(no subject)

[pushbackthedarkness]

It's the sort of thing Marcus figures he should have seen coming.

He hasn't seen Sam in a while, a little over a week, and that's Marcus's fault. He's been keeping a bit of a distance since their last conversation, the one where Sam had asked him if he's sleeping with anyone else, if maybe there's something more than just a physical relationship and a friendship between them. Predictably, Marcus hadn't reacted well. It's not that he doesn't care for Sam, but that itself is the problem and so he'd made himself absent just to give them both a little time to figure out what it is that's going on in their heads.

Not that Marcus needed the time. He knows. The way he is, the life he's had, the job he intends on continuing, none of that makes him suitable to carry on a relationship with someone. If someone wants that, wants commitment, a person to come home to at the end of every day, someone they can rely on and expect to be there, he's not the man for it. It wouldn't be fair for anyone involved to try and put Marcus in that situation and he thinks they'd both known it. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to realize Sam is gone.

It's Nate he's more worried about, though. Marcus has been through plenty of loss in his life, it's why he's more or less kept himself closed off from people since he was just a child, but Sam is Nate's brother. The brother he got back after thinking him to be dead. That's something he can't even begin to imagine.

So he buys a few bottles of nice beer -- the sort Sam had bought the last time he'd come over, he realizes, but he banishes that from his mind -- and he heads over to Nate's after sending him a text to make sure he's there. He doesn't say why he's coming, just that he is, and he knocks softly on the door of Nate's apartment, the beer in one hand.

They can drink. Commiserate. Keep each other company. Marcus is as bad at comfort as he is most other personal interactions that don't revolve around an exorcism, but that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

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[sicparvasmagna]

At first he'd just assumed Sam was being as useless with his phone as Chloe always is with hers. He'd left it alone, trusting that Sam would call him back when he could. But after four attempts and almost a full day, it had become clear that something else was going on. If they were back home he might have given Sam a few more days before he really worried, but in this city it's easy enough to check in on him, and there are oddly more things that could go wrong. So he checks his apartment, and when he finds the place empty but for Sam's gun lying on the table, he feels something in his chest sink.

He's heard of this happening, but it's never happened to him. Nate's made a life of making sure he only lets a small handful of people close to him for this very reason. He'll always deny it if asked, but his mother had died and his father had left, and Nate had closed himself off in turn. Sully had been the first person to ever crack through, and Nate knows he'd helped, forced Nate to open up more little by little, but he's still always kept himself carefully guarded. It had been easier that way, particularly in his line of work.

Sitting in his own apartment, Sam's gun in his hand, Nate can remember what this felt like, why he'd tried so hard never to relive it. He'd lost Sam once before and he can't stop the way that day replays over and over in his mind now, Sam's hand slipping out of his as he fell. Ten years he'd thought his brother was dead until this city had given him back, and now he's gone again.

He doesn't hear the knock at the door at first. He can hear Rafe instead, the voice impossibly clear despite the years since Nate really heard it. We gotta move, he's gone. Nate shakes his head, his hands tighter on the gun. Nate, your brother is dead.

The knock comes louder and this time is breaks through. Nate startles, eyes flicking to the door. He takes a breath, reminds himself where he is. With a sudden start he remembers that Marcus had texted him, and maybe he could do with the company after all. He rubs one hand over his face and goes to the door, the gun still held loosely in his other hand. He's trying to decide if it's just coincidence that brought Marcus here or whether even ex-priests have some kind of internal crisis radar, but then he remembers what Marcus had told him about him and his brother. Sam. He's here because Sam isn't.

"Hey, uh," he starts, and he's stupidly proud of the way he keeps his voice level, steady. "Come in."