The Archive of my Fandom Fuckery

Neither of them have had breakfast yet – Sam is usually more on top of it with getting Jamie food quickly after he’s taken his meds, but he’d been more focused on making sure Jamie took them in the first place – so they go through a drive through and get something that is definitely not on their diet plan.

While he munches on a pastry and drives, Sam calls Ted on speaker phone. It only takes two rings for Ted to pick up with a: “Howdy there, Sam. I hope everythin’s alrighty over there.”

“Yes, coach, we are well,” Sam assures him. “We won’t be in for training today.”

“Yeah, Isaac told me, do wish Jamie the best. I hope he’ll be feeling better this weekend, ‘cause we’re gonna need him to kick some serious Everton butt,” Ted replies. “Did you know y’all haven’t won in Everton for 60 years? That’s long enough for that dry spell to become a granddaddy, a great-grand daddy if you’re in a small Christian town.”

“Coach, everyone but you knew tha’,” Jamie interjects. “Richmond’s shit playing at Everton is practically legendary. Not even Roy could change it when he got ‘ere.”

“Hiya, Jamie! Ain’t I glad to hear your voice. How’re you doing, bud?” Ted greets as cheerful as ever. It seems like has taken Sam’s words to heart and is trying. Makes Sam feel better about his decision to try and get Jamie to stay.

“’ello, coach,” Jamie returns the greeting with an eye roll. “I’m sound.”

“And I’m sight!” Ted responds, thinking himself hilarious probably. “And I’m also optimism. We don’t just have Roy now, we got you and Dani and Sam and a whole team of boys that are rearing to go. Everton won’t know what hit it.”

Sam can see Jamie do a pleased wiggle in his seat at being named first in that list after Roy and he smiles at the sight. He doesn’t pull attention to it, though, instead getting them back to the topic he called for – it’s easy to get off topic whenever Ted is involved in a conversation – and says: “We will be there, coach. But we will be coming to the hotel ourselves, not taking the bus with the rest of the team. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Problem? Never,” Ted says immediately, much to his relief. One upside to Ted being an unconventional coach is that he allows for stuff like this, you truly cannot get away with something like this at another club. “May I ask what the reason is or are we keeping it locked up? ‘Cause let me tell you, I’m not Tom Cruise and I will not Mission Impossible my way into figuring it out.”

Instead of answering, Sam looks at Jamie, quirking a brow. When he realizes it’s up to him Jamie pulls an expression that is a mix between being annoyed and being touched. Then he says: “We’re gonna see mummy,” with an excitement in his voice Sam hasn’t heard before.

It seems like Jamie is also starting to feel the thrill of doing this, is starting to feel the anticipation. This was a good choice to make.

“Well, that’s a mighty fine reason. Sometimes a man just needs to hug his mama, ain’t no shame in that. Do tell her hi from me,” Ted says in his very Ted way. In moments like these, you can count on him to take information without blinking.

“Don’t think she’d want to. She probably thinks you’re a wanker, but I’ll pass it along,” Jamie replies with no regard for politeness.

“I’m sure she’d be delighted, coach,” Sam does reply with politeness.

“I’m sure she won’t be, but that will not stop me from passing on my hello, ‘cause my mama would yell at me for raising me better if I didn’t, so now we both got something going on,” Ted says entirely nonplussed by the idea that Jamie’s mom thinks he’s a wanker.

“Whatever.”

“We’ll see you at the hotel tomorrow,” Sam says, deciding to end this conversation before it stops being pleasant.

“I look forward to it. Be sure to be back on time, I’m still letting y’all pick between a movie or a pillow fight and I got a good feeling about it being a pillow fight this time.”

Sam is pretty sure it’s not going to be a pillow fight, but he doesn’t inform Ted of that, just promises they’ll be there and bids him goodbye, before hanging up the phone. They still have four hours ahead of them today and the spirits are still high. No need to put Ted down when Sam quite likes his attempt at being both their coach without being weird.

After a few miles, the bubbly high mellows out and Sam’s heartbeat settles into something a bit calmer that is more suited to a commute than a highway flight scene. Next to him, Jamie does much the same, sagging in his seat and blinking tiredly, before falling asleep again.

Jamie might have felt bad for Sam not getting a full night’s sleep when he holds watch over him, but those half nights are more restful than the ones Jamie gets. In theory he’s gotten nearly two weeks of full nights with small interruptions over Sam’s sporadic sleeping, yet he looks more exhausted and slides into sleep easily.

Sam attempts to let Jamie sleep for most of the drive, which does result in an awkward petrol stop when Sam can’t find where to pop open the fuel door on Jamie’s fancy car. He ends up taking an ussie with a confused fan next to the car, while he googles the instructions, but ends up managing.

At the petrol station he also gets some drinks and snacks. They should be in Manchester around lunch time, so they can perhaps eat at Jamie’s mom’s place or find somewhere to eat that is closer to matching their diet plan than a petrol station sandwich.

If he’s honest, he is nervous about eating lunch with Jamie’s mom. Or meeting her in general.

He doesn’t think she will be awful and he’s sure that returning her son to her will get him a lot of brownie points, but it’s still a big deal. And he’s aware that he’s a stranger to her that will be imposing and hasn’t been very impressive.

She’s a big football fan according to Jamie and she’s surely watched all his matches. There is no way she would have missed Sam’s growing pains before the last couple of matches where he has finally started to find his rhythm. It’s silly to be worried what she’ll think of him based of his football stats, but it’s important to him. And to Jamie. So it still lingers anyway.

Furthermore, Sam has no clue how she will react to him showing up with Jamie randomly. Sam doesn’t think it will go badly – or he never would have suggested it to Jamie – but four years is a long time not to see someone and there is bound to be a lot of emotion. Now that he has convinced Jamie to go, he’s realizing what a gamble it actually is.

It doesn’t help when Jamie wakes up three hours into the drive and starts to get nervous too. He’s stretching out his pajama shirt even further than it already is as he jiggles his leg. “Wha’ if she’s mad at meh? For not calling or owt, I mean.”

As nervous as Sam is himself, he stuffs it all down and assures Jamie: “She’s not going to be mad. She might be overwhelmed, but she won’t be mad. And we can always go if you want to,” he tacks on, because as much as he thinks this is going to go well, he doesn’t want Jamie to think he cannot leave if he is uncomfortable.

“Fuck tha’. I don’t got to leave mummy, she’s brill,” Jamie defends her with conviction, which soothes both their nerves. Jamie’s still fiddly, but that’s to be expected. This is a big moment.

With Jamie awake, he starts meddling with the music and demanding his part of the snacks Sam got, but he also opens Sam’s bottle for him and adds his music request to the queue. It’s more fun with Jamie awake. Sam has always wanted to go on a road trip and this feels pretty close.

When they hit the city, Jamie tenses and perks up at the same time, looking around at the street and telling Sam to take a different route than what the GPS is telling him.

The further they get into the city, the more the houses start to become older and the more potholes are in the roads. Jamie’s car and lifestyle feel so out of place here, but Jamie himself looks at home, his face relaxed and his eyes sparkling as he points out places: “Tha’s where me and me mates would sneak in for a beer when we were lads,” or “We climbed over tha’ wall when running from the bizzies once,” and then more worrying, “Mummy would always try to meet me ‘ere when I walked home from training. Didn’t like me crossing the bridge alone.”

Finally they pull up in a street filled with attached houses, all in different stages of disrepair with abandoned furniture in the yards as well as carefully maintained flower boxes or overgrown grass. Jamie swallows as he looks around.

He catches Sam also looking and is suddenly defensive as he says: “I offered to buy mummy a house in a better neighborhood. She didn’t want to leave. I send her money.”

“I don’t doubt that you do,” Sam tells him kindly. He hadn’t been judging him, just trying to form a mental image of a young Jamie growing up here. He hadn’t put much thought into where Jamie is from and it’s strange to have found himself in Jamie’s childhood. It is very unlike his own and he’s sure Jamie would feel similar being in Sam’s childhood neighborhood.

Jamie assesses him for a moment, before deeming him sincere and he turns to throw open the car door. He gets out still in his pajamas and with unstyled hair, not giving a singular fuck, despite usually being so conscious about his appearance. Sam quickly follows suit, locking the car behind them, since he figures they can easily grab their bags later.

They don’t make it a few meters, before three boys – brothers by the looks of them – appear in front of them all dressed in Man City blue. The eldest and defacto ringleader steps in front of Jamie, frowning at him, before demanding: “Are you Jamie Tartt?”

“Yeah,” Jamie replies in an equally hostile tone, unlike what he usually would put on with kids coming to visit or in the crowds.

The boy isn’t put off in the slightest by it, giving Jamie a full one over as if he’s not convinced. “Why would Jamie Tartt be ‘ere?”

“’Cause I’m visiting me mum,” Jamie answers, nodding his head. “She lives right up there. I grew up ‘ere, practiced me goals over there.” He points over at a wall with a sign that reads ‘NO BALL GAMES’. He smirks: “Old man Garreth put tha’ shit up ‘cause I kept kicking balls into his yard, the grumpy bastard.”

As he talks, their wary expressions fall, making place for awe, and Sam realizes Jamie wasn’t being hostile, but meeting them on their level, because he used to be them once upon a time.

“You grew up ‘ere?” the middle repeats like he can’t believe it. “We live in the same street as Jamie Tartt?”

“Yeah, lad,” Jamie smirks, looking very pleased with himself.

“Tha’s so cool!” the kid exclaims. “Me mates are never gonna believe this.”

“”ere, I can sign your kits, they’ll believe you then,” Jamie offers, which the boys all eagerly take him up on, turning so Jamie can sign the back of their kits with a marker he dug out from somewhere. Of course Jamie carries a marker with him everywhere, even when in pajamas.

While he’s signing their kits, the three eagerly tell him about their own footie skills and about how Man City is going to win the whole thing, as well as how Jamie’s been playing amazing for Richmond ‘the only bright spot,’ as the youngest calls it, having no shame in the fact that Sam is also right there. Apparently it’s the culture here, Sam finds himself thinking with a raised brow, caught between amused, mildly offended and being embarrassed by feeling offended to begin with.

Once Jamie is done signing, he tells the three to be good and get back to their classes. Sam hadn’t even realized it was a school day and they definitely shouldn’t be out here at all, but Jamie acts like it’s normal, so he doesn’t say anything.

They stand and watch until the kids disappear into a tunnel, before Jamie takes a deep breath to steel himself. He leads them over to one of the porches, where he hesitates for a moment. Then he quickly rings the doorbell, before he can change his mind.

Sam and Jamie both wait with held breath as inside they start to hear footsteps. Sam can’t help the small noise of surprise when the door opens to reveal a tall, friendly looking man. Jamie had never mentioned there being a man, but one glance at Jamie tells him that Jamie isn’t surprised.

Instead of surprised, Jamie looks bashful and sheepish, greeting the man with a: “Uhm, how you doing, Simon?” The unknown name on the suicide letters, Sam notes. “Been a while, eh? Is- Is it okay to come in? I know we didn’t call ahead… didn’t call much at all, really, but I were wondering if mummy’s home. If she’d- If she’d even want to see-”

“Jamie!” Simon cuts Jamie off before he can finish asking the question, wrapping him in a big hug that nearly knocks Jamie off balance.

Sam keeps to the background as the two reunite, watching as as Jamie freezes for a moment, before he hugs Simon back. He doesn’t know who Simon is exactly, but he likes him.

“What was that, love? Someone at the door?” a woman’s voice drifts down from upstairs as another set of footsteps comes towards them. This must be Jamie’s mom.

He can see Jamie let go of Simon to stare at the top of the stairs waiting for her to appear. His face is a mix of longing, excitement and anxiety. He looks like a boy again.

Simon gathers his bearings and calls back: “Georgie, come quickly! It’s a miracle.”

“A miracle? Who is it then?” the voice asks as the footsteps come faster. Then she appears, stopping in her tracks at the sight. Her hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing tight jeans and a tight camisole, hoop earrings in her ears. She’s a lot younger than Sam expected and she has a friendly face… even if the face crumbles when seeing Jamie standing at the door with a nervous smile on his face.

“Hello, mummy,” he says, which is enough to make her unfreeze.

Georgie practically flies down the stairs, throwing herself into Jamie’s arms without hesitation as Jamie picks her up and spins her around without missing a beat. He doesn’t let her go and she doesn’t either, wrapping herself around him as she cries into his shoulder: “Oh my god, Jamie, my sexy little baby!”

“I’m sorreh, mummy,” Jamie murmurs, also crying as he sways the two of them back and forth. “I’m so, so sorreh.”

In return, Georgie cards her hands through his hair as she whispers back: “It’s okay, love, you’re home now. I got you. I got you.”

It’s such a personal moment that Sam looks away. It’s exactly what he had hoped her reaction would be, exactly what Jamie needed from her, but it’s still twists something in his chest to see it play out like this before him. Both of them are so wrapped up in each other and the relief of having the other in their arms again is coming off them in waves.

He meets Simon’s eyes, which are fond and Simon comments with a knowing smile: “Oh, there they go. Here, I’m Simon, Jamie’s step dad.”

Sam shakes the hand that is held out for him, mentally filing away the knowledge that this is normal for Jamie and his mom. “I’m Sam, I’m Jamie’s teammate.”

“I know, we watch all your matches. You’ve really improved since the start of the season,” Simon tells him.

“Oh, uhm, thank you,” Sam replies.

With the two of them talking, it seems that Jamie remembers Sam is there, while Georgie’s scope of awareness widens. She picks up her head from where it had been buried in Jamie’s neck and gives Sam a warm smile, while Jamie gestures: “Mummy, this is Sam. He’s been looking out for me these past few weeks.”

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’d come and give you a hug, but I’m not letting go of this one,” she greets, squealing a bit at the end as she hugs Jamie close to her again. All Jamie does is grin wider. Sam doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this happy. “Oh, look at your gorgeous face! I love it.”

“Right, who wants some sweet treats,” Simon steps in, herding everyone further into the house.

Sam has no clue how to operate in this situation. He is close with his father, but it is very unlike the relationship Jamie seems to have with his mom and he realizes he definitely doesn’t fit in anywhere in this whole dynamic. Sure, he got Jamie here, but his whole body feels like when you’re giving a presentation and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

Jamie carries Georgie to the living room, where the two topple onto the couch. Georgie gets comfortable and Jamie curls into her side without hesitation. They might not have spoken in years, but the attachment is still there. The closeness is still there. Despite all the things Jamie’s dad has done to him, it is clear he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t unloved.

Georgie gathers him up in her arms and pulls him close to her. She pets his cheek as she looks down to him, eyes sympathetic and teary as she softly asks: “What happened to my baby? Where did you go?”

The words make Jamie tear up and he buries his face into her stomach. Sam can see the way his fingers claw in the back of her camisole. “I’m sorreh, mummy. I- I didn’t mean- I didn’t- I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, baby, you can never hurt me,” she says, fingers sliding through his strands of hair.

At the words, Jamie lets out a choked off noise and Sam is pretty sure he recognizes those shoulder shakes as him crying. Georgie sends him a sidelong glance, a protective glint in her eyes. She’s checking to see what Sam is thinking.

This isn’t the first time Sam is witnessing Jamie cry. He wouldn’t say he’s gotten used to it, since there is a particular aching sadness to Jamie’s crying that always strikes a nerve with Sam, but these aren’t the heart wrenching sobs Jamie will let out in the middle of a break down. Instead it’s a small heartbreak at the realization it didn’t have to be like this. That he missed out on something good and it doesn’t feel like it’s ever going to get better.

Sam can’t help the sympathetic look in his own eyes when he meets Georgie’s and she softens as they share it. If it’s a test, he passed.

On the wall, there is a giant photo of Jamie, which is surrounded by smaller photo’s of Jamie. Sam never doubted that Georgie loves her son, but the practical shrine to him would assuage any worry he had. She has followed his career and life from when he was a baby until now, never letting up even when Jamie disappeared on her.

There are baby pictures and pictures of Jamie as a boy – much like Jamie said before, he’s dressed in Man City blue, just like the kids outside had been – but there are also pictures of him on the pitch, sweaty and determined. Next to those are pictures he posted on social media, or from the modeling campaigns he has done. Everything he has ever pursued, is being supported and celebrated on that wall.

Simon returns with a plate of cereal bars that he presents to Sam, assuring him they won’t be too far out of his diet plan, if he still remembers right from Jamie’s academy days. He doesn’t ignore Jamie’s tears, but he doesn’t linger on them either. He crouches down next to the couch and rubs a hand firmly over Jamie’s shoulder in comfort, telling him that there’s one for him on the coffee table too and he’ll put his tea down there as well.

“Cheers,” Jamie whispers, not poking his head up, but responding regardless, which makes Georgie and Simon share a smile, naked relief on their faces.

“So,” Simon says to fill the silence, turning to Sam as he asks: “How have you been finding England? Much more dreary than Nigeria I imagine.”

“The weather is certainly much colder, but I run warm,” Sam replies. “I mostly miss my family, but we call a lot. And I have been making food from home, which helps. Though, it is not what people here are used to. The spicy food was a bit too much for Colin, I think.”

“”Cause he’s a fucking pussy,” Jamie comments, voice muffled. “Unlike me.”

“He did need a lot of milk,” Sam concedes with amusement. Jamie’s pride on being able to eat the jollof is quite funny.

“You like cooking then?” Simon asks. “I’m more of a baker myself, but I’m always willing to try something new in the kitchen.”

“I do,” Sam answers. “And I can tell, this is delicious,” he holds up the cereal bar.

They talk more about the differences between cooking and baking, while Sam tries not to be obvious about how he keeps checking in with how Jamie is doing. If he’s still doing well.

Every time he looks, Jamie is still there, curled up in his mom’s arms, half draped over her lap. He’s quiet and withdrawn, but relaxed as he melts into her, clinging to her tightly. Sam doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. There is so much still left unsaid between them and he has brought Jamie here because he wanted to have a talk with his mom about a big choice he has to make. One that could impact so much. Sam isn’t sure how they’re going to bring that up.

However, unlike Sam, Georgie has dealt with Jamie and his mental health for much longer than two weeks and she must decide that whatever is on Jamie’s mind, he’ll tell her more easily without an audience there, because she smiles at Simon and suggests: “Babes, do you wanna give Sam the grand tour? You could show him around a bit.”

“Yes, good idea. Thank- oops,” Simon replies, getting to his feet and knocking his head against the lamp above the table. He chuckles and Sam does the same, also getting up.

Simon shakes the mishap off well and says: “Right, follow me. We will start in the kitchen, aka my laboratory,” he does sparkle fingers.

“I’d like that,” Sam tells him, sending one last glance over his shoulder to where Jamie is, hoping that he will feel better when Sam returns from having a look inside Jamie’s old home.

“I’ve just got a new bain-marie, and it’s copper-plated,” Simon informs him as he leads him to the kitchen, clearly delighted by that fact. Sam can’t blame him, that is some nice cookware.

He tries not to feel too much like an invader as Simon leads him from room to room, rambling as they go and telling him childhood stories about Jamie. Well, later teen stories about Jamie. Apparently Simon started dating Georgie when Jamie was fifteen, nearly sixteen. Sam tells Simon that Jamie helped him with his offensive football and finding his self confidence.

Neither of them mention the suicide attempts and depressed days that underline all those stories, nor the years Jamie spend no contact. The strangeness of Sam being here, of Jamie being here again, goes unacknowledged.

Until they hit Jamie’s room.

Sam immediately spots the poster Jamie told him about, the one of Roy. He has a mullet in it and growls at the camera as he always does. It’s strange to see it. To have it be real. A part of Sam thought Jamie had been exaggerating his fanboy tendencies. However, here is the proof. The poster itself. The one Jamie talked to… The one that kept him alive.

Simon notices him looking and says: “Ah, yes. Many posters have come and gone over the years. Henry, Gerrard, Ronaldo. But Roy Kent always remains.”

“He’s been helping Jamie too,” Sam hears himself saying absentmindedly, as he stands in front of the poster, staring at it. “We’ve been making sure he’s not alone at night, for the nightmares. And just generally not leaving him alone.”

“That’s good,” Simon says, sitting down on the bed. He gestures for Sam to do the same. “Please, how is our Jamie doing?”

~~

A/N:

Jamie not being run out of Man City means having the little boys at the council estate as his fans, my beloved <3

“Nothing maybe about it. Now stop freaking him out.”

Annoyed, Jamie once again scowls: “I said I weren’t freaked out!”

“The stitching on your shirt is practically fucking ruined, Jamie. You’re freaking out,” Roy informs him bluntly.

Both Sam and Jamie look at the hem of Jamie’s shirt, as Roy pointed out, the stitching is almost entirely plucked out. Jamie’s cheeks pinken and he lies: “It were already like tha’.”

“Sure,” Roy snorts, not believing him for a moment, before taking a sip of tea and focusing back on going through his own phone.

As much as Sam hates to admit it, having Roy be so casual about the whole thing does help calm him down a bit. Roy has a lot more experience with this world and it would make sense for Ms. Welton to want to check in with a player after they nearly committed suicide during training. However, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s jittery when him and Jamie drive to the Dogtrack.

They don’t stop by the locker rooms, heading up to Ms. Welton’s office immediately instead. Putting it off any longer won’t make either of them feel better (and Ms. Welton can be a little scary. She said before training, so they’re there before training).

“Come in,” she calls out after Jamie knocks, smiling at him, before her eyes fall on Sam and she quirks a brow. “Sam, nice to see you. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, uhm, no,” Sam says awkwardly, suddenly reminded of the fact that he was not requested to talk to her, but walked with Jamie, because he has grown used to doing so and Jamie can’t go by himself.

“Sam’s like one of those dogs with anxiety issues, can’t leave ‘im alone,” Jamie tells her like that is a normal thing to say, especially to their boss, smirk on his lips as he looks at Sam. He understands that Jamie has masks thicker than walls and will be a bit of prick and cover himself in arrogance to cover when he’s feeling nervous, but does he have to do this now? In front of Ms. Welton?

Mortification grips Sam’s spirit and squeaks: “Oh my god, no. I am merely walking with him here. We, uh- we aren’t leaving him alone.”

“Dramatic twats,” Jamie whispers, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Throughout all this, Ms. Welton has looked at the two of them with a politely baffled expression on her face. When they stop talking, she gives them a tight smile and says: “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him while we talk.”

“Yes, of course,” Sam says, flashing her a tight lipped smile back. He gets the hint; get out. With one final look at Jamie, he leaves the office, closing the door behind him.

Just because he’s not a part of this conversation doesn’t mean he leaves. Ms. Welton is a busy woman, she might not have time to accompany Jamie back to the locker room or pitch and Jamie is stubborn enough to go alone and Sam still has no clue what this talk will be about, so who knows how Jamie will come out of it.

Besides, he’s way too nervous to go join training, he’ll be worried the whole time, even if it’s silly. Roy is probably right and this is probably nothing. She is just checking in with Jamie. She isn’t going to do anything. She is the owner, she wants the club to do well.

It’s easy to convince himself of that at first, but then the meeting goes on for longer and longer.

The office is sound proof, so he has no clue what’s going on in there. He just paces back and forth and tries really hard not to imagine everything horrible that could be happening in there right now. He doesn’t think that Ms. Welton poses any physical danger to Jamie when alone in that room, but he’s still anxious about how she could impact Jamie in the long run. What she might have decided that needed to be discussed and how it can change Jamie’s life. For better or worse.

After an hour, Sam is just about ready to crawl out of his skin. He’s saved from doing so by the door opening to reveal Jamie.

He looks like shit.

Even without looking closely, he can tell that Jamie has been crying. Not only that, but his whole stance is just off. He looks lost. It’s the only way Sam can describe it.

“What happened?” he asks worriedly, looking between Jamie and the office behind him, as if he will find answers in the air.

“Uhm, she, uh- she offered to buy out me contract,” Jamie finally says, voice hoarse.

That… That is not what Sam expected Jamie’s answer to be. “What?”

Jamie blinks the vacant look away and looks Sam in the eye. He repeats: “She offered to buy out me contract. At the end of the season I mean. Make me a proper greyhound and shit. I, uh- I got till the end of the trading window to think ‘bout it, in case Richmond gets relegated, you get me. But, uh, yeah, tha’.”

Sam needs a moment to process it all. That is a lot, but at the same time… “Isn’t that good, though, Jamie?”

“What?”

More hesitant, Sam says: “Isn’t that good, though? I know Richmond is not the club you want to play at and Man City is your childhood club, but it could be a good thing, right? That you can stay here and not have to go back there?”

“Maybe,” Jamie shrugs, not meeting Sam’s eyes. “I dunno.”

“Well, you don’t have to decide yet,” Sam tells him, wrapping an arm around him and leading him away from that office. As he does, he throws a look over his shoulder and sees Rebecca dabbing at her mascara, as if she cried too. What happened in there?

They’re quiet as they make their way to the locker room and get changed. Jamie is lost in thought and Sam feels much the same. If Jamie gets to stay here after this season, that would take a huge weight off Sam’s shoulders, of everyone’s shoulders.

However, he also would understand if Jamie wouldn’t want to. Much like Sam, switching clubs would be a hit for his career. He is a rising star for Man City, it’s the whole reason he got send down to Richmond to begin with. When he makes he back, he’ll actually be played, unlike Sam. And being a starter for a club like Man City carries a lot more prestige than being a starter for AFC Richmond.

Football is the thing Jamie lives for, the one thing that carries him through each day. He’ll still have football here, but it would be harder to make it big, unless they listen to Ted and start believing in miracles, which Sam is still on the fence on and he knows Jamie thinks it’s horseshit.

He honestly doesn’t know what Jamie will end up doing or what to think about it all.

Once they get to the pitch, Ted takes one look at their muted spirits and frowns. “Ahw heck, you fellas haven’t been fighting, have you?” He gestures to his own face as he nods at them and Sam is reminded that alongside the bruise on Jamie’s face, which paints an aggressive picture with the scabs left over from his suicide attempt, Sam also has a tender nose.

Sam touches his nose gently, wincing for a second, before looking back at Ted. “Oh, no. Uhm, nightmare mishap.”

Ted pulls a sympathetic face, which causes Jamie to scowl at him, before he starts his laps to avoid Ted saying something. That just turns Ted’s expression into that of a kicked puppy and he asks Sam: “Is he okay?”

“As okay as he can be,” Sam answers honestly. With what Jamie told him and the night they had, not to mention the bombshell from Ms. Welton, Jamie is probably doing the best he can. “Just a lot is going on, that’s all.”

“Roy said Rebecca wanted to talk to him,” Ted says. “Now, Rebecca’s a miracle worker, that woman, pfew,” he whistles. “I don’t doubt she’s doing her best too, but she wouldn’t tell me anything when I asked her what that would be about during biscuits with the boss – which is where I bribe her with some homemade sweets, get on her good side.” He winks and Sam can’t help but laugh.

He doesn’t tell Ted what Ms. Welton offered Jamie either. With everything, he figures it would best for Jamie to be the one to tell other people, especially Ted. So he just says: “I should get to my laps, before Jamie calls me out for slacking.”

“Oi, slacker!” Jamie calls out from the other side of the field as if he could sense it. He sounds upbeat, having shaken off his earlier mood with a bit of movement. Sam hopes it sticks.

“I was putting my bottle down,” Sam lies as he quickly starts running too.

Jamie is energized all throughout training, throwing his all into the drills and scrimmage. He’s singlehandedly pulling everyone along, since Everton is starting to creep over them like a dark cloud. It is a match they are bound to lose and it’s hard to find the motivation. He even seems to have accepted Dani’s cheerful presence. The assurance Dani is not here to replace him must have helped.

Sam doesn’t know why Jamie is throwing himself into it, but he’s not going to prod just yet. Football is his escape and he has a lot he is running from, Sam doesn’t begrudge him that.

He notices that Jamie doesn’t mention Ms. Welton’s offer to anyone, neatly sidestepping Ted and Roy all day. Sam also doesn’t know what that means.

That night Jeff and Keeley come over to watch over Jamie. There aren’t many teammates Jamie wanted around, but Jeff is someone that he’d been close to already. With his wife and kids he isn’t too available, but he was able to make it work tonight.

In the morning, Keeley tells him that Jeff’s first shift had been peaceful, but that Jamie had a nightmare during hers. She calmed him down, but he didn’t want to talk about it. That doesn’t surprise Sam, getting Jamie to talk is like pulling teeth and he doubts Jamie wants to tell Keeley about his rape.

A part of him worries they made a mistake in encouraging Jamie to talk about it. This is his third nightmare in a row and the bruise on his eyebrow is further accentuated by the bags under his eyes. He doesn’t look great.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks softly when he is watching Jamie take his meds then wash his face with his new face wash.

Jamie pauses and looks at him, scowl on his face. “I’m fine,” he says with a clipped tone, before going back to washing his face.

“It’s okay if you aren’t,” Sam tells him, leaning against the doorframe.

“I know,” Jamie grits.

“You can talk to me,” Sam adds, pushing more despite Jamie’s clear attempts to shut down the conversation. He’s the one that convinced Jamie to dredge up what happened in Amsterdam, it wouldn’t feel right to not offer comfort or a listening ear.

Again, Jamie pauses, letting out a deep sigh. He turns to look at Sam and Sam can see he is trying really hard not to scowl as much as he wants to. “I know,” he repeats. “And it’s dead sweet of you to be worried, yeah, but I don’t wanna talk right now.”

Sam studies him closely. The exhaustion is still pulling at his eyes, but his eyes themselves are clear and genuine. Sam has become good at spotting when Jamie is hiding something and needs to be prodded, but he sincerely means this. He nods: “Okay. But I’m here if you want.”

“Cheers,” Jamie smiles, before turning back to the sink. He says: “Are you not going to wash your face? Jus’ realized I’ve never seen you do it.”

“I don’t wash my face. I do that when I shower,” Sam tells him, which invites shocked outrage and a cry for Keeley as the two of them hold an intervention that nearly has them running late to training.

At training, Jamie shakes off the lingering exhaustion to focus on training, but he doesn’t have the drive he had yesterday. He’s still giving it all he has, he just has less to give today. Sam watches him get quieter throughout the day until he’s running on a treadmill in the corner with his headphones in. He keeps a close eye on him, having a gut feeling where this is going.

That feeling is proven right when they get home and Jamie collapses onto the couch, staring at the ceiling without seeing it.

Sam makes sure he drinks and eats, as well as covers him in a blanket, because he knows Jamie always runs cold. He wishes there is something else that he can do for him, but he knows that there isn’t. All he can do is look after Jamie the best he can until this mood passes.

Colin and Isaac come by after dinner to hold watch. They call out greeting to Jamie and give Sam a concerned frown when he doesn’t respond.

“He’s tired,” Sam says. “Don’t take it personally. He’s run out of energy for today and is in his own head, you got to wait until it runs out. Just exist around him.”

Neither of them like that answer much, but they seem to trust Sam’s judgment, because they pull out the controls and settle in front of the couch to play some FIFA, both talking to Jamie as they pretend he’s an active participant in the activity.

It helps.

Jamie doesn’t speak for the entire evening, but Sam sees his lips twitch into a smile and when bedtime rolls around, he stumbles upstairs by himself and brushes his own teeth. It’s not much, but it’s a victory regardless.

During the night, Jamie has another nightmare. Isaac is watching him and calls Sam out of bed, explaining: “He weren’t breathing right earlier. I got him to breathe with me, but he’s not responding and he keeps crying.”

Indeed, Jamie is curled up on the bed, tucked into a ball so tight it looks like it hurts. He’s staring at the wall with unseeing eyes and tears keep leaking from the corners of his eyes. Sam understands why Isaac called for him; it looks wrong to see Jamie like this.

Sam settles on the bed next to him and softly asks: “Jamie, can I touch you?”

Jamie doesn’t respond.

A bit louder, Sam prompts: “Jamie, can I touch you? You don’t have to say anything, just nod your head or make a small noise, something to let me know that it’s okay. I won’t touch you until you give me a sign that it’s okay, I promise. So can I touch you?”

Now Jamie nods his head. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

At the gesture, Sam lets out a small sigh of relief, then allows his hand to come up to rub circles on Jamie’s back. Jamie relaxes a bit further into the mattress, but doesn’t acknowledge it in any other way. Slowly, though the crying stops and his eyelids grow heavy. Sam stays with him until he falls back asleep, then lets Isaac take over again.

When he does, he thinks that is that, but in the morning he’s proven wrong. Jamie doesn’t want to get out of bed.

“Come on, bruv, you’ll feel better with some footie,” Isaac tells him, standing next to the bed with his arms crossed.

“Hngn,” Jamie responds, burying his face in his pillow further.

“Boyo, you can’t stay in bed all day,” Colin also encourages him, shaking him back and forth. To him, Jamie doesn’t reply at all.

Sam offers him his medication, which he does take without any water to swallow it down. The three of them share a helpless look. Sam has known that Jamie gets listless sometimes, but thus far Jamie has always managed to push through for the sake of football. The fact that he isn’t now, worries him deeply.

He ends up telling Colin and Isaac to go to training and tell Ted they will be in late or maybe not at all, because he doesn’t know what else to do, but he does know that Jamie is never going to talk to him with them there.

Since he has to stay with Jamie and Jamie isn’t moving, he doesn’t see them out. Instead he sits next to Jamie on the bed and the two of them listen as the door closes behind the two other players.

Once the silence has rung through the house, Sam nudges Jamie and asks: “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?”

To his surprise and relief, Jamie rolls over and buries his face against Sam’s thigh instead of his pillow. It is his preferred position when Sam’s sitting next to him in the bed and Sam is endeared by how Jamie seeks him out, letting his hand come down to Jamie’s hair as it always does.

“It’s stupid,” Jamie finally says after a long moment, voice muffled against Sam’s training joggers.

“My father always says that if it makes you upset, it cannot be stupid,” Sam reminds him kindly. “You can be bothered by your sock being weird on your foot and I’d still want you to tell me.”

“I ain’t wearing socks,” Jamie says just to be contrary. Sam just waits him out. His patience is rewarded when Jamie speaks again: “I’m thinking ‘bout Ms. Welton’s offer.”

Sam’s heart does a little flip in his chest and excited nerves flutter through his chest. He tries to keep any sort of opinion out of his voice, but he’s not sure he fully manages to keep it neutral when he goes: “Oh, what are you thinking?”

If Jamie picks up on it, however, he doesn’t say. He just sighs and flops onto his back so he can look at the ceiling instead. There’s a complicated look on his face and after a beat, he says: “Man City’s me dad’s club, sure, but it’s also me mummy’s club. It’s one of the thing they bonded over, before she realized he were a fucking cunt.”

Jamie is quiet and contemplative. Sam gives him time to think. He has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he is willing to wait for Jamie to put it into words, while a dangerous plan is forming in the back of his mind.

Indeed, Jamie picks it back up: “She’s a right footie nut, almost worse than me really. Took me to me first footie match before I were one year old. There are loads of piccies of me as a sexy little baby dressed in sky blue.”

He gnaws on his lip, hands fiddling with the blanket he’s buried under. He looks so small, bundled up and nervous. Sam knows Jamie is older than him, but they’re peers too. The two of them are the youngest on the team and while no one ever says it, it’s a thing you feel. Sam always thought they were exaggerating when they commented on their youth, but he sees it now.

“A part of me wants to get the fuck away from ‘im,” Jamie admits quietly, voice wrecked with unshed tears. “I’m so fucking tired of trying to be good enough. Of trying to make ‘im proud. Of feeling like shit and ‘aving no one but ‘im to call. I’m tired, Sam.”

“It’s okay to be tired, to want to be done with him,” Sam whispers, hand finding Jamie’s hair again after it slipped out when he moved earlier. He wants to show support, encourage Jamie, but not break his line of thought too much.

They’re on the brink of something here.

“But…” Jamie trails off to think for a moment, “but it’d feel like I were leaving ‘er too. Man City- It’s the only thing we share anymore, you get me?”

Sam takes a breath, but before he can respond, Jamie says: “Nevermind. It’s stupid. I ain’t fucking over me career jus’ to get away from dad. We’re gonna get destroyed by Everton this weekend, probably gonna get relegated too wi’ tha’ rodeo clown at the wheel. So it don’t matter anyway.”

“I think it does matter,” Sam says when Jamie is done. The plan that had formed before growing clearer in his mind.

“You do?” Jamie replies, confused.

“I do,” Sam confirms. “You might not want to come to Richmond and that’s your decision, but wouldn’t you want to have the option? We’ve been playing pretty well and with Dani here, I think Richmond might surprise you.”

“Now you sound like Lasso,” he scoffs with a smirk.

“Am I wrong, though?” Sam counters.

Jamie pulls a face, then rolls his eyes, before muttering: “Guess not.” A beat. “What do you suggest then, I just said I couldn’t wi’ mummy and all.”

“Why don’t we go see her?”

“What?”

“Yes, skip practice and drive to Manchester to go visit. I’m sure coach wouldn’t mind as long as we are there for the match. You could talk to her, ask her what she thinks. Maybe share something other than Man City with her again,” Sam says, getting more passion for his idea as he does.

He knows it’s a long shot and a dangerous thing to push, but Jamie loves his mom so much and he just knows that she loves him too and would want him there. Even if it doesn’t push Jamie to come to Richmond after this season, he’ll have a person in his corner up in Manchester. Someone who isn’t his dad.

Jamie looks at him like he’s out of his mind and he says: “I can’t jus’ show up on ‘er doorstep, are you fucking mental?”

Sam counters: “I actually have a card from her that tells me to sit with you until I can get you to her, so we got an invitation when you think about it.”

A war is waging behind Jamie’s eyes. Sam knows he wants to see her, wants to have her close. He just convinced himself he couldn’t have that. That he’s like his dad and will only hurt her. But he’s wrong.

He nudges him and waits until Jamie looks him in the eyes, before he takes his final gamble: “She doesn’t blame you for that arm, Jamie. You didn’t do that to her. She just wants you to come home and let her know you’re okay.”

The silence hangs between them as Jamie looks at him with wide eyes, letting the words hit him as Sam holds his breath. This is the point where Jamie starts yelling at him to stop being a nosy fucking arsehole or the moment they are setting another huge step forwards.

After what feels like forever, Jamie swallows, his voice is rough around the edges, but a smile is creeping in as he says: “You’re a pushy fucker, mate, but sure. Let’s skive off to see mummy.”

~~

A/N:

Moehahaha, it was a fake out, Rebecca isn’t pulling the plug on Jamie’s loan (can u imagine if she did though, that would have been wild, but no). I think that having someone try to commit suicide in front of you and citing one of the reasons they would die is not succeeding here, would put some stuff into perspective.

“You should have heard him in those fucking voicemails, seen those texts. The shit that bastard thinks is just okay to say to someone,” Roy seethes. “If I ever get my fucking hands on him…”

Sam remembers walking in on Jamie listening to one of those voice mails, listening to his dad berate him for playing like shit while he hadn’t, because he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t miss it if his dad needed anything from him. He hums in agreement, because while he is not a hateful person, he does hate Jamie’s dad.

“We can probably get a restraining order for Jamie against the fucker,” Roy says. “My sister, she- Her ex-husband is a piece of shit. I helped her get one.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam tells him softly, because Roy’s sister shouldn’t have had to go through such a thing and Roy didn’t have to bring it up. But Sam gets why he did. Why Roy is so angry about what is happening with Jamie beyond the general horror at it.

“Cheers,” Roy grunts uncomfortably, then moves on. “Took me forever to fucking convince her and it doesn’t always do shit, ‘cause the pigs fucking suck, but it’s something. You can’t just force someone, though. It has to come from them. And Jamie won’t fucking go for it, because he wants his dad to fucking like him. He didn’t even report-”

Roy cuts off his increasingly angry rant, choking when he has to say it. When it comes to forcing the words out.

“He didn’t report the rape,” Sam does it for him, because he can get why it’s hard to say, but his father always told him you should name the bad things. Tell people what it is and not let them muffle it away by pretending it’s less severe.

“Yeah,” Roy chokes and they fall silent.

“Jamie knows his dad is horrible,” Sam suddenly says and Roy finally looks to him, instead of staring out into the room. Sam doesn’t think it has anything to do with him. Roy and Jamie are the same. They don’t feel comfortable talking to anyone about anything, looking away helps.

And Jamie is still right there between them. Sam is glad he’s looking at the back of his head. That he doesn’t have to look at his peaceful expression as he sleeps and be reminded of the fact that his dad saw that and thought it was okay to do any of it.

“He does?” Roy asks skeptically as he eyes Jamie for a moment. Jamie hasn’t done much to convince Roy he does, but Sam still remembers that first screamed confession.

“He does,” Sam confirms. “He knows his dad is horrible and shit, he told me. He just doesn’t think he has any other options.”

Roy frowns at that and gruffly replies: “Why the fuck not? We’re all fucking here watching him. He doesn’t need that fucking piece of shit.”

Sam lets out a deep sigh, staring at the ceiling for a moment, before he turns back. His voice is tired in its pragmatism as he reminds Roy: “And his loan will be up by the end of the season and he hasn’t spoken to his mom in years. The club doesn’t know either and we’ll be fours hour away.”

Next to him, Roy processes the words for a moment, then passionately curses: “Fuck!”

“I know,” Sam chuckles humorlessly. He’d hated it when Jamie gave that same argument and he hasn’t figured out how to help Jamie build up a support system without his dad in Manchester either.

He glances over to Roy to find him with a stubborn frown on his face, probably turning the problem over in his head as well. After a beat, he says: “I could call Pep. I still have his number, he’ll hear me out.”

Unlike Sam, Roy has connections and clout in this world. He’s an established legend, whose impressive presence has rung through the league for over two decades. Even growing up half a world away, hasn’t left Sam oblivious to the power house that is Roy Kent. If he tells, they’ll believe him. For a large part of this, that influence is what Sam had been missing to push Jamie to talk and get help.

Sam isn’t a legend with clout and impact, he’s a new player from Africa. A young black man, who hasn’t been performing like people want him to until recently and whose presence does not inspire awe or respect. He knows how this world works and he knows he won’t get what Roy has, so to have his backing offered so freely is tempting, however…

“What if they don’t understand they can’t make him go to a psych ward?” he whispers, hands subconsciously holding Jamie closer to him. “They could make him. They could not listen or not understand, like Ted has. They might think we can’t help him here and recall his loan. They got power over him, Roy.”

Roy’s face contorts with anger, before he takes a deep breath and counts to ten. His jaw is still set, but he concedes: “You’re right. It’s a risk.” … “Fuck!”

“Maybe-” Sam starts, hesitating. He has been trying to come up with things, but never really figured out a way to make them work. But now Roy is there, listening to him. It’s not just powerless Sam without a voice, he has people in his corner willing to listen, willing to trust. “Maybe we can try and get Jamie to talk to his mom again. Or if that doesn’t work, you can see if you can use having Pep’s phone number to get me transferred to Man City with Jamie.”

He holds very few illusions about that last one. Roy might be Roy Fucking Kent, but Man City is a prestigious club with a talent pool so deep their benches are filled with players who’d be the star on other teams. Sam might have had a few good matches, but he is young and has been underperforming most of the season. Even if Roy got him on the team, he’d likely never play and never make it big. He can say goodbye to making the Nigerian team.

“Let’s not fuck up your career like that,” Roy grunts. “The prick clearly misses the shit out of her, we can get him to talk to her. It’s a good plan.”

“Thank you,” Sam says, secretly relieved Roy wants to go for it.

During his therapy session, Dr. Fieldstone asked if he valued doing the right thing. Sam likes to think that he does. That his father raised him to be a good man and stand up for what is right. Selfishly, though, he doesn’t want to have to make the choice where he has to give up the chance he has here at Richmond to make a name for himself. Football is his life too. It’s a sport that contains his hopes and dreams.

Still, Jamie is his friend and he loves him. It would destroy him, if he decided to stay with Richmond and help Jamie from a distance and that choice got Jamie killed. He does want to do the right thing, even if it can cost him, even if he might regret the chance he wasted and resent Jamie for it. He doesn’t want to see him gone. Never that. If Jamie doesn’t have anyone when he goes back, Sam might just follow him.

“You should go to sleep,” Roy grunts when the lull in conversation lasts after Sam’s thank you. Neither of them can do anything about that right now.

“Goodnight,” Sam murmurs, closing his eyes again. Everything that happened today still swirls around his head, but it doesn’t feel quite as oppressive anymore. They’re going to try to help Jamie. Sam has his back. He is never going to be alone with all the shit that happened to him again.

“Goodnight.”

Sometime later, Sam gets woken up. It’s not by Roy to signal it’s his turn to hold watch, but because Jamie wrenches himself from his hold. It is something that automatically sends an adrenaline spike through him as his eyes fly open.

He turns back to Jamie, who is drenched in sweat. Sam hovers over him anxiously, while Jamie tosses violently, head going back and forth with a pained expression on his face, before he makes a heartbreaking whimpering noise, shudders, then goes painfully still.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, then he shoots upright with a gasp, accidentally headbutting Sam. A blinding pain explodes on his face and he lets out a shout, grabbing at his nose as warm liquid starts pouring from it.

“Fuck!” In the chaos, Sam can’t tell if it’s Jamie or Roy, who lets out the curse, but when his sight returns, he finds Jamie pressed to the headboard breathing heavily with wide eyes pinned on Sam. Next to him, Roy is also looking at him with concern, one hand on Jamie’s shoulder the other reached out to Sam, as if he can’t decide who to focus on first.

“I’m okay,” Sam says with a nasally voice, gesturing one handed for Roy to focus on Jamie. His nose is still throbbing and he’s definitely getting blood all over the sheets, but the initial shock is starting to die down, while Jamie is still panicking.

Roy turns to Jamie, telling him to breathe. As he does that, Sam gets off the bed to find a wad of toilet paper or something to hold to his nose.

He hasn’t even made it halfway to the bathroom door when a thumping noise pulls his attention back to the bed. Jamie is climbing out with unsteady legs, Roy right behind him, cursing: “Come back before you hurt yourself, you fucking muppet.”

Sam takes a step towards Jamie, steadying him when he nearly topples over. Jamie pulls back out of his hold as if burned, which makes Sam wince. He shouldn’t have just grabbed Jamie after everything he just told them. How could he be so stupid?

However, Jamie isn’t panicking more. Well, not in the way Sam has seen him before. His breathing definitely isn’t right, but he doesn’t look frantic or scared, he looks… worried. And Sam realizes that he is the one covered in blood this time and Jamie woke up disorientated, hit something and found Sam bleeding everywhere.

Jamie’s hands are hovering over Sam’s shoulder, wanting to touch him but unsure if it’s allowed. Sam pushes into the touch and assures him again: “I’m okay.”

“I hit you,” Jamie replies, hitch in his voice as he grips Sam’s shoulder with an unnatural gentleness, trying to assess the damage.

“On accident,” Sam adds, because that is an important detail.

His answer makes something in Jamie’s face tighten and he stalks off without warning, leaving Sam blinking at the empty spot in confusion for a moment, before he snaps out of it and follows after him.

In the bathroom, Jamie is getting a wad of toilet paper and pushing it into Sam’s hands. “Thank you,” Sam says, still confused as he holds it to his nose. The bleeding is already starting to slow down and most blood is getting crusty. When he looks in the mirror, he can see that his shirt is ruined. He doesn’t look all that bad – far from how bad Jamie looked in the treatment room – but he knows how awful it can be.

Next to him is Jamie, not at all looking at the mirror, but instead watching Sam closely. His arms are crossed and he’s keeping more space between them than Sam is used from him. Sam cannot read Jamie’s expression, but he’s not a fan of whatever it is.

“I am okay, I promise,” he repeats, hoping Jamie will believe him this time.

“You’re bleeding,” Jamie grits.

“It looks worse than it is,” Sam assures him.

That is apparently not the assuring thing to say, because Jamie’s face twists and he snarls: “You’re fucking bleeding, Sam. Get some fucking self respect.”

Sam frowns at the sudden outburst and says: “I do have self respect. It’s a head wound, those bleed more and it’s already stopping.”

“I don’t need you to make me feel better,” Jamie snaps. “I don’t need you to fucking do that. I fucking hit you. I- I hurt you and you’re bleeding. So fucking yell at me, Obisanya. Defend yourself. You can hit me back. ‘ere, wanna hit me back?” Jamie asks, jutting out his jaw so Sam can land a punch there.

“I’m not,” Sam exclaims exasperated, because why does Jamie think that. “And I don’t want to hit you back. It was an accident.”

“Stop saying tha’,” Jamie explodes, frustration leaking out his every pore.

“Calm the fuck down, Tartt,” Roy gruffly interjects, shutting Jamie up. Then he eyes Sam critically for a moment and says: “You okay?”

“Yes, I am fine,” Sam huffs annoyed. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore. Or bleed.”

“Good,” Roy nods, before turning back to Jamie and repeating: “See, he’s fine. You had a nightmare and accidentally headbutted him, it happens.”

Jamie doesn’t accept that answer any more from Roy than he had from Sam. His face twists further and he scowls: “Stop coddling me! I’m not some ickle bitch boy baby, I can take it. I don’t- I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, ‘cause me dad fucked me up.”

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” Roy growls.

“Then why the fuck are you defending me?” Jamie screams. “You’re making excuses. I’ve hurt ‘im a hundred fucking times and you don’t fucking care. You never fucking care, you apathetic prick!”

“Whoa,” Roy breathes out, taken aback by the outburst.

“Jamie, stop,” Sam says, stepping between the two of them. “No one is making excuses. The stuff you did, that is different from this and you apologized, but… Jamie, you cannot compare that. This-” he gestures to his nose “-isn’t you hurting me on purpose and we’re not making excuses.”

“No, you just say it’s an accident and it looks worse than it is,” Jamie says bitterly. “I’m not stupid, I’ve heard tha’ shit before. I’ve said tha’ shit before.”

“Shit,” Roy verbalizes what Sam also feels inside. They were just discussing how much of an asshole Jamie’s dad is, it’s never been said, but they all guessed the abuse hadn’t stuck to verbal abuse and sexual abuse. Of course Jamie had been physically abused too and they used textbook excuses. No wonder he is so upset.

“Stop looking at me like tha’,” Jamie scowls, his arms tucked under his shirt as he hunches in on himself, trying to make himself smaller.

Without Jamie saying it, Sam knows what he means; he thinks they’re pitying him. Sympathy can look a lot like pity to someone who has been taught to associate kindness to someone looking down on you, Sam supposes, but it still sucks.

“I’m not pitying you,” he tells Jamie bluntly, surprising both with his candidness.

“Sure looks like pity,” Jamie retorts mulishly.

“Well, it is not,” Sam says, which isn’t really a good argument. He wipes at his nose and removes the toilet paper, waiting to see if it’ll bleed more and throwing the wad away when it doesn’t. He gestures at his nose and says: “This wasn’t on purpose. Or did you wake up wanting to headbutt me?”

“No, of course not!” Jamie exclaims.

“And are you sorry?” Sam prods further.

“Yes! I’m sorry.”

“Good. Forgiven,” Sam nods firmly, stunning Jamie again. “This isn’t any different from tackling someone too hard during training or bumping into someone in the hallway. It’s not malicious. You didn’t want to hurt me. Does that make sense?”

Jamie frowns as he thinks about it. After a long moment, he softly says: “Someone can’t help it when they’re drunk either, but mummy still left dad for it.”

“That is very fucking different,” Roy growls and Sam is reminded of his sister. “He was still fucking hitting and using being drunk as an excuse. You’re still in control of yourself enough to not want to hit people when you’re drunk and anyone that says different is fucking lying and an arsehole. You’re not like him, Jamie. You’re not.”

The words hit home, Sam can tell they do, because Jamie blinks with wet lashes, before he looks away. “Okay, whatever.”

Roy rolls his eyes at the reaction, but doesn’t push. Instead he grunts: “Let’s get some ice for both your faces. You have horrible headbutting technique.” He nods to Jamie face and now that he’s looking, he can see a small bruise forming on Jamie’s temple, right by his eyebrow, where his head made impact with Sam’s nose.

Jamie looks over to the mirror and gently touches it, a complicated expression on his face. Then he tears himself away and says: “Come on, lad. Don’t want that to swell more. It’s the fucking worst, trust me.”

Sam does not want to think about why Jamie would know that and just follows after him. They sit downstairs with their ice packs for a couple of minutes, before returning upstairs.

While Sam gently washes all the blood of his face and changes clothes, Roy assess the bed. It’s an absolute mess. The sheets are strewn everywhere and the blood has definitely stained at this point.

Roy takes one look at it, then says: “Fuck this. We’re sleeping in the guest rooms, we can deal with this shit tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Jamie shrugs. It isn’t the first time Jamie has abandoned his own room for one of the guest rooms, because his own bed got too gross.

With that decided, Roy takes his own room, since his shift is done and he wants to get some rest, before having to show up to training. Sam and Jamie bid him goodnight, before retreating into the room Sam has been using when not staying in Jamie’s room.

It still strikes Sam how lifeless it looks. This is a space for guests, so not many people would style it personably, but the few possessions Sam has brought in stand out starkly against the rest of the room. And the whole house is like this.

The reminder of how impermanent Jamie’s stay with Richmond is, lodges in his chest and he sits next to Jamie on the bed with a lump in his throat for a moment.

Jamie isn’t asleep yet, he lies next to Sam, face pressed into Sam’s thigh. Muffled he asks: “Dead rude tha’ I always get to sleep the full night, innit?”

“You need the rest and I don’t mind,” Sam tells him, carding a hand through Jamie’s hair as he swallows away the tight feeling. He doesn’t see the point in reminding Jamie he often doesn’t sleep through the night either and his energy drains differently from everyone else. Jamie knows that, this isn’t a rational feeling.

Jamie plucks at Sam’s newly clean pajama pants for a moment, then asks the question he’s really wanting to ask: “You’re not mad ‘bout me hitting you?”

“No, Jamie, I’m not mad,” Sam says patiently, letting his hand drift down to Jamie’s hair. It soothes both of them. He thinks for a second, then says: “You know, I think you forget that I want to be here sometimes, that it isn’t a hardship to help you, even when you struggle with accepting it.”

“You cried ‘cause it were so hard,” Jamie reminds him skeptically.

“I cried because I was scared,” Sam corrects him, looking down to find Jamie with one eye open, peaking over his leg to look back. “It is scary when I think I can’t help you and you’re pushing me away, it’s not scary when you accidentally hurt me. I’d rather you headbutt me because you’re waking up from a nightmare than have you go through that alone.” Or with your shit dad, he doesn’t add.

Jamie contemplates that answer, pulling a thoughtful face as he does. He doesn’t seem to reject the idea, he merely doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend that someone cares about him like that.

After a second of deliberation, Sam gathers some bravery and adds: “And I’m sure your mom would rather break her arm a hundred times over to get to you when you’re in danger, than knowing you’re still struggling while she is unable to help you. Than having to piece together that you’re alive based off interviews without having any way to know if you’re happy, which is what she wants for you.”

The words have Jamie bite his lip, before hiding his face against Sam’s leg again. He doesn’t say anything and Sam doesn’t push. Jamie isn’t arguing or angry, that is a win. Maybe it’ll come to nothing, maybe Sam has just planted a seed.

He keeps carding a hand through Jamie’s hair, not giving Jamie anything to jump to conclusions about what Sam might be thinking.

Jamie doesn’t talk again and neither does Sam. At some point, Jamie falls asleep again, drooling sightly over Sam’s thigh. It might be the middle of the night, but when Sam texts his father, he responds. He always has his sound on for his children and doesn’t mind keeping Sam company while he watches over Jamie.

As much as he wants to, he doesn’t share what Jamie told him tonight. That is personal and Jamie’s story to share, he cannot tell others for him unless he asks Sam to. So, he just catches up about what has been going on with his father, his sisters and everyone else.

In the morning, he wakes Jamie up when it’s time, but his alarm doesn’t go. Jamie – the freak that he is – wakes up easily, yawning and stretching, before he greets Sam with a gravelly: “Morning, mate.”

“Morning,” Sam yawns. He got a few decent hours in, but having a four, maybe even only three hour night, is not exactly ideal. He usually sleeps more but the curse fire already made them later than they otherwise would have been.

The two of them head to Jamie’s room, where Jamie gives the messy, bloody bed a complicated look. Sam squeezes his shoulder and reminds him: “I’m okay,” before gently steering him into the bathroom to unlock the cabinets with his meds for him.

With his medication taken, Jamie goes back out to the bedroom to find his phone, fishing it from between the mess on his bedside table. He turns it on and Sam watches as his faces morphs into a worried expression at the sight.

Fear grips Sam’s heart as he imagines what sort of notification could have elicited that reaction. Maybe it’s his dad again? Maybe something terrible happened? Nervously, he asks: “What is it?”

“Got an email from Higgins, Ms. Welton wants to ‘ave a meeting with me,” Jamie says, sounding as confused as Sam is. Ms. Welton doesn’t randomly ask for meetings with anyone.

“Does it say what it’s about?” he asks, coming over and reading the email over Jamie’s shoulder.

“No, there’s nothing,” Jamie replies, tilting the screen so that Sam can see.

The email is professional and inconspicuous, asking Jamie to meet Ms. Welton in her office before training for business related purposes. It doesn’t say what those purposes are, though. Jamie frowns at the screen again, then says: “It’s probably fine,” but he sounds nervous.

“Oi, what are you two standing around for?” Roy asks, appearing in the threshold. He must have gone looking for them when they didn’t show.

“Ms. Welton has requested a meeting with Jamie before training,” Sam answers, unable to keep the apprehension out of his own voice.

~~

A/N:

However, once they’ve met Roy at the door and gone inside, he does break the peace as he putters around making some tea. “Do you think it worked?”

“Never were any ghosts to start wi’, mate,” Jamie snorts as he leans on the counter. “But it were nice. The wanker might ‘ave been on to something.”

“Still a wanker, though?” Sam asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray that he is trying to lead Jamie to a serious conversation about his feelings. He doesn’t know how to bring up Amsterdam without it coming across as an interrogation, but maybe he can gleam where Jamie stands with Ted.

“Always,” Jamie cracks, giving Sam a little grin.

Sam rolls his eyes fondly, because Jamie can be so fucking endearing when he’s being a little shit. It’s strange how fond Sam is of it, since Jamie can be so vicious too and has hurt Sam with that. But maybe it makes sense. It’s not the same. Jamie isn’t a cruel person at heart and when he isn’t trying to make the world around him as miserable as himself, he’s funny.

Thankfully, Roy has picked up on the fact that Sam is trying to get something out of Jamie, so he prods Jamie and says: “Oi, don’t be a cunt.”

“I weren’t being a cunt,” Jamie sulks. “Ted is a wanker, I know you think so too.”

“So?”

“So why can’t I think he’s a wanker too?” Jamie exclaims indignantly.

“Because I think he’s a wanker, but I also think he’s a wanker who has the right idea, even if he’s fucking annoying about his execution,” Roy answers. “You can’t just think he’s a wanker, you got to have a second opinion next to it.”

“Tha’s fucking stupid,” Jamie informs him stubbornly. “Thinking someone’s a wanker is a complete opinion.”

“And there is nothing else?” Sam asks with sincere eyes, hoping that interjecting will pull Jamie out of his incessant need to always argue with Roy. He hands him a cup of tea to soften the fact that he’s making him talk about his feelings as he adds: “It’s okay if your opinion is that you don’t like him.”

As hoped, Jamie deflates with Sam’s interjection, wrapping his hands around the mug and hiding behind it as he takes a sip. Jamie has an iron mouth with how hot he drinks that. “I dunno,” he finally ends up saying. “Sometimes I hate him, sometimes I don’t. It’s mad confusing, innit?”

It’s not a very coherent answer, but it’s something Sam can work with. “Is it because Ted is confusing? Is that what you mean?” he asks, since that sounds logical. He knows Jamie doesn’t always follow along with the rambled speeches Ted is so fond of.

“Nah, not that,” Jamie shakes his head, then pauses, “or maybe. I dunno. It’s jus’… I don’t trust ‘im. He’s all nice to ya one moment, then the next he’s trying to kick you to the fucking curb. And he wants ya to play wi’ the team and then you do and he’s benching ya. ‘s like he’s always moving the goalpost when you fucking reach it. I fucking hate it.” … “But I also want ‘im to like me.”

Sam doesn’t think that is what Ted had been trying to do, but he totally gets why Jamie would perceive it that way. Ted hasn’t done a lot to make it seem like Jamie can trust him, as callous as that may sound.

“Well, he is a fucking wanker,” Roy grunts in what Sam is pretty sure is supposed to be a comforting manner. “He’s not very clear in telling you what he fucking wants. Playing fucking mind games.”

“Mind games?” Sam frowns, confused. Is he the only person who doesn’t think Ted is some sort of manipulator?

“Yeah, with the fucking books and the making you figure your own shit out shit,” Roy scowls. “Not telling you shit.”

Jamie perks up at that, thrilled that Roy Kent is agreeing with him. “Yeah, tha’. Feels like trying to get dad to like me sometimes, like what’s fine today, ain’t the next, and nowt’s ever fucking good enough. It’s dead confusing. I don’t like it.”

Sam and Roy pause. Neither had known how to bring up Jamie’s dad – and it surprises Sam that Roy hasn’t done it untactfully and unapologetically yet – but now Jamie has done it himself.

Naturally, Jamie immediately picks up on their hesitance and quickly gathers why. The excitement at being understood falls away for a scowl in a second and he’s pulling away from the counter, as if retreating from them already. “No, fuck you.”

“Jamie…” Sam starts helplessly, because he’s not trying to corner Jamie, but he’s also not not doing that, but he really thinks it will help… which is what many people have used to justify shit they’ve done to him, so that’s not helpful either.

“No. Fuck this. You’re both shitheads,” Jamie tells them, abandoning his tea entirely as he storms out the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Jamie cannot dramatically storm off without someone walking after him for his own safety, so he can’t stew on his own. Instead he gets to the living room with Sam apologetically behind him as he watches Jamie stands there. Jamie takes a deep breath and lets out a low frustrated noise, before he whips around back to Sam. His finger coming up to point accusingly at him, but no words come out and he just drops it with another frustrated sound, before throwing himself onto the couch.

Sam approaches nonthreateningly and says: “You don’t have to talk, Jamie. I’m not going to force you. And neither is Roy.”

Roy, who is appearing in the doorway now, grunts in agreement, even if Sam knows he wants to do nothing more than wring Jamie until he talks, so that he can go out and find his dad. However, as much as Roy wants to do that, he also cares more about Jamie. Sam is glad to have him with him instead of against him.

He sits down next to Jamie and tries to catch his eye, while Jamie stubbornly looks away. “I promise, you don’t have to talk. But there were other things you could have brought to the curse fire, but you brought this. So if there is a part of you that does want to talk, we want to listen. We won’t judge and we won’t think any less of you, or any of the other things you think we will. We just want to be there for you, Jamie. I want to be there for you. There is so much shit in your head and if it’ll help to get it out, then I just want to hear it.”

Jamie sits on the couch quietly and Sam is pretty sure he just fucked up, but he has no clue how to undo this now that he’s started. He only wants to support Jamie. He wants to do something, anything, to alleviate some of all this pain.

Then Jamie suddenly says: “He were takin’ me to Amsterdam to see a Man City-Ajax friendly. He won big at betting, so he had the funds. It were proper mint for the most part.”

He’s not looking at either of them. He has his legs pulled up and is curled into himself in the corner of the couch, plucking at a thread on his sock as he stares at it as if it holds the secrets to the universe. Sam and Roy just hold their breaths, giving Jamie the space to continue now that he is actually talking.

“After the game,” Jamie continues after a weighty pause, voice eerily airy, “he took me to the red light district for me real present.” Oh no, fucking hell. No. Please, don’t- “He, uh- He took me to lose me virginity to those ladies behind the windows.”

Sam had known that whatever it would be, it would be fucked, but this leaves him nauseous, unable to get a single word out. Jamie had barely been fourteen and his dad- his dad had- He’d forced him to- Fucking hell, his dad had him raped. Trafficked him to Amsterdam to do it, even.

“Jesus. Must have been traumatizing,” Roy says, having a a voice to say at least something while Sam just sits there frozen.

“Suppose,” Jamie shrugs, pulling at the thread harder. “It’s pseudo-incestuous child sexual abuse. At least, tha’s what that therapy woman said when mummy took me.”

Pseudo-incestuous child sexual abuse. He throws the words out in an attempted casual tone, but he sounds them out carefully, as if he has turned them over in his head many times, but never said them out loud. As if it’s a secret.

It’s all too horrible for Sam to even know where to begin, what do you even say to your friend, who’s been forced into a rape by his dad at fourteen years old? So he latches on to the semi-hopeful (maybe) part and asks: “Your mom took you to a therapist?”

Knowing Jamie’s history with psychiatric care, that can be a toss up between horrible and good. However, it sounds like the therapist in question at least understood the gravity of the situation and it also means Jamie’s mom noticed something was up and tried to get Jamie help immediately. That is good… right?

“Uhm, yeah, she did,” Jamie replies, the expression on his face suddenly very similar to when Sam was about to open the dishwasher. There is a layer to this story that he is embarrassed about.

“What happened?” Sam prompts gently, hoping Jamie remembers Sam never thought badly of him for not being able to do his dishes or his laundry or any of the other things he’s embarrassed about. That all he did was step in with him and ease some of the burden. That Jamie is safe with him.

Instead of answering, Jamie sends a quick glance to Roy, who has been standing silently in the doorway after his reaction, but whose presence cannot just disappear.

Roy catches the look like Sam does and gently offers: “I can leave for a moment,” without skipping a beat, even when Sam knows how badly he probably wants to know.

“’s fine,” Jamie says softly, turning back to his sock. They wait for him to continue. It takes a while, but then he says: “She took me ‘cause I started getting nightmares. The bad kind.”

Sam has seen Jamie’s nightmares and he can imagine how scary that must have been for Jamie’s mom when her son started having them out of the blue. And for Jamie to call them bad, it must have been closer to last night or in the shared hotel room.

“Me nightmares actually got a lot better. Used to…” Jamie’s jaw twitches, humiliation painted on his cheeks, but still he admits: “used to piss the fucking bed. And, like, cum. Real charming shit. Started sleeping in the shower in jus’ me shirt, save meself the misery of laundry,” he adds humorlessly. Then voice vacant he says: “It were the fucking worst. Makes ya feel-” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but Sam can fill in the word he doesn’t say; disgusting.

That word is a lot easier to place in the intricate web that is Jamie’s trauma, though it does nothing to make Sam feel better. The reaction Jamie had to touch last night also makes a lot more sense. Sam hates it. He hates Jamie’s dad. Much like Jamie himself, he wishes the man would have stayed gone from Jamie’s life forever.

Roy swears under his breath and Jamie curls into himself a tad bit more. Sam puts a hand between them on the sofa, not touching Jamie, but offering it. Jamie doesn’t take it. Sam leaves the hand there anyway.

Instead, Jamie clears his throat and says: “Anyway, I told the lady, but then she got all serious ‘bout it and I told her it was fine. And it were. I’m jus’ being stupid ‘bout the whole thing. Like I ‘ave sex jus’ fine and I don’t even remember it, it’s just…” made you feel so broken and disgusted with yourself that nearly a decade later you’re still suicidal to escape feeling like that, Sam fills in for him, but instead Jamie lamely finishes with: “…just is there sometimes.”

“Jesus Christ, Jamie, why the fuck didn’t you report that?” Roy growls, not angry at Jamie, but angry at everything, which sounds the same.

Because Jamie whips around to him and snarls: “’Cause I didn’t fucking want ‘im to be reported. He’s me dad. He were trying to be nice.” Then the defensive anger falls away and he looks to the floor again, blinking heavily as he whispers: “He were almost never nice. But- but he said I did good, tha’ she liked it and he were proud. He’s never proud. And I jus’ wanted ‘im to like me.”

The confession is quiet and more heartbreaking for it.

Jamie has spend years of his life trying to get a man, who would never love him in a way that matters and has done nothing but drive Jamie further away from others and closer to the edge, to like him. To make him proud. To prove he’s good enough.

Sam knows that Jamie knows his dad is the worst. That he is an awful and cruel person, who shouldn’t have done these things. However, that is not enough to stop Jamie from picking him. From wanting him to be there anyway.

He can feel the tears that have been pushing down on his throat crawl ever higher and the first drops leak from his eyes. Despite the lump in his throat, he manages to say: “You deserved better.”

It’s probably far from the best response, but it’s the only one he has right now. All Jamie’s life he’s been failed over and over again, by circumstance, by the adults around him, by the systems that were meant to help, but didn’t. And he didn’t deserve a moment of it. He deserved to be happy. He deserved to feel how loved he is by the people that matter. He deserved better.

At his words, Jamie finally looks at him and Sam knows he’s a mess, because the tears aren’t exactly stopping, but he hopes Jamie knows he means it.

Jamie had been a child and his dad had him raped. Pseudo-incestuous child sexual abuse is such a clinical way to describe something so horrible. He’d been fourteen and wanted his dad to like him and in return for that, his dad took something from him. He took something from Jamie and it altered him for the rest of his life.

And now Jamie is here looking at him uncomprehendingly, because Sam dared to tell him that he deserved better than that.

Swallowing the tears down the best he can, he says: “Your dad is a bastard, who never deserved your effort. You didn’t deserve that happening to you. It was fucked. It was fucked.”

His voice is cracking and he’s more angry than is useful for the situation, but the shock is starting to fade away and this torrent of emotions is washing over him, is choking him. Maybe Jamie isn’t so wrong for being numb about the whole thing, because Sam doesn’t know what to do with feeling everything. His body is too small to contain it and he wants to scream and break something, but he can’t, because Jamie is right there and he doesn’t want Jamie to be scared or to think he brings out anger in people. So he is just stuck, shaking with a rage that has no where to go.

Jamie blinks at him, eyes wide. He looks over to Roy, as if looking to check if Roy is also unsure what to do with Sam’s reaction.

Roy isn’t much better, his fists are clenched and his eyebrows are at an angle he has never managed before. It’s a miracle there isn’t a dent in the dry wall where he’s standing. When his childhood hero – the man whose poster he told his secrets to and who kept him alive – doesn’t disagree with Sam when he tells Jamie he deserves better and it was fucked, he looks back to Sam again.

Sam can see his lip wobble, like he wants to cry, but doesn’t know if he’s allowed to without being at rock bottom. Between them, Sam’s hand twitches, wanting to reach out to Jamie and hold him, but not wanting to upset him.

He can see Jamie’s eye follow the moment, then stay locked in on Sam’s hand. Through the tears, Sam tries to hold his breath, unsure if he should pull back or stay still.

Then, as careful as Sam has ever seen someone, Jamie reaches over, taking Sam’s hand with his own. The grip loose for two seconds, before Jamie is suddenly gripping tight, his bottom lip between his teeth as his adam’s apple bops.

Equally slow, Sam shifts to be a bit nearer to Jamie, offering the comfort should he want to, but not forcing it on him. He’s never going to force anything on anyone, but especially not Jamie. Not when despite his bulk, he manages to look so small there, in the corner of the couch.

Jamie must take the shift for the invitation that it is, because suddenly he’s launching himself at Sam, sobbing into his shoulder and clawing at his back like he’s drift wood in the current, and maybe he is. Maybe they both hold each other as they cry, because otherwise they’d be dragged away by the sweeping river of emotions.

So, he just holds Jamie and Jamie holds him back and he cries until his throat is raw and chokes out between the sobs: “I did- I didn’t want- I didn’t want it. I- I didn’t want her- her touching me. Swear down, I didn’t want to.”

Sam has no clue what Roy is doing, but he must be there. It should probably be embarrassing to cry like this in front of him, but Sam doesn’t care. Roy also has moment like these. Roy had his blankie and cried all the way to Sunderland. He understands.

And at the next confession that Sam cannot answer due to the tears, Roy is right there behind Jamie, gently saying: “We know, Jamie. We know you didn’t want to. You shouldn’t have had to. He shouldn’t have made you.”

That only makes Jamie cry harder. Under his hands, Sam can feel him shuddering, like his bones are rattling under his skin by the force of it. On his back, Jamie’s hands are twitching, trying to grab him closer and closer, but he’s already impossibly close.

He chokes on a sob and coughs right into the skin of Sam’s neck. It’s gross, just like the snot that is getting smeared everywhere is gross, but Sam doesn’t let go. Jamie can be gross and Sam is still going to be right here.

Jamie has been violated and he has stuffed it all down to make his dad happy. This break down is nine years in the making and Sam will not begrudge him a single aspect of it.

Sam cannot imagine how it must be like, living and knowing your own father would do something like that to you. To know that you can never trust him and be forced to trust him with your life over and over again, because you’re so scared that you’ll become him that you isolated yourself from the one parent, maybe even the one person, that loved you unconditionally.

To have convinced yourself that it was fine, because the moment you think about it, you realize how not fine it is and you’d rather die in an attempt to escape it than live with it a moment longer. To always have it cling to your skin, dragging you down and making you believe you can never be free of it. That you will always be imprisoned by that betrayal of trust, that breach into your personhood.

Just the thought alone is enough to make Sam feel ill.

So, yes, Jamie can cry and cough and snotter all over Sam and Sam will simply hold him, because he is cracking apart and someone needs to hold him together so he doesn’t break entirely. Needs to let him know that he’s not alone and there are kind hands to hold him too.

It’s not until Jamie is crying so hard he nearly gags that Roy steps in. He softly says: “I’m gonna be rubbing your back now, lad,” waiting until Jamie has hiccuped a nod, before Sam can feel Roy’s hand bumping into his own and he moves to make more space for him without compromising his hold on Jamie in any shape. “Good lad,” Roy says when Jamie shudders again and then sags.

If Sam hadn’t known about Phoebe, he would have wondered where this side of Roy is coming from, because he’s gentle and assuring as he rubs Jamie’s back, softly murmuring for him to breathe and telling he’s doing so well.

Sam doesn’t know how long it takes, but at some point both his and Jamie’s breathing calms down under Roy’s instruction and tears slow down.

Jamie keeps holding on, though, his eyes vacant yet filled with emotion as tear after tear leaks from them and rolls down his face. It’s like he’s done. His energy is gone and he has shut down. There is nothing left for him to dredge up to do anything other than just sit there.

The sight is something Sam has seen before and it worries him as much as the last time Jamie had gone quiet and listless. However, he doesn’t say anything, instead cupping the back of Jamie’s head and pulling him close again.

“You are so brave for getting through that. I am so proud of you,” he whispers fiercely, eliciting a small whimper and a small twitch of Jamie’s fingers.

“He’s right,” Roy adds. “Your dad’s a fucking bastard and if he ever fucking touches you, I’m breaking his fingers. He doesn’t fucking deserve you.”

Sam isn’t sure that the aggression is a great strategy, but he can’t really erase the words and it’s not like he disagrees. If Jamie has any strong feelings about it, he doesn’t have the energy to bicker with Roy about it. That in itself is even more worrying, Jamie loves bickering with Roy.

“Here,” Sam says gently. “We’ll make some new tea and drink a bit and then go to bed. You don’t have to do anything, I promise. You can rest. You’ve done enough.”

Another shudder goes through Jamie, but again he doesn’t say anything.

Over his shoulder, Sam meets Roy’s eyes. He’s never seen Jamie like this and it’s clear by the look in his eyes that this listless version of their usually so fiery Jamie, is freaking him out. Sam tries to give him a reassuring smile, but he can feel it wobble on his face. So he just hugs Jamie closer to him and gestures for Roy to remake their tea, hoping that having something to do will help.

He keeps holding Jamie until Roy returns with three steaming cups on a tray, then he carefully untangles them, making sure to note if Jamie makes any sound of distress at all. Nothing. He leans Jamie back against the couch and tucks himself close next to Jamie, holding out his mug for him. Jamie holds it, but he doesn’t drink.

“Can you please drink a bit? For me?” Sam pleads and watches as Jamie looks down at the mug with a frown, like he wants to move but it’s not working. Sam pulls out a card that might get Jamie to move and says: “I don’t want you to get dehydrated. It’ll be bad for your muscles and you’ll need them at training tomorrow.”

Roy sends him a look to ask if he’s mental for talking to Jamie about his football performance of all things right now, but he has to eat it when Jamie mechanically brings the tea to his mouth and sips at it.

“Well done,” Sam praises, because despite his arrogance, Jamie can always use more kind words.

They all drink their tea like that, leaving the cups on the table for tomorrow, because there are other things to worry about. Jamie’s legs are like jello and he’s barely any help as they haul him upstairs between the two of them, but they manage to flop him down on the bed.

Sam thankfully gets Jamie to wiggle out of his jeans himself, it feels too wrong to do it for him after all they’ve heard tonight.

However, he does get Jamie’s toothbrush and a cup and brings it to the bed, carefully holding Jamie’s jaw as he brushes his teeth for him, while Jamie just sits there and lets it happen. He has let himself face this awful thing that happened to him, perhaps for the first time in nine years and the emotional outburst has left him overtaxed. He’s gone, retreated into his own head for safety.

So, Sam brushes his teeth for him and prompts him to spit in the cup, rinsing it out in the bathroom while Roy sits with Jamie after he has brushed his own teeth.

When Sam comes back with his pajamas on and his teeth brushed, Roy is leaning against the chaeta print headboard and Jamie is tucked under the blankets next to him, staring at the ceiling with absent eyes. It reminds Sam of the hotel room and he hates it. Jamie doesn’t even like to sleep on his back. He’s a side sleeper.

Without thinking about it for too long, Sam crawls into the bed too and maneuvers Jamie into a spooning position, curling himself around Jamie as if he can keep the horrors away from him. As if he can protect him from his dreams.

Jamie doesn’t acknowledges him, but Sam can feel his muscles relax a tad when Sam is done and that will have to be enough. It’s the only thing he can do for Jamie right now.

~~

A/N:

Whoo, boy, I have had A Day. I had to get up at 5:15 so I could leave for work at 5:45 and only made it home at 19:00 and it was 35 degrees outside, so it sure was something, but nothing will stop me from devastating you all about Jamie Tartt

“You alright there, Sam?” Ted asks, concern in his brow. He also looks slightly shaken in the eyes, but the rest of him seems relaxed enough.

Before, Ted checking in with him irked him, however, with Jamie’s warmth next to him and the knowledge that this is more difficult for him, he’s able to find comfort in it. It actually helps too. He is not alone here, no one is in danger. “Yes, coach. I am good,” he manages to say, finding he actually means it too.

He steps inside and takes his place in the circle with Jamie next to him. They’re the last ones there, so they all turn to Ted, ready for him to start. “Gentlemen, I am, by nature, a believer. Ghosts, spirit guides, aliens,” he starts, still pushing the ghost narrative. “Still, I can’t actually tell you what lives beyond our physical world and what doesn’t. What I can tell you, is that with the exception of the wit and wisdom of Calvin and Hobbes, not much lasts forever.”

The door opens before Ted can continue and Ms. Welton appears, newspaper tucked under her arm. She looks uncomfortable, but determined. Sam can relate.

“Oh, hey, boss, glad you could join us,” Ted greets, not looking surprised by her appearance.

“Hey, Ted,” she replies primly. “Thank you for the invitation.” Then gestures at him to go on.

With her appearance, though, Ted seems to have lost the thread of his speech and he doesn’t fall into it easily. Instead he’s awkward unlike they’re used from him as he says: “Uhm, yeah, so I, uh- I guess I’ll start off us here.”

He glances around, then grabs one of the army men his son has send him from his pocket. The same kind his tried to give Sam on his birthday. Ted thumbs the little guy for a moment, lost in thought, then he clears his throat and smiles at them: “My little boy send me this one. Meant to keep me safe while I’m here.”

A bit of moisture gathers in his eyes and he takes a shaky breath, blinking it away and chuckling at himself, giving them all a crooked smile. “Makes me all weepy inside, to know he cares. He’s a good kid, you know?”

Around the room, people nod. They have all met Henry Lasso when he was visiting. He seemed like a polite and happy kid, though Sam did not get to talk to him much.

“It’s hard. Being so far away from him, I mean,” Ted continues, looking at the army man again. “I want to be there for him, because my old man wasn’t there for me. He passed when I was sixteen. And it really hurt for him to leave like that.”

Ted doesn’t use the words that truly convey what happened. That his father killed himself, but Sam, Roy and Jamie know. Sam cannot imagine how difficult that must have been. He can see how it is still affecting Ted today. He sympathizes with that, even if the actions it caused have hurt and confused him these past few days.

“I never want to leave him like that,” Ted says, looking up again. “I want to look out for my boy, keep him safe, but… he ended up looking out for me.” He holds up the army man, then tosses it in the barrel as he finishes: “I hope I can do the same for him.”

He’s had the same thought Sam had, to offer a symbol of hope for the future. He likes that Ted sacrificed some protection.

However, Jamie is tense next to him, unconsciously gripping Sam’s hand a little tighter as he gives Ted wary glances. Earlier, when he offered to check out this very same room with Ted, he’d been the most relaxed around Ted he’d been all season, but that is gone again.

Sam wants to ask, but they’re surrounded by people and Ted has already said: “Roy?” and Roy is just starting to talk, so there isn’t a good moment.

The story Roy tells about his granddad is heartbreaking. Sam was nineteen when he came here – ten years older than Roy had been then – and he’s been terrified too. He can’t imagine what that must have been like and how much it would have hurt to find out his granddad died before he could see him again.

Now that he’s listening to Roy talk, he realizes why Roy always reacts so strongly to Jamie calling him granddad and he feels a wave of guilt at the memory of him doing the same. Maybe he should apologize for that? He makes a mental note to do that. Roy would hate it if he did it in front of everyone.

But not everyone is realizing this, because Isaac makes the mistake of going: “Did you just say ‘blankie’?” with a stupid grin on his face.

“No, I said ‘blanket’. Conversation over. Sam, go,” Roy growls, quickly tossing the blanket into the barrel alongside Ted’s army man.

With those two stories, the picture Sam brought almost feels a bit silly, but he has spotted some panties much like Jamie said, so it cannot be the worst thing there. He holds the picture up for everyone to see it and explains: “This is a picture of the 1994 Nigerian World Cup team. I pledged I wouldn’t take this down until I made the team myself,” he puts it in the barrel, “and I still intend to do that.”

He doesn’t give the longer explanation about his father that he had given Jamie earlier. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be vulnerable with these people, but he has not come here to sacrifice the memory of them, he came to sacrifice this symbol. This hope for the future.

Before he pledged he would not take it down until he made it, right now, he pledges to have this count. To have this sacrifice here be his motivator to work hard and make it to the bright future he had imagined when he first hung up the picture. Not just for himself, but for everyone in this room. He is going to make his father proud and he is going to make everyone here proud. Sam will do it all, he does not need this symbol to remind him.

After how Jamie was in the car, it doesn’t feel right to put him on the spot and make him go next. He is still tense next to Sam, still holding his hand. Jamie has done enough to not have go yet now, so he gestures for Richard to go instead. What can he say, the jar of sand intrigues him.

The jar of sand is really fucking stupid. Just like Nate with his glasses right after. Sam had already gathered not everyone would bring something of the same level when Jamie mentioned the panties, but it’s still funny and a little exasperating.

There are more meaningful ones too, though. Objects that have traveled all over the world with players and brought luck, gifts from family or fans. Things that are tied to memories that are dear.

Ms. Welton surprises Sam when she tosses in today’s paper. She is smiling, but it looks tight and almost painful when she says: “There’s something in there about me, as usual, and I’m trying not to care. Fuck the haters.”

A murmured agreement goes through the room. None of them are oblivious about the stuff that the papers say about her, especially with Richmond doing badly and Rupert still out there with a new girl on his arm every week, appearing as fine as can be.

Sam hopes she can truly let it stop getting to her. He is very glad she became the owner in the divorce. Rupert is an uncomfortable man to be around and Sam has not minded that he doesn’t run into him anymore when at training or after a match. He is not missed.

After Ms. Welton, Colin throws in his actual car keys. As in the keys of the car he is currently driving, the one that is standing out in the lot and needs to be the vehicle to take him home.

They have to convince him to sacrifice something else instead and he ends up tossing in a small Welsh keychain, which makes him actively sob.

Once the tears have calmed down, they continue. Much like Sam had, no one is choosing Jamie to go after them. It seems like all of them are afraid of what he might have brought… or maybe they don’t think he has anything, since his hands are empty.

Sam doesn’t blame them for not picking Jamie, he can feel the nervous energy buzzing through Jamie’s skin and lodging itself under Sam’s. Whatever he brought, it’s something that will be on the serious side of the spectrum and there is no telling what will come out.

Being in this room is reminding all of them of the other ghost they’re trying to expel. Alongside 400 soldiers, the ghost of Jamie’s past is also haunting them and none of them want to be the person to push Jamie to the front to share.

However, it gets a bit ridiculous when Ted asks: “Alright, everybody go?” as if he’s hoping Jamie will keep quiet and pretend he’s already gone.

It makes Sam’s stomach sour slightly, but before he can remind him Jamie hasn’t gone yet, Jamie has done it himself: “No, I wanna go.”

He steps forward, letting go of Sam’s hand and squaring his shoulders as he keeps his chin up stubbornly, daring them to say something. From his pocket, he retrieves a small fridge magnet of a windmill that he holds up and wiggles for a moment, before clutching it in his hand.

“Me mummy got me this when we went to Amsterdam,” he says and Sam almost feels a bit of relief. Jamie’s mother has the potential of being a less heavy topic. “She were trying to cheer me up, y’know? She’s always been me greatest cheerleader, scouring shops to get me boots and taking days off work she couldn’t afford to come to me matches. She was the one who got me into football in the first place.”

Jamie looks around the room and is met with soft expressions. The woman he is describing fits with the person Sam had imagined her to be and matches with the woman who wrote those cards Jamie still carries with him years later.

Then Jamie says: “Her and me dad split up when I was just a sexy little baby,” and while some players chuckle at the phrasing, the mood in the room also shifts to something more tense with the mention of Jamie’s dad. Everyone remembers that part too.

“She wanted nowt to do wi’ ‘im, but I were so excited to ‘ave a dad. And it were great at first. He wanted me to be the best, win, dominate the pitch and go pro, get out of there, while mummy doesn’t even care if I’m any good. Just wants me to be happy. Be a good lad,” Jamie says, swallowing thickly as he looks to the floor for a moment.

He takes a deep breath, the continues: “Dad wanted to get back wi’ mummy. Probably thought it get ‘im back in her good graces if he showed up for me, did something big or summat. Basically he were acting like some sort of super dad or some shit. So, he brought me out to Amsterdam first. We went for me fourteenth birthday, said it were some father-son bonding time.”

Fourteen.

Fourteen.

The age rings through the room, through Sam’s mind. Fourteen is the age Jamie first tried to kill himself, his dad is the reason Jamie first tried to kill himself. Whatever happened on that trip to Amsterdam, Sam would bet it is the reason Jamie became suicidal. The thing that triggered it all.

A million questions and words swirl through his mind, but die before they reach his lips. He’s silenced by the overwhelming magnitude of what Jamie is sacrificing here. He is sacrificing the memory of what brought him here, cleansing himself from it, even though everyone there knows that this can never simply be washed away like that.

Sam had known he was bringing something serious from the moment Jamie started acting cagey about it, but this is much bigger than he ever could have thought.

They all stare with solemn eyes as Jamie simply looks at the magnet for a moment, eyes glazed over. Then he blinks and instead they’re filled with contempt. His voice is strained with rage, but also a small, terrified hurt, when he says: “I wish he hadn’t. I really fucking wish he hadn’t.”

He looks up again, eyes wet but with that hard determined edge he carries himself with when he feels like he has to fight the world alone.

“Mummy took me again. Never said owt, but I think she figured it weren’t all great. She brought me back there and we went to museums and did all the tours. First time I ate a stroopwafel too. And she got me this magnet.” He holds it up again, the item almost forgotten in the story. “But even though me dad weren’t there, he were still kinds there wi’ us, y’know? You can’t jus’ erase ‘im like tha’. He’s always gonna be there.”

He’s always gonna be there.

It’s the same thing he said when talking about his dad with that shard to his neck, like it’s inevitable. Like it’s always going to end with Jamie and his dad and his dad is always going to win. Like there is no way out.

“I just hope she can forgive me,” Jamie says softly, then tosses the magnet into the barrel with the other sacrifices.

Sam likes those words even less. Doesn’t like how it sounds like Jamie is apologizing to him mom for giving up, like he is never going to see her again.

However, Jamie clears his throat and makes an awkward face, looking desperate to be saved from his own vulnerability. Everyone is too shocked to grant him that, well, everyone except for Ted, who is too similar to Jamie in some ways. So Ted just lights a match and says: “Well, gentlemen, what do you say we burn this crap?”

“Maybe we should do this part outside,” Beard suggests before Ted can let the match drop and by then the room is already in motion and the moment is over.

Jamie slips out with some of the others, ducking Sam’s attempt to grab his hand again as he rushes out of there. He’s rightfully cautious about Sam asking about it, because Sam will be asking about it. But he lets Jamie avoid it for now.

Instead he hangs back for a moment, letting his eyes go around the room. With everyone talking, Sam had almost forgotten where he was. Maybe Ted was onto something, though. The room feels less oppressive now.

“You good?” Roy’s gruff voice comes from next to him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” Sam answers after a moment, nodding to himself to affirm it. He turns to Roy and gives a small smile. “The room is clean.”

Roy absorbs that answer then lets out a soft: “Yeah…” The two of them stand there for a beat, before Roy asks: “Jamie go out with the others?”

Sam nods. “I think he wanted to avoid me.”

“Because of Amsterdam,” Roy fills in.

“Yes,” Sam says. “I don’t think he wants to us to ask questions.”

“Well that’s tough fucking luck for him, because I’m finding out what that bastard did to him and them I’m ripping him apart limb from limb,” Roy growls.

“Maybe after the curse fire?” Sam suggests. He also thinks they should talk about it with Jamie. Him offering this story now means something, he’s sure of it. However, the fire is to bond and leave the past behind. If Jamie wants to avoid the talk a little longer, Sam figures they can give him that.

“Fine,” Roy gives in after a second. “Now mush. Before fucking Lasso burns the whole club down.”

“It would be by accident,” Sam offers with some humor as he goes to follow Roy. Roy just answers with another growl.

On the pitch, Ted is thankfully still struggling with lighting the fire and Beard is just coming back with some spiritus to get the fire started. Roy and Sam join the group right when the fire takes and all of them cheer loudly.

The fire smells absolutely awful with all the plastic and other bits and bops, but that doesn’t dampen their sprits. When Sam doesn’t immediately corner Jamie after standing next to him, Jamie relaxes and throws his arm around Sam’s shoulder as he playfully jeers at Richard about his jar of sand.

Richard defends his honor, waxing poetry about the beauty of models and how you should appreciate the gifts life grants you. He also makes a case for why having sex on a beach is not sandy if you know what you’re doing and they should all be ashamed for not knowing.

It’s funny, Sam must admit, especially when everyone starts to defend their honor or argue with him, pulling out their own horror stories about sexcapades on the beach.

Jamie is right in the middle of it all, smirking cheekily and throwing out his own arguments. He’s always done well as conductor of the crowd and right now he’s making everyone forget the vulnerability he showed before. It’s a mask too. An act of deflection that he has perfected over many years.

It’s not entirely fake, though. Jamie has always thrived on being the center of attention, a desperate need to be seen and told he is important perhaps, but also an innate confidence and arrogance that Sam can never emulate.

Despite that and despite his deal with Roy to let it go for now, Jamie’s story still swirls around in his brain and he can’t help but turn it over as he watches Jamie hold court now.

His fourteenth birthday.

Fourteen had already been too young, but a part of Sam had always thought he would have been almost fifteen, but would have been practically still thirteen then. And it had been his birthday. His dad did something to him on his birthday.

Sam is itching to ask, to finally have Jamie open up now that he opened the door a crack instead of keeping it firmly shut. It’s not that he needs to know. If Jamie truly doesn’t want to tell him, Sam has no right to demand the information, but Sam wants Jamie to tell him anyway. Wants him to share what has literally been killing him all these years and let Sam carry it with him.

Jamie holds everything tightly to his chest, having been told over and over again that he is an inconvenience – someone to tie to a fucking bed when you have things to do – and who is a bother to people with his ‘ickle bitch moods’. Sam can hear it, when it is his dad’s words that are coming out of Jamie’s mouth.

Sometimes Sam thinks Jamie forgot how to let himself feel the gravity of it all. By the sounds of it, his dad certainly never made Jamie feel like it was anything other than whining and with his experiences with the psych ward, Jamie must have felt like sharing would only result in being punished by being taken back there. Perhaps the only person that ever made him feel like he could be fall apart under the unfairness of it and let himself feel awful, is his mom. And he shut out contact with her for fear of hurting her a few years ago.

He is not going to hurt Sam by sharing and maybe Jamie is finally starting to come around to that. Or at least, he wants to share, even if he is also scared of it.

Him opening up tonight feels like they are on the precipice of something and Sam wants to capitalize on it, but he also wants Jamie to have the happiness of this night when he is clearly enjoying himself as he fucks around with the other players.

In the end it’s Ted that pulls him away from his musings when he clears his throat and calls out: “Hey, fellas, I think the only way to know if the curse has been lifted or not, we need to ask the spirits for a sign.” He holds his hands up and closes his eyes, as if truly performing a séance. Then asks: “Oh, spirits. Speak to us!”

Sam thinks that Ted could have been a priest or pastor in another life with how he dramatizes and holds attention. But he must admit it works, it genuinely feels like something is lifted from all of them when Dani’s voice rings out over the pitch: “Dani Rojas! Rojas! Dani Rojas!”

All of them cheer when he joins them and Sam finds himself being able to let go of the thoughts plaguing him for now as Dani shows them his own sacrifice. “I brought a bottle of mezcal to throw into the curse fire!”

“Hey, hey, hey, Rojas,” Jamie stops him before he can. Sam is glad for it, he too saw the potential hazard of throwing a bottle of alcohol into an open flame. However, maybe Jamie saw something else, because he goes on: “Look, whatever ghosts it were that made ya trip over? They’re gone now, I promise, yeah. Crack tha’ bastard open.”

That plan earns them more cheers as all of them agree that the mezcal definitely needs to be shared. This is further cemented by Roy of all people, saying: “Jamie’s not wrong. Ghosts prefer empty bottles that we’ve all drunk. Fact.” He tries to play it off nonchalantly, still not wanting to be seen agreeing with Jamie publicly, despite how much better their relationship has gotten since Roy realized Jamie wasn’t making everyone miserable for the fun of it and Jamie cooled down the insults.

The bottle gets passed around, Dani takes the first drink then hands it to Jamie, who pulls a face but plays it off before handing it to Sam, who does the same… without playing it off. People laugh, but for the first time, Sam doesn’t feel self conscious about it. They’re laughing at him, but it is not maliciously. He is a part of it too and happily laughs along when others do the same.

One bottle is not enough to get a whole team drunk, but they’re all high on the atmosphere, so they don’t even notice as they cheer and jump around. At some point, someone pulls out a speaker and starts playing music, all of them dancing around like they’re in a club.

It’s a right party and Sam thinks Ted must be pleased with himself when he glances over to where he is observing it all with Beard and Higgins. He can no longer see Ms. Welton, but she has already surprised him by showing up for her team, he did not expect her to linger for this part. It seems too improper for her to be comfortable.

Jamie pulls Sam’s attention away from them and into the crowd of players, keeping a hold of his hand as he jumps around and jeers: “Show off the moves, lad, come on!”

Sam does like dancing, even if he feels silly in front of other sometimes. However, Thierry is doing an absolute abominable YMCA bastardization and Colin is apparently a horrible dancer, so Sam decides to just let go and brings some rhythm into Jamie’s jumping.

When he does, Jamie follows easily. He is a footballer who does a lot of fancy footwork and has a great sense of where he is, so it’s not a surprise.

It’s fun.

Sam is enjoying himself.

The curse fire does not undo any of the things that happened, all it has done is bring them a little closer together. However, the warmth of everyone surrounding them, the feeling of being a team, a group that comes together and who you can lean on, reminds him of home. It makes him feel that slight bit safer, makes the memories easier to carry.

He hopes it will feel the same to Jamie. That Jamie will know this is a place for him to belong to as well.

~~

A/N:

Since this is a Sam POV, just know that instead of Sam asking Rebecca, his talk with Ted pushed him to ask her instead, because we can’t have the curse fire without Rebecca >:3

“Oh, well,” Ted says awkwardly, clearing his throat and desperately looking around for a way out, hoping to find one by saying: “Why is this the first time I’m hearin’ about this?”

The three players gathered there all share looks, clearly sharing the slight embarrassment. Sam is more willing to talk to Ted after his session with Dr. Fieldstone, so he ends up answering: “Well, I think it has a lot to do with grown men being embarrassed to admit they believe in all this hoodoo, voodoo business.”

“Hey, I don’t believe in it,” Roy says in a tone that Sam feels like proves his point.

Ted doesn’t pick up on that, though, because he says: “Okay. Good. Then me and you, we’re gonna go look in that room.” Ted looks a little pale at his own suggestion, but he suggests it anyway. It’s not the trying Sam wants from him, but he is more open to seeing it now.

“No.” Roy shuts it down, much like Sam expected and he is delighted at how Jamie instantly turns to him so the two can share an amused look.

“Why not?”

“Because…. No.”

After Roy’s second refusal, they all stand there for a moment, before Jamie sighs, then puts his hand up and says: “I don’t mind looking wi’ ya, coach.”

None of them like that idea and a loud: “No!” echoes through the room from all of them, making Jamie rock back a second.

“Geez, what’s wi’ all of you’se. I were jus’ trying to be a team player. Ain’t that what you want?” Jamie sulks.

“I appreciate that, Jamie. And we do need to get back in there. Reclaim it,” Ted replies. “But you don’t have to do that.”

“Is this ‘cause I tried to kill meself in there?” Jamie asks in his candid way, while in the background Higgins makes a gagging noise. “’Cause I’m over tha’, swear down. Not gonna do it again, jus’ ‘cause I’m there again.”

All of them stare at him, because, well, that hadn’t necessary been the fear, it also hasn’t not been the fear. It is more the combination of Jamie in that room that has all of them still on edge. Well, all of them bar Jamie, who is as casual about it as ever.

Jamie sees them all looking and awkwardly adds: “I’m not invalidating your feelings and shit, I were more trying to tell you it’s fine, you get me?”

Now he’s getting a new round of looks, because Jamie acknowledging others see it as serious is not something he usually does. He scowls at them and says: “Fuck off. Sam left me all alone with that doctor lady and she talked at me. The arsehole. I didn’t say shit back and I’m still not fucking talking to her.”

“You don’t have to,” Ted is the first to say that, surprising Sam, but in a good way. “And thank you, for saying that.”

“Whatever,” Jamie huffs, shoulders hunched, but a slight flush on his cheeks anyway.

“Jamie is right,” Ted gets the attention back on him, his voice holding a gravitas it always does during his more dire half time speeches. “That room is haunted. For all of us. But it is just a room and we all need to cleanse it. Need to look it in the eye and tell it we’re not scared. So, gentlemen, I need you to gather up the rest of the fellas. ‘Cause we got ourselves a curse to reverse.”

This is more the Ted they’ve come to know these past few weeks and while Sam has no clue what he might be planning, he wants to be able to walk through the Dogtrack again without being nervous. He does not want to be ruled by anxiety. It is not productive. Not for himself and not for Jamie either. They cannot continue making him feel defensive whenever what happens, comes up. He needs to feel free to be open about it. That is so important.

So, Sam finds himself at the Crown and Anchor alongside the rest of the team, listening to Ted’s talk about the ghosts that linger at Nelson Road. He’s talking about The Great War, however, he’s talking about Jamie too.

Jamie’s hurt haunts that treatment room more than the ghosts of the past. He’s been vulnerable there and shed blood, nearly marking the team with a tragedy again, just like it is marked by those young men who wanted to be footballers and became soldiers instead. To undo that, they will also sacrifice a vulnerable part of themselves.

It’s smart, Sam finds himself thinking. It will add another memory to the room, instead of the memory of Jamie dripping bright red. Make it a place they bonded. Make the room less loaded with just Jamie and fill it with the team. Leave Jamie standing there less alone.

Everyone’s discussing the plan and what they might bring, while Ted stands at the front with a pleased expression on his face.

Sam checks on Jamie, finding him in the middle of the group. Content that he is fine, Sam slips out from the throng of players that are quickly becoming a spectacle for the bar patrons and walks up to Ted. He quietly asks: “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Of course, Sam. My ears are always open to what you have to say. I’m like a megaphone, you can talk into me and I’ll make sure it’s loud and clear.” He frowns for a second then turns to Beard. “That metaphor doesn’t entirely work, does it?”

“No, coach.”

“Well, you can’t win ‘em all,” Ted shrugs, before gesturing for Sam to lead the way to get some more privacy. Then he asks: “What did you wanna talk about?”

“I don’t really know how to say this,” he says apologetically, because now that he has pulled Ted to the side, he truly doesn’t know where to start.

“That’s alright, just rip that sucker off and drop your truth bomb. I can take it,” Ted encourages him with this ever present pleasant look on his face.

Sam takes a deep breath, then says: “I have been really disappointed in how you’ve handled Jamie this season. Not just his mental health, but before that. I looked up to you and I truly appreciate all the work you’ve done to make me feel safe on this team, but I wish you would have extended that care not just to me, but to Jamie too.”

Ted looks at him with wide eyes, the smile falling off his face. It makes Sam feels awful to put that expression on his face, but he knows he needs to get it off his chest, so he continues: “I know that this has brought up memories for you and I don’t want you to manage Jamie, I just don’t understand and I am still working out what I want from you. What is reasonable to ask of you and what would make me feel better about you coaching us.”

He looks Ted in the eye nervously, then says: “You are a good coach. The best I’ve ever had and I put you on a pedestal for it, but you are human. I’m just getting used to that. And I hope you want to work with me to make this team a place for all of us. You saw Jamie and Dani on the pitch today, we can really make this work. But you cannot go on ignoring Jamie, but I don’t know if he wants you meddling. If I want you meddling. I am sorry.”

“Wowie, that- that sure is a truth bomb to drop,” Ted whistles to fill air as he gathers his bearings. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and says: “First off, I’m mighty glad you came to me with this. It’s a very brave thing to do and I’m proud of you for doing it. No need to be sorry. Maybe I needed to hear that. I’m also not very happy with how I’ve been handling this, let me tell you that.”

At that Sam looks up tentatively. He for sure thought Ted would be mad at his words, or at least upset, but he’s being met with kindness and he is almost unsure to take it. Just because he talked to Dr. Fieldstone about it, doesn’t make the whole thing feel less complicated as it twists up his insides.

Ted catches his eyes and smiles. Then says: “You’re right about Dani and Jamie being aces out there – you get it? – with them we can really turn this ship around. Sail towards better shores. If there is something you need from me, just give me a holler. You’ve become a real leader on this team and I appreciate your input. If you are feeling this, you’re probably not the only one and I need to work on that. As your coach, you need to be able to trust me and I’m sorry that you feel like you can’t.”

“Thank you,” Sam tells him with all the sincerity he has. He really appreciates Ted hearing him out and feels a lot more sure with Ted being… well, Ted about it. “I will tell you when I figure it out. I do not know what Jamie might want, I have not talked to him yet. But until then, it will be good to know that you care too and maybe are open with us.”

“I’ll be as open as my peanut butter jar on the counter,” Ted replies with a finger gun, seeming pleased when Sam laughs, remembering when Ted told them about his peanut butter jar after they first ran the decoy play during training.

“That is good to hear,” Sam smiles. To lighten the topic somewhat, he asks: “Do you know what you’re going to bring to the curse fire? I’m sure that being here doesn’t give you many options.”

“Oh, well, uhm, I thought this might be more something for you and the fellas. Get some team building in between players,” Ted answers.

Sam frowns, mulling it over. As he does, Jamie calls out from the beginning of the hall he and Ted side stepped into, more of the other players pouring out behind him. “Oi, Sam, are we going soon?”

“Yes, I’m coming,” Sam calls back, then to Ted he says: “It’s team building and you are also part of the team, coach. It might be nice for you to practice being your peanut butter jar.” He jogs off before he can catch Ted’s expression, because Jamie is making an impatient face and the last thing he wants is for Jamie to involve himself in this fragile conversation.

As he catches up to where Jamie is, Jamie greets him with: “Let’s go dig through your shit first for something to burn. And it better not be panties. Like three lads suggested tha’. I don’t wanna think ‘bout how that’s gonna smell. I doubt they washed them.” He shudders.

“I was never going to consider panties. I don’t even have panties,” Sam says, having to side step the bar patrons, quickly saying some apologies as he nearly runs into people, who just give him awed looks in return. Richmond fans most likely.

“What? Why not?” Jamie frowns, shouldering past the last few people. “You never had a bird leave ‘er panties at yours? That’s sad, Samuel, we need to get you wingmanned properly at some point.”

“Don’t call me Samuel,” Sam says, not dignifying the rest with a response.

“Why not? Your dad calls you tha’,” Jamie argues as he throws open the door and unlocks the car for them.

“Yes, and only he gets to call me that,” Sam tells him, climbing into the car with Jamie.

Jamie thinks about it for a moment, then pulls a face. “Tha’s fair, I s’ppose.” He starts up the motor and maneuvers onto the road, getting back on track: “So, if not panties, what are you going to bring?”

“I haven’t thought about it yet,” Sam admits. “You?”

“Dunno, ‘ave an idea or two,” Jamie hums noncommittally, shutting down the conversation in a way that discourages Sam from pushing, even if a part of him wants to.

They pull up to his house after a short drive and Sam unlocks the door for them, taking in a deep breath as he appreciates the smell of home. He hasn’t minded staying at Jamie’s house, but nothing beats the warmth of his own place. Sam appreciates the homeliness, even if it can feel lonely sometimes. In Nigeria, their home was always filled with love and people, sound and movement.

Jamie observes him for a moment, but doesn’t comment, instead meandering further into the house as he looks around. “Do you got like pot you cook in or something? Could toss in tha’.”

“I am not burning my nice pans,” Sam says outraged. “Do you know how much nice cookware can cost?”

“So? You make millions, mate.”

“It’s difficult to find stuff you like. I have finally found stainless steel that works with me and it took forever to season my wok and cast iron pans. You can’t just replace those!” Sam exclaims.

“Okay, so no pans,” Jamie laughs, amused at Sam’s indigence at his suggestion.

“No pans,” Sam confirms. “Come on, I have sentimental stuff upstairs, we can go through it. If you aren’t going to be too mean, I’ll even show you childhood pictures of me.”

At that, Jamie immediately perks up and eagerly says: “Show me. I wanna see baby Sammy. Were you a a bald baby? You look like you’d be a bald baby.”

“Fuck off,” Sam says, then after a beat: “How did you know that?” which only makes Jamie cackle more without ever explaining it. Rude.

Sam does end up showing Jamie baby pictures as well as old school pictures of himself – a decision that will surely come back to bite him, but at least it will be friendly ribbing – as they go through some of the mementos Sam brought from Nigeria.

However, none of the stuff feels right to bring. They are sacrificing something personal to replace a memory, but you cannot replace a memory with another memory. Not in a way that will sit right in your mind. It would feel like a cover up. To Sam at least.

So, he puts the box away and gets up, telling Jamie: “Come, I know what I’ll bring.”

“Not these?” Jamie asks, gesturing to the box as he goes to follow.

“No, I have thought of something better,” Sam says, leading Jamie back down the stairs to the hallway next to the kitchen, where he has a picture wall. He picks one of the frames off the wall and holds it in his hands, appraising it before he nods: “Yes, this is good.”

Jamie peers curiously at the picture over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose for a moment as he asks: “Why this?”

“It is the 1994 Nigerian World Cup team. I put it up, because I want to make that team and I vowed to not take it down until I had,” Sam explains.

“But you haven’t made the team yet?” Jamie says confused, but not maliciously. Sam likes to think Jamie threw the ‘yet’ in there because he believes Sam will.

“That is why it would be a sacrifice,” Sam answers. “It is a sentimental item tied to a dream that is dear to me. I’m not giving up on the dream that is tied to it, but I am sacrificing the symbol of it. It is about showing a new side of yourself, letting people get to know you in a way you would otherwise not let them in.”

Jamie thinks about his words for a moment, then nods. However, he doesn’t comment on it further, instead asking: “Why from the 1994 World Cup then? You definitely weren’t ‘round back then.”

Sam lets him mull it over in private. He is always more than happy to talk about his home country and Jamie seems genuinely interested: “It is the first time Nigeria ever participated in the World Cup. They did not make it into the quarterfinals, but it was still a big moment. My father actually watched the match they played against Italy and he is not even a football fan.”

“He’s not? But he knew like everything when I talked to ‘im on the phone,” Jamie frowns.

“Yes, because he raised me and I constantly talked about football,” Sam chuckles. “He listened to many lectures during dinner or when we were cooking. I can be quite passionate about the topic.”

“Course, mate, who the fuck isn’t,” Jamie says with the voice of someone who has never contemplated the fact that there are people that don’t care about football.

“Well, my father,” Sam reminds him, amused. “But he became passionate. For me. He has always supported my dreams. In a way, making the team would be a way to make him proud, show him how far his support has brought me.”

“Your dad’s probably already proud of you, though. Like, he couldn’t shut about you when I talked to ‘im, sounded mad proud when he told childhood stories,” Jamie says, which is very nice to hear. Sam does know his father is proud of him, but it never feels like he’s done enough. He always wants to show his father how great Sam is and how it is because of him.

“Thank you, Jamie,” he smiles. “And I do know that. I just want to repay him in some way. He has always been in my corner. The only person sometimes.”

Jamie hesitates for a moment, looking from Sam to the picture, then to the pictures on the wall. Finally, he tentatively asks: “What about your mum? Is she…?”

“She’s still alive,” Sam assures him. “We are just not close. She and my father divorced when I was very small and she gave up custody. She had gotten a job offer in a different city that would change her life, my father did not want our lives to be changed like that. He has always valued family more and did not want to move away from the support we had and the people we were supporting in turn. It was amicable and we would go visit in the summer, but she was never there for us in that sense.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Jamie says, pulling a face that Sam is 90% sure is supposed to be empathetic, but looks mostly pouty.

With how Jamie values his own mother, Sam can understand where he is coming from, but… “Not really. I was too young to really miss her. And she was never cruel about it. She loved us, she just wanted to have a life that was different. I do not blame her.”

“You don’t?” Jamie asks, almost like he cannot help himself. Like he has to know, because it is just unbelievable to him to not hold some sort of anger for a parent who was supposed to be there, but wasn’t in a way that mattered.

They grew up very differently. And maybe Sam does sometimes blame her, but he’s had years to come to terms with it and he was never made to feel like it was his fault. His mother had mostly given up custody because it would be easier for his father with her a city away. She never fully stepped down, though. She just had vacations and long weekends, instead of the day to day. It was kind of like having a fun aunt they got to stay with sometimes.

“No, I don’t,” he affirms again after a moment of thought. “I always had more than enough other people around me. My father especially, but aunties and uncles too, as well as the elders. My father is very community orientated.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Jamie hums, not sounding entirely convinced, but willing to believe Sam believes it. He drops it with a: “The picture is a good sacrifice.”

“Thank you. Do you know what you’re bringing?” Sam asks curiously. The only thing he can think of is the drawer full of suicide letters, but he doesn’t think Jamie is willing to part with those yet. Maybe Jamie will pick something hopeful too, but Sam doubts it. There is very few stuff in Jamie’s house and most of it is wrapped in the lingering sadness that lives there most of the time.

“I got an idea, yeah, but let’s eat first. I’m fucking hungry. We can swing by mine and grab it on the way back,” Jamie says, not giving Sam more information. He does it subtly, but Sam still picks up on the message not to push.

He has his own kitchen available to him, so better cookware – which is not going to be sacrificed – however, his commonly used spices have moved to Jamie’s and he hasn’t done groceries in a while. So the two of them end up digging left overs out the freezer and eating those.

Once they’ve eaten, Jamie drives them to his place. He leaves the motor running as he quickly heads inside, Sam behind him.

As he follows Jamie to the living room, he can’t help but let the curiosity get the better of him, trying to look over Jamie’s shoulder as he opens the bottom drawer of the cabinet he keeps there. Keeley went through this bit, so Sam hasn’t seen it.

The drawer itself seems to be filled with knickknacks and the small stuff that accumulates when you don’t know what to do with it exactly, Sam is pretty sure he sees a snow globe. He wonders what Jamie is looking for, but he doesn’t see what Jamie grabs, just that he palms it quickly and stuffs it into his pocket, so it’s small.

A part of him is dying to ask, but the look in Jamie’s eyes prevents him from doing so. Today is already about sharing and he will get to hear eventually, he’ll just have to be patient. Sam is really good at being patient.

Sam doesn’t say anything as they get back in the car and lets Jamie blast his music. He notes that the hands around the wheel are nearly white with how hard he grips and he looks out the front window with a stern stare, jaw clenched. Sam is almost tempted to tell Jamie to go back and pick something else, something that doesn’t make him look like this, but before he can think of a way to bring it up without Jamie exploding all that build up tension outward to Sam, they’ve already arrived.

In the small moment, between arriving and getting out, Sam takes a breath, about to offer to go back for something else. But Jamie has already taken a deep breath himself and thrown the door open.

His shoulders are set with determination and it looks a whole lot closer to walking into an important match than a team building exercise. Sam cannot blame him, he feels much the same.

Now that he’s here, the thought of entering that treatment room scares him. He hasn’t as much looked at the hallway since the first day after when Roy took Jamie to be cleared by the medics. He knows they cleaned the blood away, he knows it’s not the only place he nearly lost Jamie, but the specter of that bright red still haunts him…

Which is why they’re here tonight to exorcise the ghosts there. Something they’re all going to do together.

Sam is glad. He doesn’t think he could go back there alone.

So he gets out of the car and hurries after Jamie, not even pretending it’s for anyone’s sake except his own when he grabs Jamie’s hand and squeezes it. Jamie gives him a surprised look, before he seems to realize Sam is nervous too. It actually makes Jamie relax a little.

Right now, Sam is more than happy to let Jamie be the solid one. In a twisted way, he might be the most unbothered by being back there to all share. After all, he’s done it before. He stood there and ripped out a soft part of himself to show them all, they’re just here to repay the favor.

~~

A/N:

“I hear some mixed reactions from the crowd,” Ted prompts, not looking at Jamie as he does, even if he knows he can’t just ignore him.

Jamie crosses his arms and juts his chin out. “Me and Sam were just hitting our stride. Don’t see why we got to to mess wi’ tha’, you get me?”

“It is alright, I was brought on to be a mid-fielder anyway and we have a good synergy when passing, that can still be there with me at mid-field,” Sam placates him. He doesn’t get what the big deal is, but Jamie seems to gear up to die on this hill and Sam really doesn’t want all that attention on him. “If it is truly horrible, we can try something else.”

He is pleading with his eyes for Jamie just to shut up and go along with it, and it speaks to their friendship that Jamie lets go of his stubbornness with a reluctant: “Fine,” before stomping over to his starting position.

Sam gives Dani an apologetic smile, hoping Dani won’t be offended. Fortunately, Dani just smiles brightly and says: “Football is life. We will have much fun today, Sam Obisanya.”

“Uh, yes, thank you,” Sam says, finding himself smiling back more genuinely.

Dani absolutely backs it up on the pitch and Sam is doing more than fine in the mid-fielder position, while Jamie seems to loathe both facts all day. He’s just seething silently, glaring at Dani every time he scores or celebrates or says ‘Football is life’ which is practically every five minutes. Sam doesn’t know what his problem is with Dani, but Jamie isn’t in a mood to be asked, sourly turning away any time anyone even comes close.

The only reason Ted isn’t saying anything – other than the fact that he is still weird around Jamie – is because Jamie’s animosity isn’t stopping him for playing with Dani. And play they do. They do it well. It is amazing to see such raw talent working together and bouncing off each other. Dani’s an ace as much as Jamie is and with two aces, they can reach what was previously thought impossible; a continued spot in the Premier League.

Jamie doesn’t seem as excited about the possibility, though. His face is pinched, even when he scores, and he doesn’t celebrate, doesn’t even gloat. He just keeps demanding: “Again,” and he doesn’t let up, not even when training is over.

Sam wants to corner him and ask about what is going on in his head, hoping that Jamie will tell him this, even if he doesn’t open up about all the other horrors floating around his brain. However, he has an appointment with Dr. Fieldstone and can’t follow after Jamie like he wants. He just has to watch him head out to grab a bunch of balls with a frown on his face.

He’s about to say fuck the appointment and follow after Jamie when Beard appears in front of him: “I’ll sit in the bleachers. Go to your appointment.”

If Sam is honest, he only trusts Beard marginally more than Ted when it comes to watching Jamie, but he knows he does have to go, so he comforts himself with the knowledge that Mr. Higgins’s former office looks out over the pitch as he quickly thanks Beard, then heads upstairs.

Dr. Fieldstone is not like he expected. She’s shorter for one – though not less intimidating – and her face has a kindness, despite her neutral expression making her look somewhat distant. Her voice is also pleasant as she greets: “Sam, it is nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Sharon Fieldstone.”

“Uh, yes, it’s nice to meet you,” Sam quickly snaps back to respond, shaking her hand and letting himself be lead into the office.

As he goes to sit down, he makes sure to look out the window, relaxing a little when he sees Jamie by the goal, bouncing shots off the frame with a precision and repetition that makes it clear that is the intention. He still looks tense, but less so than he’d been at training.

“Worried about Jamie?” Dr. Fieldstone asks, pulling his attention back to her as she settles down in a chair across from him.

A bit bashful under the observation, Sam rubs the back of his head as he sits as well, wincing: “Oh, uh, yes. I know coach Beard is watching him, but I just wanted to check.”

“It is natural to be worried. I’ve heard you’ve been quite involved with Jamie recently,” she says without any decernable opinion about it.

“I have. I’ve been looking out for him since the away game,” Sam answers cautiously. “But it was my own choice,” he adds quickly, defensively. “Jamie told me I didn’t have to when he asked. He would have been fine with me leaving him to his fate. I wanted to help.”

Dr. Fieldstone listens to his answer patiently with an eye contact that feels dissecting. “Why?” she asks once he is done.

“Why what?” Sam frowns.

“Why did you want to help?” she clarifies.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Sam says, not understanding how she could ask that. “I couldn’t just let him kill himself!”

Dr. Fieldstone hums thoughtfully and writes something down, before she looks back at him with a slightly tilted head and asks: “Do you value doing the right thing?”

That question takes him by surprise and he blinks dumbly at her for a moment, before he empathetically repeats: “Jamie was going to kill himself.”

“I understand,” she tells him not unkindly. “How did it make you feel to hear Jamie wanted to do that?”

“Upset,” Sam says, surprising himself by how fast and quickly he answers. He doesn’t even think of it, just feels the surge of emotions just like he had as he confesses: “Scared. Overwhelmed. Confused. It was a lot. Still is sometimes.”

She nods along to his words, listening to what he has to say as he goes over it all. Then she says: “When you say it is a lot, what do you mean by that?”

“Just, that it’s a lot,” Sam shrugs, feeling a bit stupid as he does and plucking at the hem of his shirt, a habit he must have unconsciously picked up from Jamie.

“It’s okay if you don’t know how to describe it,” Dr. Fieldstone assures him. “When do you feel like it is a lot?”

“Well, uhm, mostly at the start,” Sam says after he’s thought about it. “When it was only me who knew, I mean. I, uh- I kept it a secret, because I’d promised Jamie, but it was a lot to, you know, be the only one who kept him alive. It’s better now. More people know and they help. But they don’t- …I don’t want to make myself more important, but it’s still me that he knows best. We’ve set up a schedule, so someone can stay awake while Jamie sleeps, because he doesn’t wake you up if he feels bad during the night. Colin and Isaac stayed last night. Jamie had a nightmare, it was…” he takes a shuddering breath, “awful. I took over comforting him. I didn’t want them to make it worse when he needed someone to be there for him.”

Dr. Fieldstone lets him talk, order his thoughts as she takes a note here and there. When he falls quiet, she asks: “Are you scared someone will make it worse when you’re not in charge?”

“Ted did,” Sam lets slip before he can stop himself. He cringes: “I’m sorry, I did not mean-”

“This is a judgment free zone,” she assures him, before he can spiral. “Nothing you say will get back to coach Lasso and I will not think badly of you for what you’ll say.”

“Oh. Uhm. Thank you.”

“Do you want to elaborate on how coach Lasso made it worse?” she asks gently.

Sam twists his fingers in the material of his kit, biting his lip as he glances over his shoulder to the pitch outside. Jamie’s still shooting at the goal, but this time he is joined by Dani. Dani seems excited and Jamie is not murdering him yet, so hopefully that’s alright.

“He wanted Jamie to go to the psych ward,” he finally whispers, eyes still on Jamie. “Jamie said he wouldn’t. That he’d rather die, and he meant it, yet Ted still wanted him to go. It’s why he tried to kill himself in the treatment room.”

She is silent for a moment, before she asks: “Do you blame coach Lasso?” the question hanging heavily in the air between them.

Shame curls up in Sam’s stomach and he hunches in on himself a little, tearing his eyes away from Jamie to look at his lap, where his fingers still play with his shirt. With a small voice he admits: “Yes.”

“Why? What part exactly do you blame him for?”

“For not listening to Jamie? Not taking him seriously?” Sam says, not sure if that is, but trying to figure it out as he talks. “I mean, Jamie told him, so why would he do that? He’s- He’s supposed to be our coach, look out for us, but he drove Jamie to do that. Knowingly! And I just-” He takes a breath “-I don’t know what to think.”

He’s silent for a moment too, but Dr. Fieldstone doesn’t say anything, just patiently waits for him to continue without prompting him.

After a beat, Sam says: “Because it wasn’t just then, you know. Before that. Before they knew Jamie was suicidal, they were so quick to think he was the problem. Ted kept checking in on me. When me and Jamie became friends, I mean. I know he’s been a bully in the past, but we were getting along just fine. He was being nice. In his own way, but still nice. We’d made peace, which is what Ted wanted, right? He made us roommates after all. But he never- He only asked me. If I was okay. Not Jamie.”

“Would there be a reason for him to ask Jamie?” she asks. “I take it your friendship was unusual and they had reason to be worried for this sudden change, especially with you being so stressed under the responsibility of looking out for Jamie. Why would coach Lasso have asked Jamie?

“His behavior should have been flagged,” Sam answers, remember the realization he’d had when Ted once again tried to check in with him, instead of Jamie. The first time he’d felt frustration with their coach. “Even if he did not think Jamie was hurt, Ted has been trying to change the locker room culture since he got there. If he was scared Jamie was putting me under pressure and I was not talking, he should have checked what Jamie’s side of the story was.”

“Do you feel hurt that he did not press Jamie about your well being?” Dr. Fieldstone inquires without judgment.

“No!” Sam exclaims, because that’s not it. When he takes it into his chest, like his father taught him when assessing his own emotions about things, that doesn’t ring true for him at all. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, he should have cared about Jamie too. But he did not. It is like he had written him off, before he even knew him.”

“And that surprised you?” she prompts.

“Yes! It did. Ted is a good coach, who has done nothing but look out for me. My father is so glad that I have him as a coach, that he is looking out for me. But he isn’t for Jamie. He got him hurt,” his voice cracks at the memory and he has to swallow to stop himself from crying. He takes a breath and says: “I wanted to tell him at the start. Out of everyone, he is the one I wanted to tell. I thought he would help, but he just made it worse and now he’s being weird about Jamie.”

“Can you define what you mean by being weird?” Dr. Fieldstone asks.

“He’s not saying anything to Jamie. Not asking, not commenting, not coaching. Just nothing,” Sam says, then amends: “But it is kind of my fault. And Roy’s. After he benched Jamie last match, we got angry. Everyone did. Jamie was doing exactly what he was asking of him, but he benched him anyway. I think he was worried about Jamie’s mental state, but football is the one thing he stays alive for, benching him is the worst thing you can do.”

“Do you want coach Lasso to talk with Jamie? After all, you said he made it worse and you blame him, would it not be better like this?” she asks, not because she she thinks he should be glad Ted is not talking to Jamie, but because she wants to hear his thoughts.

“I don’t want him to try and manage Jamie, but- but I do want him to care,” Sam says, the nebulous thing that has been swirling around his gut in regards to Ted cracking open. “I just want him to be Ted again.”

“Coach Lasso is someone you’ve looked up to and found comfort in, it’s not unreasonable to be disappointed when he drops the ball on something in such a severe way. When he proves himself to be fallible as any human,” Dr. Fieldstone says, putting it into words.

Ted is only human and Sam is disappointed that he is.

He knows it is unreasonable to expect perfection from someone and he doesn’t. However, he must admit that he found safety in Ted as a coach, which is why he was so confused Jamie seemed to dislike him so much. Now, though, he understands.

“I just don’t understand why he would write Jamie off like that,” Sam says a small voice, not responding to her statement. “I know he’s been handling this badly because his own father committed suicide when he was a teenager and I know I shouldn’t be angry, but… He’s still our coach. It’s his job. Is that too harsh?”

“You cannot help how you feel,” Dr. Fieldstone tells him with a neutral tone. “Why do you think it is too harsh?”

“Well, he’s clearly dealing with those memories and that must be hard. I shouldn’t expect him to just put that aside. It’s just…” he trails off, not finishing the sentence.

“It’s just?” Dr. Fieldstone prompts.

Sam gnaws on his lip, considering if he wants to verbalize it when it feels so mean. In the end, he softly finishes the sentence: “It’s just that he should be trying.”

She writes something down again, then asks: “Why do you think he’s not trying?”

“I mean, he has just fully given up on interacting with Jamie,” Sam says. “He shouldn’t hand over the responsibility to us, because he can’t deal with it, right? He can at least try.” Sam hadn’t gotten a choice in whether or not he could handle it. He put his own shit with Jamie aside to help, why can’t Ted?

“How would you like him to try?” Dr. Fieldstone inquires.

The question makes him pause for a moment and he thinks. He’s been feeling… weird. Disappointed, he supposes. With Ted. He wants him to do better with Jamie, but now that Dr. Fieldstone has asked how, he must admit he is drawing a blank. “Uhm, I do not know,” he admits after a while.

“That’s okay,” she says, even giving him a smile. “Just think about it, we can talk about it next time if you’d like to come back” she tells him. Then she comes at it from a different angle: “What would Jamie want from Ted right now?”

Another question that stumps Sam for a moment. He knows that if it had been up to Jamie, no one would have ever found out and Sam would have let him go on his merry way after the away game. This is a situation Jamie never wanted, but he’s making the best of it and thus far it’s going… not amazing, but he has at least stopped fighting everyone that is trying to help him. Still, it’s not a situation Jamie likes.

Beyond that, Jamie has made his dislike for Ted very clear over the past week and a half, so Sam isn’t even sure if Jamie would want Ted to do anything. This want for Ted to do something might be more on Sam than Jamie. Jamie didn’t seem very bothered with Ted not acknowledging the new bandages this morning, but then again, Jamie is good at hiding how he’s feeling.

He looks out of the window again. Jamie is no longer there, but neither is Beard. He figures they must have left at some point. Dani is still there running drills, though, still looking as chipper and energized as he had been this morning.

“I don’t know,” he admits, embarrassed.

“That is something to ask him then,” Dr. Fieldstone says not unkindly. With that advice given, she circles back and asks: “You said earlier that you felt scared and overwhelmed, do you still feel like that?”

They end up discussing how Sam has been feeling about Jamie’s suicidal depression and his role in taking care of him. Sam feels a bit bad talking about all Jamie’s worst moments and his mental state, but he reasons with himself that she cannot tell anyone and had already been told about Jamie’s suicide attempt at the Dogtrack.

The two of them also discuss what Sam wants to do and what Sam doesn’t want to do. He’d been grateful that Roy had taken Jamie’s phone to listen to the messages from his dad. Sam hasn’t asked about it either and he felt slightly guilty about it.

However, Dr. Fieldstone assured him he isn’t a bad person for not wanting to hear that man again, for just focusing on keeping Jamie away from him and letting other people deal with that. It’s nice to be heard and validated in that. To be told that he doesn’t have to carry it all and he shouldn’t feel guilty about handing some parts over to others, especially when those others want to help and when Jamie wants Sam to not take it all on alone. When that had been the entire point of telling.

When his time is up, he feels a lot lighter than he expected and he thanks Dr. Fieldstone with a smile, letting her lead him out of her office.

Her office door opens to reveal Jamie sulking on the bench across from her door, hands stuffed deeply into his pockets as he slouches down, small scowl on his face. He eyes Dr. Fieldstone suspiciously, not looking away as he asks: “You alright, Sam?”

“Yes, Jamie,” Sam says with a smile, fondness washing over him at Jamie’s protectiveness. He must have left the pitch to make sure to be here at the end of Sam’s appointment, just to check on him. From the corner of his eye, he can see Beard walk away, having kept his promise. Sam doesn’t look over, since Beard doesn’t pull attention to himself, instead saying: “I still have to pee, but then we can go.”

“Fine,” Jamie groans, getting ready to pull himself to his feet to join Sam in using the bathroom. He still thinks it’s overkill, but he’ll go. Communal pissing is officially a trend at Richmond. Sam knew he had a good feeling about it.

Before they can leave, though, Dr. Fieldstone offers: “If you want to take a run real quick, I can watch Jamie for you. If that is alright?” She directs the last bit to Jamie. It’s nice to see her give Jamie the option and not talk about him like he’s not in the room, or a child that Sam gets to make choices for.

They had discussed Sam’s anxiety about leaving Jamie in the care of others and how he’s been getting better at it, even if it feels weird. Maybe she wants to help there?

Jamie eyes her even more suspiciously and Sam is about to tell her that it’s fine when Jamie says: “Sure, but I ain’t buying into your brain mojo shit. It’s gonna be fucking boring, ‘cause I ain’t going to say owt.”

“That is more than alright, you’re not required to talk to me,” Dr. Fieldstone says with that ever present neutrality and patience.

Sam observes their staring match for a moment, before taking a cautious step back. Jamie doesn’t immediately change his mind, so he takes another, before turning around and hurrying off.

When he returns, neither have killed each other. Jamie is still scowling slightly, but he’s no longer giving her murder eyes. Tentatively, he breaks the silence between them: “Everything go okay here?”

“Yeah, mate. Fucking peachy,” Jamie growls, getting up. “Bye, doc.”

“Goodbye, Jamie,” Dr. Fieldstone says warmly. “And bye, Sam. Please, do come by again. My door is always open.”

“Uh, I will,” Sam promises, very aware of Jamie right there, but refusing to back down to Jamie’s opinions about mental healthcare when Sam has found it helpful. He does, however, lead Jamie away from the office quickly, changing the subject: “So, did you have fun with Dani?”

“Chipper fucking dickhead,” Jamie’s expression turns into a bit of a sneer. “You know he’s still doing fucking drills out there right now? He‘s like a fucking dog or some shit.”

“Are you going to tell me why you don’t like him so much?” Sam asks, giving Jamie an open look.

Jamie frowns at the floor, hands still in his front pocket, then shrugs. He dawdles for a moment, then looks away more, cheeks slightly pink. Through gritted teeth, he admits: “He’s ‘ere to replace me, ain’t he? I got loaned ‘ere, ‘cause he got hurt. Now he’s not hurt.”

It’s a moment of vulnerability Jamie wouldn’t have been capable of before and Sam is so proud of him. However, he is mostly shocked and exclaims: “What! No.”

“No?” Jamie repeats, hopeful yet cautious.

“No,” Sam confirms empathetically. “I know I have been getting better at playing the striker spot, but you have to agree you and Dani were amazing out there today. With the both of you, we can win. We can stay in the Prem. You’re going to be here until the end of the season and we will kick Everton’s ass with both of you on the pitch.”

Jamie looks at him, stunned for the moment, before an almost shy, pleased expression comes on his face. “You really think so?”

“I do. Don’t get modest on me now, Jamie. We both know you know you are talented,” Sam says, pushing into the locker room.

“Course I know I’m talented, I’m Jamie Fucking Tartt,” Jamie boasts, seeming to find himself again after his mood today.

“Glad you know your own fucking name,” Roy interjects, turning around from where he’d been rustling through his bag to get his shower stuff. He always stays for physio after training and he’s coming back to watch Jamie with Sam tonight, so it makes sense for him to still be here, but Sam must admit he startles slightly.

“Yeah, you laugh, but you’re secretly jealous. You’re like a year removed from becoming a dementia patient, old man,” Jamie teases, sticking out his tongue at Roy.

“I’m gonna rip your fucking tongue out,” Roy says with less heat than he would have before. It’s almost like he stopped taking Jamie’s barbs seriously and has miraculously found a way to not get angry at them anymore, where before they’d make him boil.

Though, to be fair, Jamie doesn’t say any of it like he means it anymore. There’s something more lighthearted to the shit he says. It almost feels like he’s more saying it on autopilot than anything else.

Still, Sam can’t help but catch Ted observing the scene through the window of the coach’s office. His mustache sits at an angle, like he’s contemplating something, brow slightly furrowed as he traces over Jamie’s back. Sam can imagine all the things he might be thinking about Jamie’s comment and his gut churns again. He should really talk to Ted.

However, before he can, the door bursts open and a screaming Dani is helped through by the physios, obviously looking very hurt. Any thought about conversations is wiped away as all rush over to see what is wrong.

~~

A/N:

Ted, however, doesn’t seem to notice or care, happily going on: “Well, I hope you can give us a bit of the dirty inside details, get us a bit of an advantage maybe.” He gestures for Jamie to come join them, since he’s still at the fucking door.

“Yeah, no, ‘course, coach,” Jamie replies, still sounding off kilter in a way that raises Roy’s hackles more and more, not moving from the door but straightening up slightly. Jamie cards a hand through his hair – which is disheveled instead of styled – then says: “Look, coach, I uh- I ain’t gonna be at the match next week, alright?”

“I know that,” Ted assures him. “They’re your team, so you can’t play against them, but you’re still part of Richmond right now. We still expect you on that bench with us cheering for the team.”

As much as Roy hates to admit it, this is Ted’s strength. The quiet, compassionate confidence that others will also want to do the right thing and stating it in a way that sounds like he’s agreeing with you, while still telling you how it is. It fucking worked on Roy too, the wanker.

However, Jamie is not Roy and he isn’t swayed, the fucking prick. No, he just shuffles in place and says: “I get tha’, coach, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Roy wants to fucking throttle him for that answer, because who the fuck does this prick think he is, not wanting to come to cheer on his own bloody team? Roy knows he’s an egotistical little shit, but he’d hoped there’d at least be some fucking sportsmanship in there, but of course that would be too much to ask from Jamie.

He growls at him, but before he can speak his mind, Ted is already talking again. With a concerned furrowed brow, he repeats: “Not a good idea?” making Roy’s brain catch on the phrasing as well. It is a weird way to say it.

Curiously, he looks over to Jamie along with the other lads, studying him. He’d noticed before that Jamie looked disheveled, but he’d written it off as careless disregard of the work they’re trying to do here, but now a niggling voice of doubt eats at him. Especially when Jamie tucks his hands under his shirt, hunches in on himself and suddenly finds any other place than someone’s face, the most interesting part of the room.

“It’s a long story, gaffer, don’t worry ‘bout it,” Jamie’s cheeks flush as he deflects. Clearly deflects. I mean, it’s so fucking obvious it’s laughable and Roy isn’t sure what the fuck to make of it, but he knows he doesn’t fucking like it.

“And you’re planning on missing a fucking match about it, so fucking spill,” Roy pushes, before he’s even aware he’s going to do it. He just knows that it sits wrong in his stomach somehow and he’s going to itch out of his skin if he doesn’t get more information soon.

Jamie scowls at him for a second, arms coming back out so he can cross them, before he grits: “Me dad’s got fucking ticket seasons, yeah. Had them before I were even born and if I go to this match, while I’m not even playing, he’ll get arrested for coming and that’s jus’ dead fucking rude, innit.”

He’s trying very hard to make this all sound like it’s not a big deal, but the words can’t really be undersold, because that’s fucking concerning and Roy has to mentally rearrange way too fucking much about Jamie right now to be capable of anything other than gaping.

Unfortunately, the other lads don’t have that inhibition, because Bumbercatch asks: “Wait, you got a restraining order against your dad?”

Now Jamie scowls at him and he bites out: “No, those are like serious and shit. You have to go in and ask for one with evidence and it’s whole thing, this is just fucking stupid,” which isn’t clearing the situation up in any capacity and is making Roy more worried regardless of Jamie’s attitude, because he sounds like he knows a bit too much about this.

“Then why the fuck would he get arrested?” Isaac frowns confused.

“I dunno, but it were a different thing. Temporary,” Jamie shrugs. “The police called it a- a- a” -he snaps his fingers a few times- “POVD or some shit.”

At his words, a cold bucket of water gets splashed over Roy and he freezes. He knows what Jamie means, very well. In fact, he has some very vivid memories of standing at a police station trying to convince some shithead in a uniform to do something to keep his sister safe. “You mean a DVPO?” he asks, through gritted teeth.

Jamie blinks in surprise, then nods. “Yeah, tha’,” he says, before continuing on, oblivious to the recalibration of his whole persona that he’s forcing on Roy. “My neighbor called the fucking buzzies, ‘cause he were making a ruckus before I got home. Since Man City won an’ all. She’s like a lawyer and shit, dunno what she fucking told them, but they’re no longer fucking listening to be ‘bout it, even though it’ my dad, y’know? I’ve been at the police station all fucking night trying to convince them she’s outta her mind and to let ‘im go. It’s why I’m late.”

Everyone looks at him for a moment, letting the information wash over them. Jamie scuffs his shoe over the floor, hands having migrated to his pockets as he tries too hard to look casual, like it doesn’t bug him to have said all that in front of everyone. Like it’s not horrible to have spend all night at a police station, because your dad is a piece of shit.

Part of Roy can’t believe Jamie actually just said all that and it’s not a hallucination, another part of him can’t help but wonder if he did, because Roy pushed, because Roy asked him to justify himself for missing a game. Wonders if he could have seen this sooner. Wonders how badly he fucked it.

Of course it’s fucking Lasso, who finds the composure to say something first. “Well, Jamie, that sure sounds like a busy night and I’m glad you told us. Family can be hard. If you wanna look after your pops then you should.”

A look of surprise flashes over Jamie’s face at the words, like he can’t believe he got away with all this that easily, like he hadn’t expected his excuses for his dad to be bought like that. All around the room, the other lads are looking at each other then back at Ted uncertainly, as if asking the room if this is really going to be the end of the conversation.

It’s fucking not.

Roy doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with Ted, but he’s seeing red at the thought of Jamie slinking between them, allowing him to stuff this all away and sending him back out at the end of the day to go back to that fucking police station to go help his shitstain of a sperm donor.

Before he can even think about it, he kills the way the room is slowly letting this go before it can even start, getting up from his seat as he loudly cuts through it with a: “Are you hurt?”

“What?” Jamie laughs, but the laugh is all wrong.

Undeterred, Roy repeats: “Are you hurt?”

“Mate, what are you on about? Why would I be hurt?” Jamie tries to deflect, but Roy can see the way his hands are gripping the bottom of his shirt.

Roy can’t help the scowl, even if he knows Jamie is being defensive. Still, because he’s Roy and Jamie’s Jamie, he can’t help but point out: “Maybe because you got a fucking Domestic Violence Protective Order that’s so fucking bad the pigs are actually taking it fucking seriously.”

His words suck the air out of the room all over again and Jamie becomes bright red and wide eyed in a way that tells Roy he hadn’t known what those letters stood for when he told everyone about it. Though he doesn’t waste much time gathering himself, quickly pivoting: “It were jus’ a misunderstanding tha’s all, nowt even happened. He were only making a ruckus. Me neighbor has a camera on her porch, catches me drive way. She must ‘ave too much fucking free time with the conclusions she jumped to.”

He’s not helping his case, honestly, because his neighbor being worried enough to save up evidence to build a case means she had been seriously worried. Her being a lawyer also adds to her credibility as being something other than a neighborhood snoop.

“If it’s all a misunderstanding, why are they not letting you bail him out? Must be pretty convincing,” he pushes, feeling like an arsehole for cornering Jamie like this in front of everyone after the harrowing night he’s had, but knowing that if he lets it go now, Jamie will find a way to weasel out of this and shut down and he can’t let that happen.

“Drunk ‘n disorderly and assaulting an officer and, like-” Jamie cuts himself off. “It were nothing, he barely even touched me,” he deflects again with a different excuse, hunching in on himself as if trying to disappear.

“But he touched you?” Roy checks, honing in on the small slip Jamie made.

Jamie cards a stressed hand through his hair, before scoffing: “Fucking ‘ell, you make it sound like he battered me or some shit.”

Roy doesn’t know if Jamie expects him to drop it by playing into his masculinity, making it sound like he’s overreacting, but it’s not going to work. Roy doesn’t give a fuck if someone thinks he’s manly, he’s Roy fucking Kent. So he doesn’t back down and simply replies: “Has he? You still haven’t told me if you’re fucking hurt.”

Everyone around them is staring at the interaction with wide eyes, not interfering but not encouraging either. Much like with Ted’s dismissal earlier, none of them likely know what to think or do. Everyone gets awkward in the face of abuse, Roy used to be and it almost cost him his sister. He gets it, but it’s infuriating anyway.

Of course, Roy is not the only one who feels the eyes, Jamie does too and it’s clear he wants them to stop and look elsewhere, because he switches it up yet again when that doesn’t work. His hands come up all placatingly and he assuring in his intonation when he speaks: “Roy, I’m fine, swear down. I jus’ tripped, yeah, nowt to do wi’ ‘im, were being clumsy, tha’s all.”

And Roy hates this even more. He hates it with a passion, because Jamie doesn’t call him Roy. He calls him granddad, old man, arsehole and any other rude thing under the sun, but never his fucking name. It reminds him too much of Sarah, who’d said ‘I just bumped my head, Roy. It was nothing. Baby brain is making me clumsy,’ even though she always called him Roy-o or Royston to annoy him, even though she was never clumsy. Not before the pregnancy, not during and not after.

Hates it, because the sickening knowledge that he’s being managed. Jamie has tried to not answer, tried to undersell, tried to make Roy sound ridiculous, tried to make him bristle and let it go, and now he’s trying to placate him. That Jamie is trying not to make him mad in the hope that bearing his throat will mean that Roy will let it go and there won’t be any consequences for Jamie.

What he hates most, is that he wants to assure Jamie that he did nothing wrong, wants to reassure him right back and make this all less horrible for him… but he can’t. This is serious and Jamie needs help and he can’t let him stuff his head in the sand when Roy is capable of doing something. Of fixing this.

“So he pushed you,” he says flatly, trying not to let the rage that is swirling around his bloodstream show, because he knows Jamie will think he’s mad at him, not his dickbag of a dad.

“Jesus Christ,” Jamie mutters, before he says: “I told you that I tripped. Me. Not him. Nowt for you to worry ‘bout, skip.”

Skip. Not an insult, but a title. One that Jamie has never called him before. One that is meant to stroke his ego into letting down his guard and letting Jamie go.

“Yeah, we’re letting a medic be the judge of that,” Roy says, shutting it down. He knows enough and Jamie isn’t going to relax enough to tell him more with everyone gawking at him.

He walks forward to lead Jamie to a treatment room so he can get checked out for real and soothe some of Roy’s frayed nerves, as well as maybe open up more outside of prying eyes. He has to fight not to react to the way Jamie flinches away slightly from the hand he places on his back to lead them away. He makes sure that Jamie could easily shake him off and the grip is not too tight, while still firmly leading him away from everyone.

Jamie goes a lot more easily than he would have expected and it’s not until they’re already halfway there that he snaps out of it. “This isn’t necessary, man. I ain’t hurt. I’m fine.”

“You got pushed.”

“I tripped.”

Roy stops walking for a moment and Jamie does the same and Roy turns to him. He straightens his spine somewhat, trying to draw himself up and sound confident as he says: “This is unnecessary, skipper. I ain’t even hurt, I don’t need a medic, yeah?”

Again with the skipper, a title instead of an insult, or even Roy’s fucking name. He’s still fucking placating Roy. Fucking shit. “No. You got pushed.”

“I didn’t get pushed,” Jamie retorts, looking annoyed, which is good. Him visibly being annoyed with Roy means he’s not entirely afraid of pissing him off after everything that has gone down.

Despite, his flaws, Roy is very aware of the fact that he can be an angry man – something he’s had to work on after he took in his sister while she was going through her divorce – so he understands Jamie being cautious around him. However, Jamie has never been afraid to get into his face before and the thought of losing that, sat weirdly in his chest. Roy never thought he’d see the day where he’s glad that Jamie might insult him again.

Still, just because he’s glad that Jamie hasn’t entirely shut down around him, doesn’t mean he’s letting him get away with deflecting and minimizing here. So he takes a breath and looks at Jamie, who has done the same with nervous apprehension clear on his face.

“Oi, you might be fucking uncomfortable right now and feel the need to fucking defend that piece of shit for some fucking reason, but don’t insult either of our intelligence by pretending he didn’t fucking push you,” Roy says.

That stills Jamie, who looks at the floor, stuffing his hands under his shirt. His cheeks are red and there’s a small frown on his face. He looks to young for this. All the twats around this facility feel too young for all of this to Roy now.

In the end, Jamie says: “It weren’t a hard push. More an accidental tap, really.”

Roy has to blink at him for a second at that, before he heaves a deep sigh as he grunts: “Sure, he fucking tapped you and you fell. You’re a fully grown footballer, who I’ve tackled a thousand times and it takes a lot of fucking force, but he sneezed to hard and accidentally bowled you over.”

It actually causes Jamie to scowl at him, which Roy is taking as a fucking win, because that was a shitty thing to say, even if it’s true.

However, Jamie doesn’t say anything in response – probably because they both know Roy is right and he doesn’t want to try and figure out how to defend his old man – and meekly follows after Roy when he starts leading him down the hall again.

Gail is there when they enter and looks surprised when the two of them come in together, but she knows better than to say shit when Roy comes in and she doesn’t blink when Roy pushes Jamie forward and grunts: “He’s hurt and refusing to tell me about it. Check him out.”

“Jesus Christ, you make it sound like me leg needs to be fucking amputated,” Jamie grouses and it makes Roy feel slimy inside to watch Jamie put on a smile to Gail and easily work around reality with a: “I jus’ had a bit of a fall,” like him crashing to the floor mysteriously happened to him. “It’s a bit of a scrape, tha’s all really, swear down.”

“Well, let’s have a look anyway. Don’t want it to get infected,” Gail smiles back, unaware of the bullshit she is buying into.

A growl escapes Roy at the situation but he packs it the fuck away, before it can become a thing. He is allowed to hate all of this, but it’s not fucking about him and he’s not doing shit to fuck this up for Jamie when he’s not blatantly refusing to go through with having a medical professional take a look at him.

“Me driveway has like those gravel tiles, you get me? So it looks worse than it is,” Jamie prefaces as he shrugs out of his graffiti jacket, which isn’t filling Roy with confidence that it’s fine.

And he’s proven right by that when Jamie reveals his arm, which is scraped to all hell from wrist to elbow, as if he tried to catch himself without using his hands. There’s even some scraping on his shoulder, from which Roy gathers he was pushed with enough force to have to roll to catch himself. The sight only serves to make him angrier.

From the corner of his eye, Jamie sends Roy a glance, but he studiously avoids locking eyes, instead choosing to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He looks small like this. Aware of what Roy knows about his injury and shrinking under the visibility of everything he’s hidden for so long.

“That is quite the abrasion,” Gail hisses sympathetically, oblivious to the tension in the room as she goes to clean the scraped up skin, even needing to pick out some bits of gravel with tweezers.

“Oh, uhm, yeah, I s’ppose,” Jamie shrugs politely. “Think I caught meself wrong.”

Throughout the whole process of cleaning, Jamie looks straight ahead, his jaw twitching slightly is the only indication he can feel the sting. Roy hates how stoic he is. Before today, he would have guessed Jamie’d be a diva about getting injured and make a whole production out of it, like he does when he gets fouled, but he doesn’t. He makes himself as unobtrusive as possible, tries to disappear so Gail won’t think too much about it or ask him questions.

“Did you catch yourself anywhere else when you fell?” Gail asks when she’s done with his arm and Roy sits with her saying ‘you fell’ like Jamie had anything to do with it.

It’s obvious that Jamie thinks the same, because he sends Roy a quick, nervous look, scared for Roy interjecting. When Roy manages to bite his tongue for the sake of Jamie’s well being, Jamie turns back to Gail and charmingly smiles: “Jus’ me knees, it weren’t owt bad, though.”

“Well, let’s take a look anyway,” Gail tells him motioning for him to strip out of his jeans.

Roy wonders how the fuck he missed that the knees of Jamie’s trousers were all fucked up before now, until he sees Jamie has put on some compression knee braces under that are the same shade, making it look less noticeable. It’s the kind he sometimes wears, just like his compression shirt that he often wears and Roy had seen poking out of his bag earlier. Roy has the sickening realization that if they hadn’t pushed more, Jamie probably would have kept them on and none of them would have ever realized something happened to him.

Then he has to wonder how the fuck Jamie managed to squeeze back into those skinny jeans he wears when he peels off the knee braces to reveal his knees, which aren’t just bloody, but bruised and swollen too.

Now Gail is finally looking more concerned than she had been before and she carefully runs through his range of motion with Jamie and palpates the bruising to check up on Jamie’s knee caps. In the end, it’s thankfully not that serious, but she still tells him to keep up light movement and not aggravate the injury more.

“I already weren’t playing next match wi’ it bein’ Man City, don’t worry,” Jamie assures her with a practiced smile. “I’ll take it easy during training, swear down.”

“That’s good to hear,” Gail smiles, more assured than she’d been before and letting Jamie go without questioning him.

Roy tries not to glare at her when she leaves to go put it in his chart and update everything, instead focusing back on Jamie, who’s still sitting on the examination room in his pants and a tshirt. When their eyes meet, Jamie hunches in on himself and scowls at Roy. “See? I’m fucking fine. Like I said. Not even gonna scar if I keep it hydrated.”

Because of course Jamie would know how to prevent stuff from scarring, because he’s vain and this happens often enough for him to worry about stuff like that. Makes Roy wonder what he would look like if he hadn’t worried about scarring.

He doesn’t say any of that, however. This isn’t like with his sister where they were close enough for him to be as overbearing as he wanted to be, where he knew her so well he knew she’d welcome him in her space, in her life, even if she hated him right now. Where she didn’t like him poking at her tender spots, but knew it would be better in the long run to bear a bit of pain right now.

When Roy continues to watch Jamie in silence as he tries to figure out where to go from here, because he didn’t think further than making sure Jamie wasn’t hiding any internal bleeding or some shit, Jamie shifts under his gaze until he finally snaps: “You don’t have to fucking catalog me, you prick. The buzzies already took fucking piccies for fucking documentation and shit.”

“That’s good,” Roy grunts, because as much as he doesn’t trust the cops, Jamie is affluent enough that they might actually be trying to do something.

“No! It’s not fucking good,” Jamie seethes, getting up from the bench to get in his face. “It’s fucking shit, Roy. They want me to press charges for fucking actual bodily harm, ‘cause he broke the skin. Like proper assault charges.”

“’Cause he fucking assaulted you,” Roy points out in a probably not so smart move.

Again Jamie cards a stressed hand through his hair and waves his hand dismissively. “He barely fucking touched me. All it’s doing is make this whole thing fucking worse.” He rubs a hand over his face, seeming to age twenty years as he sighs: “He’s gonna be fucking pissed when he gets out.”

It’s not often that Roy finds himself in a place where he doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t know what to do here. Jamie is opening up to him, but he doesn’t want to do anything about changing his situation. When he’d helped Sarah, she’d wanted to get out for herself and for unborn Phoebe. That he’d known how to do.

“He’s not going to get to you,” is what he finally says, because at the end of the day that is what he wants for Jamie right now. To be safe. Because clearly he’s not fucking safe and Roy refuses to stand by and let it happen. He already swore he would never miss such a thing again and he already did, he’s not going to fuck it up more.

“What?” Jamie chokes out, sounding genuinely shocked.

“He’s not going to get to you,” Roy repeats, making sure to keep his eyes locked onto the Jamie’s to make sure he understands that Roy means it. “We can sit down with lawyers see what you can do without having to come near him again, you can stay with me when he gets out so he can’t find you, I can beat the crap out of him, whatever you need, yeah? But he’s not gonna touch you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

For a beat Jamie blinks at him uncomprehendingly, before he frowns: “What the fuck, mate? You don’t even fucking like meh, what are you on about?” and despite the general attitude, there is a tint to his voice that breaks Roy’s heart.

“I don’t like you,” he agrees. “I think you’re a prick and a fucking bully, who needs to get his fucking head out of his arse and learn how to not be a huge fucking twat to everyone, before your fucking attitude undermines the talent you have and fucks up your career, but that doesn’t fucking matter.” He makes sure to meet Jamie’s hurt eyes after his harsh words, hating how Jamie takes in on the chin, even though they cut, because he’s probably used to it. Softer, Roy repeats: “It doesn’t fucking matter. You can be a huge cunt and still not deserve whatever it is that your dad’s doing to you. No one does. You deserve fucking help, Jamie. You deserve to not have to defend the fucker. You deserve better.”

The brave face falters in the face of genuine compassion and Jamie gapes for a second, tears coming to his eyes, before he swallows them down and looks away. He clears his throat and says: “Fucking hell, lad, no need to be dramatic.”

“Jamie… don’t do this,” Roy interrupts sadly, before Jamie can defend his dad again.

It does stop Jamie, who shrinks into himself, looking so very vulnerable in his pants and shirt. Too young and yet too weary as he mutters: “I can deal with it.”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” Roy replies, which seems to surprise Jamie enough that he looks back at Roy and Roy tries very hard to pull an expression of compassion that he is usually only able to do with Phoebe as he adds: “But you don’t fucking have to.”

“Family’s hard,” Jamie protests feebly. “Dad’s always been a bit of a dick, but I can deal wi’ ‘im.”

“Fuck Ted, don’t fucking listen to that wanker,” Roy seethes at the repeated words. “I don’t know what his fucking problem is, but he’s fucking wrong. And your dad shouldn’t be a fucking dick to you. And a bit of a dick doesn’t involve him hurting you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do ‘ere,” Jamie says helplessly at that. “I can’t jus’ leave ‘im. He’s me dad. I don’t got a lot of people left.”

And Roy would love nothing more than to rip Jamie away from his dad, tell him fuck you, you don’t know what’s good for you and make this choice for him… but that won’t work. What he can do, however, is give Jamie support so that when he’s ready to go, it won’t be so scary. That he’ll have people other than his dad and it’ll be easier to toss him on his fucking arse and leave him in the dirt.

“I want you to let me fucking help you, yeah?” Roy says, pushing aside his own discomfort to get these words out, because they’re important. “I’ve been a shit fucking captain to you and I’m trying to do… better.” G-d, this is all painful to say. “So let me.”

“What can you even do?” Jamie says, cautious as he eyes Roy but with an edge of hope in his voice that Roy clings to.

Honestly, Roy answers: “I don’t fucking know, but we can figure it out. You can stay at mine, disappear for a bit. Tell your dad your hands were fucking tied with the DVPO and you’d make it worse by continuing to harass people about letting him out when you resurface.”

Maybe if Jamie accepts, he can convince Sarah to come over for dinner and let her work her magic. It would probably mean more to be assured from someone who’s done the same as you might want and escaped their abuse, instead of from Roy, who has only ever been on the outside of it. Maybe it’d do Jamie some good to meet Phoebe and see how bright she is without her dad’s presence hanging over her head at every turn. Maybe that lawyer he got to help Sarah out still hasn’t retired yet and he can contact her again to help. Maybe that neighbor of Jamie who undertook action in the first place would be a good person to reach out to as well.

But Jamie will have to want his help.

Admitting it sucked, but it’s true. When Jamie first got him, Roy hated him for being talented and still in his prime, instead of being old and injured like Roy. Hated him for replacing Roy as the best on the team when Roy came to Richmond to live his final years on the pitch as the best on a shitty team. Hated him, because he hated everything.

It was unfair. It was so fucking unfair and if Roy had just gotten his fucking act together, maybe he would have fucking noticed before Jamie showed up all banged up with a DVPO imposed on him, because his neighbor had to force it on him out of worry for his safety. He should have been better and he should have fucking noticed. And he gets it if Jamie doesn’t trust him to do shit after Roy failed him so spectacularly this season.

Jamie contemplates his words for a moment, gnawing on his lip as he does. He looks torn and Roy doesn’t know if he wants to and is too scared to say it, or if he’s too intimidated by Roy to reject him. He gives him as much space as he can, tries to be nonthreatening and just waits with patience.

After what feels like forever, Jamie stuffs his hands under his shirt and goes for nonchalant as he shrugs: “Sure, if it’ll get your panties all untwisted, be free, or whatever.”

Roy doesn’t call out that Jamie is trying to make this not a big deal when it is and just goes along with it, giving him a curt nod. “Good lad,” he says, before turning to the door. “Now toss those trousers out and get in your kit. And I don’t want to see that fucking compression, shit, yeah? You gotta let that shit breathe. And you’re not coming near any drills or scrimmages where you can get tackles, you fucking hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah, you bossy twat,” Jamie grouches, though there is an edge of relief in his voice that tells Roy he made the right choice in not pushing. Then Jamie calls out after him: “Wait, what are you gonna do then?” when Roy goes to leave after he’s been right next to Jamie the entire time up until now.

It warms something in his chest that his presence has been appreciated enough by Jamie for him to be worried that Roy is leaving now and that he didn’t entirely strong arm Jamie into all this. He calls back over his shoulder: “To tell Ted he’s a fucking wanker and to keep his nose out of it. Now, mush, Tartt. I will still charge you that late fee if you’re not on the pitch in ten fucking minutes.”

“Aye, aye, granddad,” Jamie rolls his eyes, sarcastically adding: “Want me to do owt else, huh?”

“Yeah, think about what you want for dinner,” Roy tells him, taking the question seriously just because he fucking can.

He has to be honest that he hadn’t expected his morning to end up like this when Jamie came stumbling in late looking worse for wear, but he’ll take it. As much as Ted needs to hear that he’s fucking wrong about Jamie and his dad and to butt out, he’s also right about the fact that Roy needed to change. That they all need to change and do better. And Roy is going to do it.

~~

A/N:

Roy reluctantly stepping up because it has to be him, it’s not going to be anyone else, will always get to me. I love writing his POV of Jamie’s mask slipping, especially in season 1. They just have such an interesting dynamic that I love to explore.

At this point, Jamie is breathing so fast he’s heaving slightly, on the cusp of throwing up. Sam knows that is a real possibility, so he snatches up the bin and carefully pushes Colin out of the way, so he can be in Jamie’s line of sight instead, holding out the bin as a peace offering when he does. Jamie takes it with a shaky hand, heaving into it, but nothing but thick spit comes out.

Colin gratefully makes way for Sam, panic in his voice as he explains: “He just shot out of bed and started panicking. He’s not breathing right.”

He’s not wrong, Jamie’s breathing is all over the place and Sam is genuinely worried that he might pass out. He’s not giving himself space to breathe either. Jamie is curled tightly around the bin, trying to make himself disappear as he stutters over each breath, eyes squeezed close, tears slowly forming at the corners of them.

Other than depressed, traumatized and mentally ill, Jamie hasn’t given Sam anything specific to work with. However, he has read up on some ways to help with general mental health stuff during the long nights he’s spend awake. So, while he has no clue what he is doing, he doesn’t feel entirely out of his depth as he squats in front of Jamie and asks: “Jamie, can you name five things you can see?”

Across from him, Jamie chokes on a gasp, before forcing out: “Fu- fu- fuck-k y-you,” shuddering as the words get stuck and he coughs.

“Go get water,” Sam tells Colin. “Bottle. Plastic,” he clarifies, because he does not trust Jamie with a glass right now.

“Yeah, no, of course,” Colin nods frantically, hurrying out of the room.

“Just follow my breathing,” Sam tries instead, taking an exaggerated breath and making sure to count in his head, so that Jamie can follow.

Jamie glares at him while he coughs, gagging and throwing up a bit. He is still trying to breathe, but it’s not working and Sam is starting to feel less and less sure of himself. It wasn’t like this last time Jamie had a bad nightmare. There is no frantic run to die, just this miserable choking.

He reaches out a hand to put on Jamie’s knee, hoping to ground him, but Jamie just slams himself into the wall as he squeaks: “Don’t-” the force of slam making him gasp, before he draws a proper breath and his face crumbles as he sobs: “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t,” Sam instantly promises, feeling nauseous himself as he watches Jamie cry. “I’m not going to touch you, you’re okay. You’re safe. You’re in control. Nothing is happening unless you want it to. You are safe.”

Sam can’t be sure if his words are helping or not, since Jamie’s crying doesn’t let up. However, before he can make up his mind, Colin returns with the water, Isaac on his heels, both their eyes still wide.

Wordlessly Sam takes the water from him, hoping they’ll keep to the background and not accidentally do something to make it worse. He keeps his voice gentle as he turns back to Jamie and offers him the water as he says: “Here, try to drink something. Small sips.”

Jamie’s fingers are clumsy and his hands are shaky, but he manages to take the water bottle without dropping it. He spills water everywhere and Jamie splutters when he chokes on a sip, however, it works. It is hard to cry and hyperventilate when drinking, you need to regulate yourself when you do. Sam knows that from his baby cousins.

“What can I do, Jamie? Is there anything that will help?” Sam asks, because it’s awful to see Jamie like this and he just wants to be able to do something for him, but Jamie doesn’t want to be touched and Sam doesn’t know how else to comfort him.

“I want you to let me fucking die,” Jamie screams, slamming his head into the wall, the same unbridled rage in his voice as there had been last time. The same frustration at his escape being taken from him. The water bottle goes flying through the room, hitting the wall and Jamie breaks down into sobs again.

His nails are raking over his arms, leaving red streaks on his flesh as he goes. It’s as if he’s trying to rip the skin off.

The sobbing gets so bad, he throws up into the bin again, the smell is sour and only serves to make Jamie cry harder as he sobs: “Why can’t- why can’t you jus’ lemme- let- let me die? I- I don’t- I don’t wanna do- do this any- anymore.”

“I know, but it will get better. It will. You are so loved, Jamie. It’s okay. You deserve better,” Sam soothes desperately, still feeling that same gut punch he always does when Jamie is low like this and says stuff like that.

“No, I don’t,” Jamie cries. “I’m dis- disgus- disgusting,” he spits the word out, the same word he’d used for himself when holding a shard of glass to his neck, crying about how it’s too late and he will never escape his dad, never get away from what happened to him.

“You’re not,” Sam insists, almost angry at the universe on Jamie’s behalf. “And even if you were, I do not care. You can be the most disgusting person on earth and you are still my friend. I still love you.”

Jamie’s practically a shivering ball, but he uncurls a little at Sam’s words, peeking over his knees to look at him.

Sam makes sure to look Jamie in the eye, so he can see how genuine he is, as he repeats: “You deserve better. It will get better. I love you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

At his words, Jamie makes a warbled sound that could be positive or negative, but Sam decides it must be positive when Jamie reaches out a shaky hand. It flops a bit and is unsteady and Sam still checks, “Is it okay to touch you now?” but it’s progress.

Crying quietly now and more demurely, Jamie nods, sniffling and wiping his snotty nose on his knee when he buries his head again.

With Jamie’s consent, Sam doesn’t wait a moment, grabbing Jamie’s hand and shuffling closer, so he can pull Jamie to his chest and wrap him in his arms. He maneuvers Jamie’s head onto his chest, so he can follow Sam’s breathing, while Sam rubs his back comfortingly.

Now that Jamie is slowly winding down from his breakdown in Sam’s arms, Sam has a moment to breathe as well. His senses finally expand and he suddenly spots Colin and Isaac still in the doorway, watching the scene with wide eyes.

All of them had been privy to Jamie’s attempt to kill himself at Nelson Road, so it’s not the shock of seeing it for the first time. However, Sam knows that it never gets easier and being helpless to do anything but stand there doesn’t make it better.

Sam is sure both had expected to just sit next to Jamie all night as he slept and nothing more. They weren’t prepared for this and it’s a lot to suddenly have to face. Sam sends them a smile he hopes is reassuring as he pulls Jamie just that bit tighter to him. “I got him,” he tells them. “Why don’t you make tea?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Isaac says softly, seeming almost afraid to break the quiet atmosphere that has fallen over the room now.

“Thank you,” Sam smiles shortly, hearing them leave as he focuses on Jamie.

Jamie is still curled up, though less tightly than he’d been before. However, his nails are still curled into his skin, digging into his wrists as he hugs himself, the bin sat on the floor between his limp legs. Sam reaches out to his wrists, undoing the fingers with a soft: “Hey, don’t do that.”

For a moment, Jamie tenses, keeping his finger stiff to stop Sam from prying them away and revealing the crescent shaped indents underneath. Sam even thinks there’s a bit of blood. “Don’t,” Jamie says. “They make me feel better.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you hurt yourself,” Sam says sympathetically, again pulling at Jamie’s fingers, relieved when they let go. There is indeed blood and it looks painful. Sam wonders what happened to make that comforting to Jamie. Wonders if he’s ever going to tell Sam.

Jamie looks down at his wrist too, staring at the same wounds with blank eyes, before he blinks and his face crumples again. He doesn’t break down sobbing again, instead silent tears leak down his face. “I’m sorreh,” he whispers, voice thick. “I’m jus’- I’m jus’ fucking broken.”

“You’re not broken,” Sam tells him softly but passionately, planting a kiss on Jamie’s hair. “You’re hurting.”

In response, Jamie makes a small whimpering noise and buries his head in Sam’s shoulder. He craves the comfort of others, even if he always pushes them away, uncomfortable with getting it. Sam doesn’t like to think about who or what taught him that it’s not okay to want it. What made it so that Jamie won’t seek it out unless every defense is stripped away and Jamie doesn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

“Let’s clean these up,” he says, instead of thinking about it, giving Jamie a comforting squeeze.

“Okay,” Jamie whispers again, letting Sam pull him up and lead him to the bathroom.

He sits Jamie down on the toilet and gently cleans out the nail indents that drew blood. The bandages from the glass are still there and Sam has to replace them too. As he is gently wrapping Jamie’s wrist, he notices more scars dotting Jamie’s arms, the worst of it covered by his tattoo and his heart aches at all the low moments and horrible memories that must be attached to them.

“Do you want to go drink tea or just sleep?” Sam asks once he is done, still squatted on the floor in front of Jamie, so he can see his eyes, despite his hung head.

Jamie gnaws on his lips, hands gravitating to the hem of his shirt. After a moment, he shrugs, not giving a real answer.

“Either is fine,” Sam promises, giving Jamie’s knee a short squeeze.

“Don’t think I can sleep,” Jamie confesses after a pause, then he adds: “Don’t think I can face Colin or Isaac either, though.”

“They’re not judging you. They were worried for you,” Sam assures him. “They wanted to help, they just didn’t know how.”

“I know. Colin kept telling meh to calm down, like tha’ll fucking help,” Jamie snorts, small pinpricks of amusement making it through the heavy cloud.

“He was trying,” Sam says, unable to help himself as his lips twitch at Jamie’s response.

The silence returns for a moment and Sam let’s Jamie breathe in it, not wanting to push him into a decision and wanting to give him space to relax somewhat.

After a long stretch, Jamie finally asks in a quiet voice: “You don’t think they’ll be mad?”

“Never,” Sam swears, because he saw their eyes. They felt powerless and scared, but they weren’t put off or judgmental. Jamie always seems to project the worst of what his mind is thinking onto others and Sam hopes that one day he’ll see the world is kinder than that.

“Alright, then,” Jamie nods, putting on a brave face after he’s taken a deep breath.

Sam doesn’t let go of Jamie’s hand as he leads him downstairs to where Colin and Isaac are. There are four mugs of steaming tea on the counter and they’re both leaned on it with pinched, severe expressions on their faces. The air between them is still, thick with what just happened.

When they hear the two of them approach, their heads shoot up and Sam sees Colin anxiously looking at Jamie, while Isaac assesses him, eyes catching on the fresh bandages on his arms. “You hurt, bruv?”

“Oh, uhm, nowt bad,” Jamie says, also looking at the bandages now. Sam has managed to filter out the plaster on his neck most of the time, but now it feels extra visible.

Isaac looks like he doesn’t believe Jamie and instead looks at Sam, who answers: “He scratched himself, but it’ll scab in no time, this is to keep it clean when he goes back to sleep.”

Satisfied that Jamie wasn’t lying, Isaac nods. He’s still shaken, sure, but he is managing to be a stoic sturdy presence regardless. Sam is grateful that he is here in a way he hadn’t expected when he let them in earlier this evening.

Colin sets an uncertain step forward, hands fluttering nervously, as if wanting to reach out, but unsure if it is welcome. “Boyo, are- is everything-” he cuts himself off twice, aware that he shouldn’t be asking Jamie if he’s alright right now, but wanting the assurance that he is anyway.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not made of fucking glass,” Jamie scowls, grabbing Colin’s hand and putting it on his chest. “See, all fucking working proper.”

If he expects Colin to take the piss now that he’s assured, he is mistaken. Colin curls his fingers in Jamie’s shirt for a moment and takes a shuddering breath, before he’s pulling Jamie into a big hug. “I’m so glad it is, mate. Scared the fucking shit outta me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says, voice muffled by the hug.

“Don’t be sorry, you idiot. Just drink your tea, yeah?” Colin says, letting go of the hug and stepping back while clearing his throat, trying to get some of his masculinity back after the display of emotions. Ah, the joys of repressed footballers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie waves him off, but he seems grateful for the fact that they’re dropping it as he reaches for a mug, appearing not to care which one. Or maybe Colin knows how Jamie takes his tea and Jamie recognized it. They were friends after all.

Sam doesn’t question it, he’s too tired. So he just grabs the last mug that isn’t claimed by someone and takes a sip. Tea has grown on him these past however many days and he lets the comforting warmth sink into his fingers.

The four of them stand there awkwardly for a moment, the silence a heavy presence around them.

“Well, this is dead uncomfortable,” Jamie announces after a minute of it.

“Sorry,” both Colin and Isaac mutter, as though they’re not sure what to say otherwise. Sam gets it, he also doesn’t really know what to say. Last time, they returned to sleeping pretty soon after and Jamie just played it off. Sam also hasn’t dealt with this situation before yet.

“We can watch a movie?” Sam offers when no one else says anything.

“I’m picking,” Jamie pipes up immediately, as if anyone was going to fight him for the honor of picking the movie after that. Sam is glad Jamie isn’t rejecting his idea again, he doesn’t think he’s in the mood for more Wikipedia.

Jamie climbs onto the couch and fishes out the blanket he keeps there, it’s large and comfortable, probably because Jamie runs cold and doesn’t always make it to bed. He turns to them and says: “I’m sharing, but only if we never breathe a fucking word of this.”

Colin and Isaac give each other a look. As much as the three of them had been friends, Sam heard their club escapades and knows they have never been here. They weren’t these kind of friends.

Fortunately, Sam is this kind of friend with Jamie, so he crawls under the blanket next to him and leans against Jamie first so he doesn’t have to as he says: “Deal.”

More reluctantly, Colin and Isaac also sit down. Isaac takes the matching chair Jamie owns, but Colin gets on Jamie’s other side, sitting close enough that his shoulder almost touches Jamie’s. Sam gets it. After watching Jamie get out of bed with a scream only to have a panic attack, Sam also wants to be closer to him.

Jamie navigates through one of the many streaming services he has, announcing: “We’re watching Transformers.”

Sam doesn’t care much for the movie, but he is warm and comfortable and has Jamie right next to him, alive and as well as he can be right now. So, he just snuggles into the couch and watches through half lidded eyes, until he drops off on Jamie’s shoulder.

He wakes up to Colin nudging him and as he blinks blearily, he sees Isaac is holding Jamie in his arms bridal style, while Jamie is still asleep. Whispering, Colin says: “Sorry, I can’t carry you and we figured Jamie could use the sleep. Isaac’s holding the last few hours of watch. Wanna get to a bed?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sam says, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes just enough to stumble back upstairs after them.

Isaac gently lays Jamie back in his bed, tucking the blanket around him. Jamie makes a displeased noise at the body heat disappearing, but he stays asleep. The three of them just watch him for a moment like that, until Isaac says: “He’s young like this, innit.”

“He is,” Colin agrees, an odd edge to his voice. “I mean… fourteen, right? What happened?”

Colin looks at Sam, but Sam has to shrug and apologetically say: “I do not know. He doesn’t want to talk about it and I would not tell you if he did. It is his story to tell.”

“I guess you’re right,” Colin sighs, looking back at Jamie with a contemplating look in his eyes. Then he asks: “What are we doing? We can’t do this. We’re not equipped.”

“We’re keeping him alive,” Sam says, maybe harsher than needed, but Ted’s actions are still fresh in his mind. “We are doing just fine. Don’t say that around him.”

“The club’s bringing in that therapist, right,” Isaac says. “Talk to the doc, yeah.”

“Yeah, I will. Sorry,” Colin nods, realizing how his hopeless, scared words would sound to Jamie, who is determined to interpret everything in bad faith.

“It’s okay,” Isaac assures him, patting him on the back. “It’s late. Go sleep.”

“Will you be okay?” Colin asks, eyes full of desperate hope that he will say yes.

Isaac doesn’t disappoint, giving Colin a curt nod, after which Colin leaves with a quick goodnight to both of them.

Sam stays at the doorway while Isaac installs himself in the chair. He’d expected Isaac to take the bed like everyone else had, but he doesn’t. He sits there like a proper body guard. It’s endearing in a way, but Sam can’t help but think Jamie looks so small and lonely in that bed. He doesn’t want to leave.

He chances another glance at Isaac, contemplating it all. Isaac values his masculinity a lot and he’ll think wanting to cuddle Jamie isn’t manly. However, just because Isaac won’t himself, doesn’t mean he’ll judge him or Jamie for it. He’s said nothing about the I love you and the assurance Sam gave Jamie, which the two of them must have heard from their place in the doorway. And he carried Jamie upstairs and carefully tucked him in. He cares, he just shows it differently.

With his mind made up, Sam softly says: “I’m sticking around, but going to sleep,” as he moves to the bed, making sure to move slowly as to not wake Jamie when climbing in.

Isaac doesn’t respond beyond a hum, which Sam takes as confirmation that he heard and isn’t bothered.

Once Sam gets in the bed, Jamie’s body subconsciously seeks out the warmth, rolling over in his sleep and snuggling up to Sam just like he’s done practically every night since that first one. A wave of fondness rolls over Sam and he positions himself so that Jamie can better use him as a pillow, before drifting back off again.

The next morning, they don’t talk about the nightmare again. Jamie takes his array of pills without comment, teasing Isaac about communal pissing, which the man in question refuses to partake in, and directing mock disgust at Colin for eating a banana in his oats.

Jamie seems perfectly fine to move on and Sam can see Colin and Isaac exchange confused looks behind his back. They’ll get used to Jamie’s ability to mask and put stuff like this in a box, Sam thinks. Not always healthy, but they’re working on it.

At the Dogtrack, Ted nods at them when they come in, eyes lingering on the new bandages Jamie is sporting. Sam can tell he wants to ask, but how he swallows it down when he locks eyes with Sam, who is coming in behind Jamie.

The way Ted doesn’t talk to Jamie with Sam as a reminder to him, sits weirdly in Sam’s stomach. He should be glad that Ted is listening to him and not doing anything to break Jamie’s fragile good mood, as he has done in the past. Yet, his insides still twist.

Instead of saying anything to Jamie, Ted talks to Sam, saying: “The sport psychologist starts today. Her name’s Dr. Sharon Fieldstone, she’d like to talk to you after practice. Now you don’t have to go, but-”

“I’ll go, coach,” Sam says. He knows Jamie isn’t a fan of the field of psychology, but Sam would like to try letting it all out to someone uninvolved anyway. He can always stop later if it does not bring him anything.

“Oh,” Ted blinks for a moment, surprised, then smiles: “Well, good to hear.” He turns to the rest of the room and says: “Hey, fellas, Dr. Sharon Fieldstone is starting today. She’s a psychologist, so if any of you want to have a chat with her, she has taken over Higgins’s office. It’s not required and I’m not making you go, but Rebecca asked me to tell you it’s an option, okay.”

There are some general sounds of acknowledgment and Sam can see some of the players considering it or discussing it with their neighbors. Jamie has a scowl on his face at the reminder that she is being 1) brought in at all, and 2) brought in specifically so others can process Jamie’s mental health. It must feel a bit like a condemnation, that others need professional help to process your daily life.

Sam sits down next to him on the bench and nudges him to get his attention. “You don’t have to go. And I am pretty sure they could get sued if they did not bring her in.”

That thankfully undoes some of the tension in Jamie’s neck and he nudges Sam back: “Heard you ‘ave to though. Lying’s allowed, y’know. And I’ll bust ya out if they try to take you anywhere.”

It’s a very touching sentiment from Jamie and Sam smiles at him for it. “Thank you.”

“On better news,” Ted goes on, getting the attention back on him after he’s let them have a moment to discuss among themselves. “Dani Rojas is cleared to play again and will be joining us, so let’s make sure to give him all a warm Richmond welcome, okay?”

~~

A/N:

The AU is AU’ing, so no Ted and Jamie locker room altercation and we got Dr. Fieldstone!!! yayyy. See! and you say I can’t be nice

“Don’t antagonize him,” Sam scolds, though he can’t fully hide the smile. However, he puts up a valiant effort and manages a sympathetic expression to Roy as he says: “You must be tired. Do we have to bring you home or are you resting here? I must admit I am not comfortable with the idea of you getting behind the wheel.”

At his words, Roy’s expression softens and he says: “I’ll have a kip here, then head home. I’m picking up Phoebe later today.”

“That sounds nice, Phoebe must be excited,” Sam smiles.

“She always is, the little idiot,” Roy says affectionately. It is strange how domestic Roy can be. Sam had already known that he could be caring, but this whole situation has opened up a lot more windows into each other’s life.

“I think she sounds mint,” Jamie adds, having dropping the endless poking at Roy and instead looking genuine. “I mean, she must be aces at footie wi’ you around.”

“Of course she is, she’s the fucking best,” Roy says with such conviction and pride that Sam doesn’t even consider questioning him. Then Roy adds: “Fucking shit at dodging though, she just rams right fucking through everyone.”

Jamie snorts: “Tha’, I can believe. I mean, look at the reference material.” He gestures at Roy, who is admittedly a player who historically has rammed through most defenses in the Prem.

“Fair enough,” Roy also smiles, which assures Sam that the earlier grunts were indeed more due to tiredness than anything else and they haven’t been bickering all night. It’s kind of nice to see the two of them getting along. It’s what everyone has silently wished for all season.

“It is a valid strategy,” Sam adds, giving Roy another smile when he looks at him. “Thank you for breakfast, by the way. It is very delicious.”

Roy simply grunts again, but it is indeed a positive grunt. Maybe Jamie is right and they can figure out the many variations in Roy’s grunts and he’ll never have to say an actual word again. Sam thinks he might enjoy it… though he would probably miss the word ‘fuck’ too much to stick with it.

They finish their breakfast and Roy retreats upstairs to sleep for a bit, while Sam cleans up the kitchen and Jamie tries to be helpful, but in the way. At this point, Sam knows where everything is and has a system about repacking the dishwasher, but Jamie wanting to help is a good thing, so he’s more than happy to let him be a nuisance.

Jamie is still buzzing with energy by the end of it. Not wanting to incur Roy’s wrath and wanting to feed of the energy to have a nice day, Sam leads Jamie outside so they can have a kick about.

As they’re kicking the ball back and forth, not really trying anything, just mindlessly kicking to have something to do, like youths on the streets walking around with a ball, Jamie finally lets him in on what has him in a good mood. “I had a sleep over with Roy Kent.”

The tone he says it with borders on reverent and when Sam chances a glance at his face, he looks so young and full of wonder. He seems very much like the kids that come to their games and watch them with that very same look. Of course. Jamie is a Roy Kent fan. This must be strange in a good way for him. Fondly, Sam replies: “You did.”

“It’s weird as fuck, mate,” Jamie says. “I mean, I’d thought he’d hate me for the rest of forever, but he’s nice now. It’s weird. Didn’t even say owt when I’d fucking cuddled up to ‘im in me sleep. Dead weird tha’, thought for sure he’d take the piss.”

“Well, Roy isn’t cruel, even if he does have rough edges,” Sam offers, not adding that he is kind of like a gruff teddy bear, because he’s sure that Jamie will find it delightful and tell it to Roy, who will murder Sam for ever making the comparison.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jamie sighs, collapsing onto the grass. “Still dead weird that he’s being nice, though. All of the lads are. I mean, it’s all fucking overboard, but it’s still, y’know, nice.”

Nice seems to be the only word Jamie has to describe people being worried about his well being and being a bit more gentle after learning he’s suicidally depressed. Sam wants to shake him sometimes, tell him that this is kindness that he deserves, like any other human being, that they’re not doing too much, but just what anyone should do.

However, Jamie is in a good mood and Sam is too. He’s had enough frustrating conversations with him about it to not want to bother right now. So, he just lies down next to Jamie in the grass, their heads almost touching. “You’re likable.”

“Haven’t really been,” Jamie admits to quietly, eyes distantly locked onto the clouds. “Not until recently at least,” he adds, blinking and looking to the side to meet Sam’s eyes. “I made it real difficult on ya, Sam, but I appreciate it. Thank you.”

Sam had barely expected the apology he’s gotten from Jamie and he never expected to be thanked. He doesn’t need it either, but it still hits him in the chest, leaving him gawping for a moment, before he chokes out: “Of course.”

The moment he’s said it, Jamie rolls back up with a shudder: “Ugh, tha’ was more than enough of that, let’s get back to footie.”

Sam can’t help but laugh at that, also getting up from the grass. Jamie has come a long way, but talking about his feelings isn’t his forte. It’s touching that he suffered through it just to thank Sam and it’s a huge sign that he is starting to get to a point where he’s appreciating people helping him, instead of being combative and annoyed. After the incident with Ted, he would be well within his rights to be suspicious of everyone helping, but it seems like he is embracing it, even if he doesn’t get it.

Their kick about gets more elaborate as both of them try to show off trick passes that would be useless in an actual match, but show skill and control. Sam receives the ball, kicks it from his toe to his knee, before heading it into the air, doing a full spin and then passes it back to Jamie without the ball ever hitting the ground.

“What the fuck, mate. How the fuck did ya do tha’?” Jamie asks, doing keepy-uppies as he runs through it in his head.

He fails the first time he tries, then does a dramatic flippy kick back when he picks up the ball again, determined expression on his face that tells Sam he’s going to try again and again until he can do it with his eyes closed.

They’re in the middle of this when they’re interrupted by a: “Oi, knuckleheads!” Making them turn to where Roy is standing by the back door. “Fucking rest on your rest day. It’s fucking important. And tell Colin and Isaac if they’re not here before 20:00, I’m ripping their balls off.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Jamie salutes cheekily.

While Sam says: “I will, captain. Are you leaving now?”

“Yeah, see you at training tomorrow. Don’t be late and don’t do stupid shit,” Roy grunts, then turns away as they call out their goodbyes.

With lunch practically there, they make good on the promise they made to Roy to actually rest – which granted, is important, even if it is annoying – so they head inside. Sam makes lunch while Jamie leans over his shoulder, continuously asking: “What’s tha’?” “Why’re you doing tha’?” “What’s tha’ for?” It’s kind of fun.

After lunch, they drop onto the couch, sitting there for a moment, before Jamie offers: “I got a PS I can dig out?”

Since they are ordered to rest, Sam figures video games are a good way to pass the time, so he nods. As Jamie gets out the controllers and console, it is clear they haven’t been used in a while. Jamie literally has to wipe the dust off.

“Do you got a dust allergy or some shit?” Jamie asks, before handing it to Sam. “I, uh- I haven’t really been in a mood to play recently.”

Recently is probably an understatement and Sam is reminded of the way Jamie’s depression has seeped into many aspects of his life. Jamie has a bit of energy now, but that is in large because he’s getting proper support and even that doesn’t stop the lethargic dullness from overtaking him sometimes. Even a hobby he enjoys like gaming, has literally been collecting dust.

Jamie clearly trying to play it off, so Sam tries not to look too much like a kicked puppy as he takes the controller and says: “No dust allergy.”

“Good,” Jamie nods as he plops back down, saying: “I’m loading up FIFA and absolutely kicking your arse, mate.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sam replies, the ever present competitiveness that comes with being a professional athlete clawing at him.

To be fair to Jamie, he hadn’t been lying about his FIFA skills, though they are more closely matched in skill than he anticipated. He underestimates Sam at the start and gets defeated in round one. Instantly he sits up from his slouch and narrows his eyes in concentration to beat Sam.

Neither of them texted Isaac or Colin Roy’s colorful threat. They probably would have if they were threatening to be late, however, the doorbell gets rung at around 17:00 and when Sam opens the door, it is to find the two of them on the porch.

“Huh, oh, hey, Sam,” Colin greets, seeming almost surprised by Sam’s presence. “Is this an exchange of the watch type thing, then?” he asks.

“Oh, uhm, no, I just- I also kind of live here now?” Sam answers, feeling strangely put on the spot and exposed, suddenly viscerally reminded of all the times he has been asked a question by these two with the express purpose of tripping him up and making fun of him.

“Cool,” Colin nods awkwardly a few times.

“Can we come in, bruv?” Isaac asks, looking somewhat uncomfortable too.

“Yes, no, of course,” Sam quickly says, stepping to the side to let them in.

Jamie is right behind him, since he’s not allowed to be on his own, but had been more than content to let Sam greet their guests. Now that they’re in, however, he greets them too. But, it’s not a very excited greeting and Jamie looks rather reluctant.

“Boyo,” Colin greets with a lot more cheer than he had Sam, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. “Nice bachelor pad, mate. Can’t believe we’ve never been here.”

He seems oblivious to the fact that Jamie never invited them here, because it was his place to fall apart and it was visible in how he lived and not compatible with the front he puts on. But Jamie doesn’t seem keen on informing him as he says: “Cheers, mate,” and nothing more, so Sam does the same.

“Sup, bruv,” Isaac nods, putting a hand on Jamie’s shoulder and inspecting him for a moment, before he nods.

The two wander into the house with Sam and Jamie on their heels, looking around, but not really commenting on anything. Instead, Colin says: “Keeley said we can take shifts, but one of us has to stay awake, even when you sleep. That right?”

Before Jamie can tell them that they don’t have to do such a thing, Sam says: “Yes, that’s right. Just to make sure that nothing happens if he wakes up in the night. I’ll be in a guest room, you can always come get me if something comes up.”

Sam feels a lot more comfortable speaking up when it is for Jamie, but he still finds himself shrinking a bit under their surprised gazes. They just look at each other for a moment, before Colin clears his throat and says: “Well, that doesn’t sound that hard,” which is not entirely Sam’s experience, but he’s not going to tell them that. Maybe it will be different for them, since they won’t have to do it alone or be entirely responsible for it all.

“We didn’t say we’d be here before dinner, but we can order in,” Isaac offers, also moving on from it, as he stands in Jamie’s kitchen, which has become one of the more lived in areas of the house since Sam moved in.

“It’s alright, I was about to start cooking,” Sam says, hearing how his own voice is quieter and less secure as he does. He’s annoyed at himself, but he can’t find it within himself to stop it.

Next to him, Jamie suddenly twinkles: “Jollof, right, mate?” reminding Sam of the joking scheme the two half planned at practice a few days ago.

He can’t lie, it is a huge relief to be in on a joke with Jamie and have him choose Sam to poke fun at the others with in a lighthearted way, instead of the other way around. He hadn’t realized how scared he’d been of the three of them turning against him again when he opened the door, until Jamie takes the worry away. He smirks back and agrees: “Yes, jollof rice.”

“Do you need… help?” Isaac offers, looking like he’d much rather not be taken up on it, but still polite enough to offer regardless.

“No, I’ll be okay, but you are welcome to hang around while I cook,” Sam says, pleased to find his voice more confident than it had been before.

Jamie plops himself on the counter like he often does when Sam cooks. He seems to like watching him putter around and Sam is strangely flattered he picked hanging around with Sam – who he has been spending practically all his time with – over gaming with Isaac or Colin.

Isaac and Colin follow his lead, awkwardly sitting at the counter and making painful small talk for about two seconds, before Jamie groans: “This is fucking boring. We don’t ‘ave to talk ‘bout the fucking weather. What did you two think of the Watford match? They’re ‘round the same level as Everton, right? Think we can break the curse?”

Everyone gratefully latches onto the topic, since it connects them all. They can share the passion for football and leave this situation at the door for a moment. It’s a nice discussion too. Sam really enjoys getting some insight from Isaac on their playing as part of their defense and he finds himself also getting listened to and taken seriously in the discussion, which is new.

Despite their small mischief at planning it, Sam makes the mild version of jollof rice, aware that Isaac and Colin are doing them a favor and both grew up in the UK. Still, much like Jamie, the two struggle a little with getting through their food. Colin is practically on fire he’s so red and downing himself in a glass of milk, which he demanded two bites in, sweating bullets.

“Come on, lad, ‘s jus’ some rice,” Jamie grins, taking another bite. He’s also a little flushed, but has been living off Sam’s food for nearly two weeks now, so he’s fairing better and infinitely delighted by that fact.

“Fuck you,” Colin manages between the… everything, which makes Jamie cackle.

After dinner, Colin demands to get out of the kitchen and get a shower and a change of clothes to get rid of all the sweat, so Jamie shows him upstairs, while Sam turns to the dishes. As he is unloading the dishwasher, Isaac appears, saying: “I’ll load it after you put the shit away.”

“Oh, uhm, you do not have to, it’s okay,” Sam assures him. He doesn’t mind the dishes and it’s not that much anyway.

“No, I’ll do it,” Isaac says.

“Well, sure, if your are, uhm, sure,” Sam says uncertainly, allowing Isaac to take over the task as he hovers.

Isaac loads dishes in silence for a minute, before he suddenly speaks, not looking at Sam when he does: “I wanted to say sorry, bruv. It wasn’t cool how we treated you. We’re grown men, we should have been better. And, thank you, for looking after Jamie when we didn’t see it.”

“He is good at hiding,” Sam replies, because he doesn’t know how to respond to any of the other things Isaac has said. Much like Jamie’s apology and thank you, he hadn’t seen this one coming. He is glad to have gotten it, but he doesn’t know if they have changed and are going to stick with it and it’s just a bit of a mess inside his chest.

“You don’t have to accept it and shit, just wanted you to know. I’m not doing that shit anymore,” Isaac says when Sam doesn’t say anything more, still staring down at the dishwasher like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Repressed footballers, Sam sighs.

“Thank you, I appreciate you apologizing,” Sam says at that, because Isaac at least means it and he doesn’t have to forgive him, but he can tell him he respects the apology and will take it with him.

“Good,” Isaac nods once, making eye contact for a second, before finishing the task while they stand there in silence.

The moment is interrupted by Colin and Jamie returning. Colin’s hair is dripping wet and Jamie is very much judging him for it based on his expression. As he roughly wipes a towel through his hair, he exclaims: “I don’t care how many times we see each other’s dick’s at work, it’s fucking weird in a home bathroom. I don’t wanna see that shit.”

“You’re such a fucking wuss,” Jamie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t even look or nothing. Were a good ickle lad and read the back of a shampoo bottle. Which is really fucking boring, by the way.”

“Still,” Colin makes a face.

“Whatever,” Jamie huffs, crossing his arms. He looks tense and Sam worriedly frowns at him, but he doesn’t know if he should ask. Before he can decide, Jamie says: “I’m tired. Let’s go to bed.”

“It’s still early, though?” Colin frowns, looking at the clock on the oven.

“Yeah, and we got training tomorrow,” Jamie shoots back. “You don’t have to go to sleep, but apparently I can’t be alone, so one of you’se is going to have to fucking sit there. Unless you’re finally leaving me the fuck alone.” Sam can feel his frown deepen at the words, Jamie hasn’t been this prickly about needing help in a while.

Meanwhile, Colin and Isaac both pale a little, probably remembering Jamie with the shard of glass, covered in blood. If Jamie wants to convince people it is not necessary, he’s going to be out of luck. It is going to take a while for anyone to forget that.

“Nah, bruv, I’ll sit with you,” Isaac offers.

“Cheers,” Jamie says sarcastically, already turning to walk away.

“Go grab you bags,” Sam quickly says to Colin and Isaac, before hurrying after Jamie. He catches up with him before he can really get anywhere and falls in step next to him. He gently nudges Jamie’s shoulder and asks: “Are you okay?”

Jamie stops and sighs deeply, rubbing at his face. “It’s fucking stupid. I jus’ don’t like ‘em seeing all this,” he gestures around vaguely. “I mean, you aren’t like that. A lad’s lad, y’know. And Keeley already saw more of meh than I wanted and Roy…” he trails off, then softly says: “Well, Roy already kept me alive. I mean, I’d sit on me bed and talk to that stupid poster and he’d glower at me wi’ his mullet and I’d feel better. It’s… different wi’ them. I don’t like it.”

“They’re not going to think worse of you for needing this,” Sam assures him, sympathizing with how Jamie is feeling, but they cannot change that people will see Jamie. All of Jamie. Him vulnerable and depressed, sunken away in his mental health. It has to be part of it, even if Jamie hates it.

“You can’t know tha’,” Jamie says, voice suddenly vulnerable as he scuffs his foot over the carpet.

“I can’t, but I do think they won’t. They care about you, Jamie. We all do. They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. And you can hate it, every second of this, you can hate it, as long as you let them help. They might surprise you.” Isaac certainly has already surprised him.

“Fine,” Jamie gives in with a heaved breath. “But I will be hating it.”

“As is your right,” Sam smiles.

At that point, Isaac and Colin catch up. They look between Sam and Jamie for a moment, probably trying to figure out what they were talking about, but Sam just smiles neutrally and doesn’t give anything away, while Jamie scowls.

After a moment of nothing, Colin says: “Isaac’s taking first watch. Where am I sleeping?”

“I’ll show you,” Sam offers, taking him to a guest room that is close by, but not in the way Sam’s guest room is. “Here. Isaac can’t leave to get you, so just set an alarm at an agreed upon time. You know what Jamie’s room is?”

Colin nods silently, before he quietly says: “It’s really serious, innit?”

“Uhm, yeah, yes,” Sam answers after a moment, having to adjust to the tonal shift. “It is.”

“Fuck, mate, we didn’t even know. We haven’t even been here before,” Colin sighs, repeating his earlier observation with a realizing gravitas. “I’m glad he told you, though. You’re alright. And, uhm- Sorry that I was shit to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh, thank you,” Sam once again finds himself saying. “I appreciate you saying that.”

“And I appreciate you looking out for Jamie. He can be a little shit, but he grows on you, the fucker. He’s a proper charming twat,” Colin says, sounding fond as he does. It’s strange to realize that they were actually friends with Jamie before all this. Jamie has been isolating himself, so it doesn’t always show, but there is a reason these two are here now.

“He is,” Sam agrees, then he remembers Jamie’s words to Isaac after the glass shard incident. “And you and Isaac did help. Before this. It’s good he had you too.”

“Thanks, mate,” Colin smiles, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

~~

A/N:

We will acknowledge that Sam was bullied in this house, because he was. The show never addresses it beyond Sam tackling Jamie, but it wasn’t just Jamie and he never really got a sorry for that, which is very fucked imo, so I’m changing that xp