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On December 23rd, Sam woke up in the middle of the night to his phone ringing right next to his ear. He groped for it for several seconds before finding it and managing to locate the button to answer without turning on the light. “’lo?” He said, blearily, and for a moment heard only silence.
Fuck telemarketers, Sam thought, and then caught, just as he was about to hang up, the sound of someone taking a shuddering breath in and letting it out with a wet sound. Sam pushed himself up.
“Hello?” he said again, suddenly feeling much more awake and wishing he’d thought to check the number.
“Sam,” said a voice on the other end, after another few moments, and Sam’s stomach dropped fast. He knew that voice, but it sounded all wrong. Flat and empty and…dead. He’d heard Loki sound like a lot of things, mostly variations on “bitchy” but this – he could feel his heart start thudding faster and couldn’t have articulated why.
“Loki,” said Sam, carefully. “What…Jesus. Aren’t you home? What time is it there?”
“I’m not-” Loki’s voice cut off for a moment. “I’m not there just now.” His voice was still that flat, unnervingly even tone. Tightly controlled. He sounded…
But no, he’d been sounding a little weird for the last half of the semester. Or hadn’t sounded. Too quiet, too withdrawn, not snapping at Sam about stupid things like he usually did, and if it had prickled Sam’s instincts then now they were shrieking at him. He swung his legs out of bed and sat up. “Where are you? Are you – hey, are you okay?”
“Yes,” said Loki, sounding impatient. “Yes, I am-” His voice broke. For a moment Sam thought he was sobbing, but then he realized that it was laughter. Hoarse, jagged laughter, and he didn’t think that was actually any better.
“Hey,” said Sam, “What’s going on?”
“It’s just funny,” Loki said, his voice hitching. “Hilarious, really, how long did they think they could…” He trailed off again, and for a few moments there was just the uneven sound of his breathing over the connection. “’It doesn’t matter,’ he said. Of course it matters. It’s always mattered. It’s so obvious.”
“Loki,” said Sam, his stomach churning. “Do you think you could tell me what’s going on?”
“Sam?” Dean’s voice, from the doorway, and a moment later the light flicked on. “Who’re you-” Sam waved a frantic hand at him to shut up, and Dean gaped at him.
The choking sound Loki made utterly failed to sound like a laugh. “What’s going on. The same as…the same as ever. Now I know why. I was never the son they wanted-”
Sam pushed himself to his feet. “Can you tell me where you are? I’ll come and get you, we can talk-”
“Talk,” Loki said, almost spat. “Talk. I don’t want to talk. I’m done talking. There’s nothing left to say.” His breath hitched again, and this time Sam heard the sob that came after, like it was dragged out of Loki’s chest by a hook.
“Hey,” said Sam, “Hey, what’re you – hold on, okay, are you at the apartment?”
“I can’t,” Loki said, his voice ragged. “I can’t – hold on. I’m not. I’m done. I don’t know why I…it was good, Sam. You were good.” Sam’s heart was racing now, and he gestured frantically at Dean, not even sure what he was trying to say, get the computer, can we track the call, call 911.
“Loki,” said Sam, desperately, “Wait, just listen to me,” and he heard one more ragged inhale.
“Sorry about the mess,” Loki said, voice back to that peculiar, calm, level state. “I promise it – heh. Won’t happen again.”
The connection clicked closed. Sam jumped to his feet, already dialing 911. The apartment. It’s gotta be the apartment, why would he mention a mess otherwise, shit, how much time, how much time-
“Sam,” Dean said, grabbing his arm. “Sam, what the hell is going on?”
“It’s Loki,” Sam said, just as the operator picked up. “—hi, I’m pretty sure my friend’s trying to kill himself, I think he’s at-” He rattled off the address, “Get someone there, please.” He could feel Dean gaping at his back and he was too far away to drive, it was a good three hours, it’d be too late by then, too late by far-
“Get in the car,” Dean said, brushing past him and pulling on his coat. “I’ll drive.”
“Sleep,” Dean said, after they’d been driving for an hour and a half. Sam didn’t answer. He didn’t think he could if he tried. It felt like there was someone he should call, but he didn’t know anyone. Didn’t know Loki’s family’s number and didn’t know that he should call them anyway, because whatever had set this off-
Loki didn’t talk much about his family. He said enough, though.
“Maybe he’s not gonna go through with it,” Dean said. Sam clenched his hands into fists.
“You didn’t talk to him, Dean. You don’t know him. He was serious. Maybe if I’d said something different, if I’d-”
“Cut it out,” Dean said sharply. “You’re not going to help anyone like that.”
“What if he wasn’t at the apartment? What if I was too late, I got it wrong-”
Sam’s phone rang. They both looked at it, and then Sam scrambled to pick it up. “Yeah, hey, it’s Sam-”
“Sam Winchester?” It was a female voice, one Sam didn’t know. “This is…I’m Loki’s mother. We just got a call…”
Sam sucked in a breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, this is…me. What did they tell you?” He heard the momentary silence, hesitation, and added a fervent, “Please,” trying to keep his tension from bleeding into anger. It wouldn’t be fair of him. He didn’t know what had happened.
“He’s in the Emergency Room,” she said, finally. Sam felt his whole body sag. “They said…we’re on our way.” Her voice shook slightly. In the background, he heard two people arguing, not quite yelling. He heard someone almost bellow “—missing for two days, you said he’d be fine, that he needed time!”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m heading that way too. I. Uh. Guess I’ll see you there.” He hung up, and looked down at his hands. They were shaking.
“What’s the news,” Dean asked. Carefully. Sam swallowed hard.
“He’s at the hospital. ER. His family’s …Jesus, Dean. What if he hadn’t called me?” Dean was quiet.
“Yeah, well,” he said finally, “He did. Jesus, Sam, always you and the-”
“Don’t say it,” said Sam, tightly. “Not right now.” The silence hung tight between them for a few moments, before Dean sighed.
“Sorry,” he said, awkwardly. Sam just nodded and tried not to think about what-ifs.
They drove through the night. The waiting room was mostly empty when he got there. Sam left Dean in the car and went in alone and thankfully unchallenged. The smell of the hospital stuck in his nose the way it always did, made him feel vaguely sick.
He saw no sign of anyone that looked like Loki’s parents, but his eyes stopped on a blonde figure pacing back and forth, as tall as Sam and even more solidly built.
He recognized him from a picture Loki kept in his wallet, if one tucked behind several other cards. “Uh,” Sam said, cautiously. “Thor?”
Thor’s head snapped around, followed closely by the rest of him, and his eyes lit on Sam without recognition. They were red-rimmed and looked faintly desperate and fully terrified. Sam resisted the urge to wince. “I’m Sam,” he said, slowly. “Sam Winchester. Uh. Loki’s roommate.”
“Oh,” said Thor, and then his face flooded with gratitude, such naked emotion that Sam was almost embarrassed. “You are the one who called?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “I’m…yeah.”
“My parents are speaking to the doctor, but mother will want to thank you.” Thor paused. “As I do. They said…” he trailed off, looking stricken. Sam felt sick. Thor dropped his face into big hands, and Sam could see them shaking. “I should have been there. I should have been there and I was not-”
Sam wanted to ask what had happened. Needed to know. But he didn’t think he could. He didn’t know Loki’s brother except by reputation, and this was...this was too personal and maybe Loki wouldn’t want him to know, anyway. God. God.
“He can’t die,” he heard Thor say, muffled into his hands. “He can’t.”
He didn’t.
The doctor came out what seemed like hours later, ushered Thor back. Families only, she said. Sorry. You might as well go home.
Ha, Sam thought. Sure. His stomach was still churning, but he got up and went outside to call Dean.
“I got a motel,” Dean said. And paused. “Is there any…you know. News?” You don’t like him, Sam thought angrily, You never have, but that was unfair, and he was just…twitchy. He’d known Loki had his issues – hard to miss – but it still seemed like he should have…
“They won’t tell me anything,” he said. “But I think he’s still alive, anyway.” Saying it like that made Sam feel sick all over again. “God, his brother…” Sam trailed off, and cleared his throat. “Um. Where’s the motel? I can walk.”
“I can pick you up.”
“Let me rephrase that,” Sam said. “I want to walk.”
There was silence from the other end of the line for a while, and finally Dean said, “Yeah, okay, it’s 528 Main, Fir Boughs Motel,” and hung up, though Sam caught the little trace of worry in his voice.
So he walked. It was cold out, not quite snowing but feeling like it might start. His mind was a tangled knot of worry and fear and relief. He had the sudden morbid urge to go to the apartment and see what it looked like.
Sam sighed. He called you, he told himself. He must have known you would try to stop it and he still called. Maybe it was his last frantic try of asking for help in his Loki way without ever asking. He wanted to believe that, but wasn’t sure if he did.
He’s your roommate, he’s your friend. Why didn’t you see this coming? Sam knew what self-recrimination sounded like, and knew it wasn’t fair either. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking it, no matter how much he knew that Loki was a master at showing only what he wanted to show, and so often what he wanted to show was nothing at all. You should have been able to…
It wasn’t a long walk to the motel, but Sam was tired by the time he got there anyway. Exhausted in his bones, heavy and unhappy. So Loki was alive, but would he drop school, move out, have to go back to his house and live with the family he barely even talked about, have to be committed somewhere? He didn’t know anything about any of this. Wasn’t sure if he wanted to google it and find out.
Dean was standing outside their door when he got there. “Jesus,” he said. “You’re making me cold just looking at you. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I’m okay. I just wanted to think.”
“Uh huh,” Dean said. “Yeah.” He stepped back. “Get in here. This place is swanky, it’s got working heating.”
“Wow,” said Sam. “You splurged.”
Dean shrugged, looking awkward. “Figured we might…be here for a few days. You know. Making sure everything’s…” He trailed off.
Sam felt a sudden and almost overwhelming surge of affection for Dean. For his willingness to drive all night and stay in a motel because Sam was worried, and he thought about Thor again, sitting in the waiting room looking like his world was falling apart.
“Dean,” he said, “I’m really, really glad we have a functional relationship.”
Dean snorted. “We have a functional relationship?”
Sam balled up a Kleenex and threw it at him as he flopped onto the bed furthest from the door. “We have a relationship, anyway. I just…Loki’s brother was there. I’ve never seen him before, just heard Loki talk about him sometimes and to hear him the guy’s basically a brainless asshole spoiled brat, but he looked…crushed. And I just…I dunno.” Sam shook his head.
“Yeah,” Dean said, after a moment. “I mean. I hear you.”
Sam sighed and threw an arm up over his eyes. “I’m…sorry. About this. I know this probably wasn’t really how you were thinking about spending Christmas. And I know you don’t really…”
“Don’t even say it,” Dean muttered. “You’ll make me feel like an asshole.” He rubbed his eyes. “Just…do me a favor and don’t beat yourself up over it, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Sam, without any sincerity behind it. “Whatever,” and let his eyes drift closed.
He didn’t end up getting to see Loki until he was transferred from the hospital proper to the psychiatric ward. He didn’t hear from Loki’s parents or Thor again. Dean hardly complained at all, through all the waiting and Sam’s fretting at his phone and googling suicide to make a list of warning signs he’d missed like it was a checklist.
In the end, the hospital called him, and he was informed that Loki had requested his presence.
Sam went. He listened to the rules and admonitions and warnings dutifully, tried not to let his eyes drift to the colorful, nondescript paintings on the walls and the posters in the waiting room , prevention tips that Sam had memorized. There was a kind of oppressiveness to the air, something stifling and thick.
He filled out and signed a few forms and then was following a nurse down the hallway. She knocked on a door on the right side and opened it a moment later.
“Thor,” a familiar voice drifted through, “If that is you again I swear I will employ my considerable resourcefulness and fashion some sort of weapon with which to disembowel you-”
“Hey,” Sam said, before Loki could really get going, and the voice cut off. Sam stepped around the nurse and looked into the room. “Can I come in?”
His first impression was that Loki looked awful. He was horribly pale, his eyes were sunken back in dark, bruise-like circles, and his lips were nearly bloodless. Sam supposed he’d probably needed a transfusion, maybe more than one, and found himself wondering morbidly what he’d looked like coming in here. He was surprised, even more morbidly, that Loki would choose to bleed to death. It seemed…ugly. Imprecise. Not like him.
Thinking about it made Sam’s stomach feel like it was trying to heave. Loki’s mouth twisted in something like a sneer.
“Don’t look so appalled,” he said, and his voice at least still sounded like the Loki Sam knew. “You will hurt my feelings.” His voice was so perfectly caustic, even, measured that it left Sam cold. He stepped in, though, and the nurse shut the door quietly behind him.
“Hey,” said Sam. Loki’s eyes slid away from his face.
“Yes, hello. I was told you’ve been here some days. Not yet bored?”
“I wanted to see you,” Sam said frankly, because there were few things that got to Loki like unvarnished truth. Indeed, Loki’s eyes snapped back to his face and then away again, quickly, but Sam caught the flicker of shame that crossed his face.
“Christmas was a few days ago, was it not? I’ve made you miss it.”
Sam didn’t want to do this. Dance around what had happened like this. But he didn’t think trying to do anything else would go very well. “Never liked Christmas much anyway. Dean used to say I thought the Grinch was the hero of that story.”
Loki’s laugh was soft and self-deprecating. “I am not terribly fond of it myself. As I suppose must be…” He lifted one arm, waved it idly in a small gesture. His forearms were swaddled in white. The uneasy churning started in Sam’s stomach again.
“Heh,” Sam managed. “Yeah. I guess not.” If it weren’t Loki, he would have crossed the room and dragged him into a hug. If it were Dean, he would have bullied him into sharing what was behind his flat gaze and nonchalant voice. But Loki was harder. Craved physical affection but was more apt to reject it than accept it. Knew every trick of deflecting questions and employed them ruthlessly. “Why did you want to see me?” Sam said, finally.
“Ah,” said Loki. “Yes. I have two regular visitors, my mother and Thor. While you are here none of them may be. I cannot overstate the degree to which your company is preferable.”
“Two?” Sam said. “What about your father?”
“Oh,” said Loki, lightly, so lightly, and Sam knew all too well the dangers of that voice. “We are not speaking, at the moment.”
Sam sighed, and gave up on subtlety. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” Sam asked, and Loki’s eyes cut away.
“No.” He was quiet for a few moments. “…not now.”
He hadn’t really expected even that much. ‘Not now’ was practically a ‘maybe later’ and that was good enough for Sam. At least maybe if he knew… “Okay,” Sam said. “That’s fine.”
“It is?” Loki said, sounding faintly surprised, and Sam raised his eyebrows at him. Loki shrugged one shoulder. In his hospital clothes they looked even narrower and bonier than usual. “That has not been my general impression. It is everyone’s favorite question, it would seem. Why? What happened?”
“They’re worried,” Sam said. Loki made a harsh, derisive sound, startling in its volume.
“They can’t abide the shame. The sensation. The smear on the family name! Horrors.” Loki’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Well. That disaster has been averted, though it is a pity doubtless that they will be unable to keep it entirely quiet. Lively gossip for their rivals, I suppose.”
“Loki,” Sam said, and stopped. “—can you just…” He rubbed his forehead. Loki’s eyes flicked away.
“I do not expect you to remain. I am not fitting company.” Loki’s voice had gone cool again. Flat and emotionless. It reminded him of the way he’d sounded over the phone. Sam grimaced.
“That’s not what I…you freaked me out, you know.”
Loki snorted. “You could never afford that rent without me.”
Sam felt a flash of anger and narrowed his eyes in Loki’s direction. “Stop,” he said. “It’s not funny, and I’m not laughing. I thought you might be dead.”
Loki’s eyes slid away. He looked uncomfortable, and Sam caught his fingers playing with the edge of one bandage. “…of course,” he said, after a moment, though there was something tight to his voice. “I do not mean to be…insensitive.”
That’s not the point, Sam wanted to say, but couldn’t. Didn’t know what he could and couldn’t say and had a feel that a lot of it was going to have to wait. The silence stretched out and felt heavy and uncomfortable. “How are you doing,” Sam asked, awkwardly, and knew the minute it was out it was the wrong question, but couldn’t take it back. Loki’s eyes snapped back to him, and there was a sudden flush in his too pale cheeks.
“How am I – how do you think? Terrible. Weak and pathetic and helpless. I am watched at all times. I am being watched now. My ever considerate father has assigned me a therapist and declared that I must speak with him.” Loki took a deep breath, and Sam saw that his fists were clenched. “I hate them,” Loki said, barely audible. “All of them. For doing this to me. And most of all-” He cut off. Then, even quieter, he said, “I’m sorry.” His skin looked almost the same color as his bandages. He looked small and sick and tired. Sam rubbed his forehead and sat down.
“For what?” he said, quietly. Loki snorted, and there was something sharp and brittle about his voice.
“Isn’t that obvious? For burdening you. I am not your responsibility, Sam, nor ever have been-”
“No,” Sam interrupted, though he felt tired, tired, tired. “You’re my friend,” and Loki stopped talking and stared at him, blankly, like no one had ever really said that to him before. Then he looked down again.
“I am fine,” he said, and then corrected, “I will be fine.”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Good.” He paused, and looked out the window to give Loki a break, though he kept watching him out of the corner of his eye, noticed his hands fidgeting with the sheets. “I’m glad you called me,” he said, after a moment of quiet. Loki’s head jerked in what might have been a nod.
“I was not going to call my parents.” His tone tried to make it a joke. It didn’t work very well.
“I’m glad you called me,” Sam said again, and Loki’s shoulders slipped down and he looked at Sam, dropped his gaze and looked at him again out of the corner of his eye.
“Are you?”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I am.”