![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xp_cannonball posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
xp_logsSam and Doug have a helpful conversation while Sam is recovering from Made You Feel Second Best.
Sam poked his head around the corner, beer held in one hand as he debated the merits of drinking inside versus outside. He hadn't seen Doug since before- the everything though, and it probably wouldn't blow up in his face to hang out with the friend who was jokingly adopting his siblings.
"Mind if I join you?"
Doug raised an eyebrow. Sam definitely looked a bit more haggard than usual. "Did you bring me any?" he asked, intentionally keeping his tone light and friendly.
“I could run back in and grab you one?” Sam offered. He honestly shouldn’t really be drinking when he felt like this- he knew that- didn’t want to built a habit of it. But it was one beer with a friend, and he knew how to pace himself, so he didn’t offer Doug the beer in his hand.
"Eh." Doug waved a hand dismissively. "No skin off my nose. If you go in for another round, grab me one, though," he offered as a compromise. He got a better look at Sam as the other man sat down, and he winced. "Sam. Sammy. Sammonball." He shook his head wryly. "Why in god's name are you wearing one of Clinto's ratty-ass Dog Cops shirts?"
"Because I haven't been back to my suite since before I left for Kentucky and all of the shirts I had with me are in the wash." Sam replied sheepishly, fighting the urge to rub the back of his neck.
This might be worse than Doug had thought. At least Sam looked like he had been showering, so that was a point in the positive column. He'd still keep therapy as a strong option in his arsenal though. "Clint is a carnie kid who eats floor food, Sam," he said slowly. "He has negative amounts of fashion sense, I'm half convinced that whatever his mutation does to his eyes is why his clothes are the way they are."
"Yes Doug, I am aware that I am the only person in my relationship who can cook." Sam sighed. "But Kentucky was bad and I don't really wanna get stuck in a conversation with a sibling again so...Clint's shirt."
Yep, there was the worse. "I'll keep an eye on them, keep them out of your way," Doug told his fellow founding member of the Elder Siblings Union. "Just...don't keep it all buried inside, okay?" he asked more gently. "From personal experience, that pretty much never ends well." He looked up into the sky, feeling a bit introspective about some of his own mistakes. "I'm a big believer in therapy these days. Doesn't have to be formal, but it's good to just be able to give voice to your thoughts and feelings, keep from being cooped up inside your own head."
"Trust me. My therapist has been hearin' all about it. Has since January." Sam promised. "Just.... had to admit some things in front of 'em that I didn't want them to know...maybe ever and I hate bein' looked at different. It's fine- it'll blow over. I just... need a break from being a big brother."
"Oh thank god, you have a therapist." Well, in that case he already had a leg up on Doug's nervous breakdown back when. "A good therapist won't look at you any different, no matter how hard the things you're admitting are." He'd definitely lucked out with Dr. Grim, to be honest.
"Yeah, Clint talked me into it back in January." Sam said, shaking his head. "It ain't the therapist I'm worried about lookin' at me different. "It's my siblings. And it's already happening, so it's just easier right now to avoid it."
Doug nodded somberly. He absolutely got that - the distance he kept from his own family definitely changed how they looked at him. After all, they didn't know it was an attempt to keep them safe from the worse things in his life. "Here's the thing, though, Sam," he said gently. "Nothing stays the same forever. Change can be good. What if you wind up with an even better relationship with all of them now that you're here at the mansion together?"
"I know. But now they're all treatin' me like I'm the baby siblin' and it's awful." Sam groaned.
"Shoe's on the other foot, huh?" Doug teased ever so slightly. Sam didn't strike him as the sort to want to be treated with kid gloves, after all. "Is it really so bad, though, knowing for sure that they care and wanna do right by you?"
"'S more like they're avoidin' me. Ain't nobody tellin' me nothin'- Jay's talkin' to me even less than he did afore, Paigey's drawn into herself, and Mel.....it's like everything broke when they realized I was broken." Sam sighed. "It's not- okay I know I ain't 'broken' but you know what I mean- been through some shit."
Doug's mouth twisted wryly as he chuckled. "Oh, trust me do I know that feel," he confirmed. "Some time if you've got a spare week we can trade stories of shit we've been through." He didn't want to make this about him while Sam needed someone to talk to.
"Yeah, could prolly make a drinkin' game outta it if we really wanted to." Sam huffed a laugh, though it was at least half sigh. "Thanks man."
Sam poked his head around the corner, beer held in one hand as he debated the merits of drinking inside versus outside. He hadn't seen Doug since before- the everything though, and it probably wouldn't blow up in his face to hang out with the friend who was jokingly adopting his siblings.
"Mind if I join you?"
Doug raised an eyebrow. Sam definitely looked a bit more haggard than usual. "Did you bring me any?" he asked, intentionally keeping his tone light and friendly.
“I could run back in and grab you one?” Sam offered. He honestly shouldn’t really be drinking when he felt like this- he knew that- didn’t want to built a habit of it. But it was one beer with a friend, and he knew how to pace himself, so he didn’t offer Doug the beer in his hand.
"Eh." Doug waved a hand dismissively. "No skin off my nose. If you go in for another round, grab me one, though," he offered as a compromise. He got a better look at Sam as the other man sat down, and he winced. "Sam. Sammy. Sammonball." He shook his head wryly. "Why in god's name are you wearing one of Clinto's ratty-ass Dog Cops shirts?"
"Because I haven't been back to my suite since before I left for Kentucky and all of the shirts I had with me are in the wash." Sam replied sheepishly, fighting the urge to rub the back of his neck.
This might be worse than Doug had thought. At least Sam looked like he had been showering, so that was a point in the positive column. He'd still keep therapy as a strong option in his arsenal though. "Clint is a carnie kid who eats floor food, Sam," he said slowly. "He has negative amounts of fashion sense, I'm half convinced that whatever his mutation does to his eyes is why his clothes are the way they are."
"Yes Doug, I am aware that I am the only person in my relationship who can cook." Sam sighed. "But Kentucky was bad and I don't really wanna get stuck in a conversation with a sibling again so...Clint's shirt."
Yep, there was the worse. "I'll keep an eye on them, keep them out of your way," Doug told his fellow founding member of the Elder Siblings Union. "Just...don't keep it all buried inside, okay?" he asked more gently. "From personal experience, that pretty much never ends well." He looked up into the sky, feeling a bit introspective about some of his own mistakes. "I'm a big believer in therapy these days. Doesn't have to be formal, but it's good to just be able to give voice to your thoughts and feelings, keep from being cooped up inside your own head."
"Trust me. My therapist has been hearin' all about it. Has since January." Sam promised. "Just.... had to admit some things in front of 'em that I didn't want them to know...maybe ever and I hate bein' looked at different. It's fine- it'll blow over. I just... need a break from being a big brother."
"Oh thank god, you have a therapist." Well, in that case he already had a leg up on Doug's nervous breakdown back when. "A good therapist won't look at you any different, no matter how hard the things you're admitting are." He'd definitely lucked out with Dr. Grim, to be honest.
"Yeah, Clint talked me into it back in January." Sam said, shaking his head. "It ain't the therapist I'm worried about lookin' at me different. "It's my siblings. And it's already happening, so it's just easier right now to avoid it."
Doug nodded somberly. He absolutely got that - the distance he kept from his own family definitely changed how they looked at him. After all, they didn't know it was an attempt to keep them safe from the worse things in his life. "Here's the thing, though, Sam," he said gently. "Nothing stays the same forever. Change can be good. What if you wind up with an even better relationship with all of them now that you're here at the mansion together?"
"I know. But now they're all treatin' me like I'm the baby siblin' and it's awful." Sam groaned.
"Shoe's on the other foot, huh?" Doug teased ever so slightly. Sam didn't strike him as the sort to want to be treated with kid gloves, after all. "Is it really so bad, though, knowing for sure that they care and wanna do right by you?"
"'S more like they're avoidin' me. Ain't nobody tellin' me nothin'- Jay's talkin' to me even less than he did afore, Paigey's drawn into herself, and Mel.....it's like everything broke when they realized I was broken." Sam sighed. "It's not- okay I know I ain't 'broken' but you know what I mean- been through some shit."
Doug's mouth twisted wryly as he chuckled. "Oh, trust me do I know that feel," he confirmed. "Some time if you've got a spare week we can trade stories of shit we've been through." He didn't want to make this about him while Sam needed someone to talk to.
"Yeah, could prolly make a drinkin' game outta it if we really wanted to." Sam huffed a laugh, though it was at least half sigh. "Thanks man."
