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mad_muses“A good friend is a connection to life, a tie to the past, a road to the future, the key to sanity in a totally insane world.” --Lois Wyse
Sam was aware that he looked pathetic. His face was covered with fading bruises and his arm was in a sling against his chest. There was a beer on the nightstand next to a bowl of pretzels that he occasionally reached over for a handful of one, or a sip of the other. He was on top of the blankets, leaning against a few pillows in flannel pants and a wife-beater while he watched some comedy series on television. He hadn't shaved since he had woken up in the medical ward, and had about two weeks worth of beard growing on his normally smooth face.
Ruby had been gone for three months now, and if she knew how bad Sam had let himself get, she would kick his already broken ass around to make sure he learned some kind of lesson. He was finally coming out of his blood withdrawal and was glad that Michael was with Tara out in Switzerland so he didn't have to see him during that time.
During those bad days, though, Sam found a friend in his charge for the last few weeks. Any time Sam's breathing changed and he felt pain, suddenly there was a large dog up on the bed to check on him, pressing a cold nose against Sam's face or neck to let him know that he wasn't alone. At first, the contact was strange and Sam tried to push the dog away, but Buster kept at it and finally Sam could feel the comfort that the dog was trying to give him and took it.
Eventually, Sam got comfortable with letting Buster sleep on the edge of the bed. Soon he was letting the dog further up onto the bed where now he was sleeping with his head and one leg over Sam's legs, watching and waiting for Sam to drop a pretzel that he could help clean up.
( . . . )
Sam was aware that he looked pathetic. His face was covered with fading bruises and his arm was in a sling against his chest. There was a beer on the nightstand next to a bowl of pretzels that he occasionally reached over for a handful of one, or a sip of the other. He was on top of the blankets, leaning against a few pillows in flannel pants and a wife-beater while he watched some comedy series on television. He hadn't shaved since he had woken up in the medical ward, and had about two weeks worth of beard growing on his normally smooth face.
Ruby had been gone for three months now, and if she knew how bad Sam had let himself get, she would kick his already broken ass around to make sure he learned some kind of lesson. He was finally coming out of his blood withdrawal and was glad that Michael was with Tara out in Switzerland so he didn't have to see him during that time.
During those bad days, though, Sam found a friend in his charge for the last few weeks. Any time Sam's breathing changed and he felt pain, suddenly there was a large dog up on the bed to check on him, pressing a cold nose against Sam's face or neck to let him know that he wasn't alone. At first, the contact was strange and Sam tried to push the dog away, but Buster kept at it and finally Sam could feel the comfort that the dog was trying to give him and took it.
Eventually, Sam got comfortable with letting Buster sleep on the edge of the bed. Soon he was letting the dog further up onto the bed where now he was sleeping with his head and one leg over Sam's legs, watching and waiting for Sam to drop a pretzel that he could help clean up.
( . . . )