#anyways. i've never written canon adam so i hope i got him down right

[localvoidcat]

for the writing suggestions: canon thatcher and adam.... (only if you want to tho!!)

this has been sitting in my inbox for a full month cause i haven't had any ideas yet BUT presto just dropped so. despairduo time

the drive from the house to the station was long.

both the literal sense, being a long way from bythorne to mandela, and in the sense that the silence between the two made it feel much longer than it deserved to be.

to say there was complete silence would be false. there was the tapping of thatcher's hands against the wheel, drumming out an anxious rhythm as he stared out at the road ahead.

occasionally, he would glance back at the man in the backseat, and in those moments where adam was able to see his expression, he would notice the fatigue in the older man's face, leaving behind nothing but dull eyes and a weary attempt at a smile.

it didn't help much in light of the pain, of course. but it was a nice attempt, even if it felt devoid of any real emotion.

even if it seemed to hide a twinge of fear behind it.

there was also the sound of adam's coughing, loud and pained, like his lungs were trying to give out on him like the rest of his body (he didn't think he could really call it his anymore, but he was too scared to find out who it belonged to now) had.

part of him wanted to shut out the pain, to try and ignore it as it rolled in waves with every movement of his body and every shifting bone under his skin, but another part of him feared that the pain was the only thing keeping him him.

maybe the more he focused on it, the more he fought against whatever wanted to replace him (it wasn't him that had been replaced, was it, though?), the more he would keep of himself.

after all, it was pain that made people human, wasn't it? he wasn't sure he knew anymore. he wasn't sure if he was human enough to know.

he wasn't even entirely sure who he was. he certainly wasn't adam murray. adam murray was human. he was not. adam murray had a face. he had to fight to keep what was left of his. adam murray had friends. he did not (or so he kept telling himself). adam murray had a family. he did not.

another coughing fit wrecked his body, and he curled a little closer around himself. thatcher turned around, the concern in his face evident for the brief second he looked at the alternate, before turning back to face the street again.

and maybe, the thing that wanted so badly to be adam murray thought in that moment, he didn't have any of those things. he didn't know what he had anymore. he didn't know if he had anything left to his name (or if he even had that).

but he had something. he had someone.

whether or not he was deserving of it, he didn't know. he didn't know if he deserved to be helped.

but he'd still taken thatcher's hand. he'd still followed him out to the car, and he'd still trusted him enough to stay as long as he had.

maybe he didn't deserve it, but he didn't want to lose it either.

he'd lost enough that night.

#LET'S GO WE FINALLY FINISHED IT!!! #i did not intend for this to be saved for presto but hey! it happened #sam writes #the mandela catalogue #tmc #despairduo #thatcher davis #adam murray #body horror #anyways. i've never written canon adam so i hope i got him down right