down on him as strongly as an anchor. Now he was just feeling sick. All he could manage was shaking his head and sighing.

“Let’s get you inside,” Grabbing their hand and helping them to their feet, he tried extremely hard not to think about the realizations he was having, “And out of those clothes.”

As he shrugged off his jacket, they watched him with something like suspicion, which only worsened when he put it onto them. It practically swallowed them, and they just scowled and pulled it around themselves.

He led them inside, his arm around their shoulder as they wordlessly followed and let themselves be set down on the couch. They looked lost, and smaller than he’d ever seen them; the sight made him pause.

“Kid?”

They looked up at him questioningly, head tilting slightly to the side.

“I don’t hate you. And whatever might’ve happened…. You didn’t deserve this. For whatever that’s worth.”

Their gaze softened, the change slight but distinctly noticeable due to their usual scowl and glare. He turned around before they could see his small smile, leaving to go get them clean clothes.

Luckily, Frederick was still asleep when he slipped into the room, and even with his conflicted emotions, Sam couldn’t stop himself from gently ruffling his hair with a fond look.

“Shit, kid. What have I gotten myself into?” He muttered, staying quiet to not wake him up.

That thought was only intensified when, by the time he had gone back to the living room, he found that Bright was also asleep. Curled up into a ball on the couch and holding tightly onto his jacket that was still around their body.

#bad things happen bingo #redacted audio #sam collins #bright eyes redacted asmr #uhhh #found family #whump #Who Did This To You #which IS directly said for once #probably out of character #probably not canon compliant #probably bad

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