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zozo-01 · 30 days

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"maybe god does love you enough to save you. maybe they were god all along."

This fic is part of the 'Hot Boi Summer Springback' Event ran by the Skyside Discord and organized by the lovely @angelicaether!! Thank you Aether and everyone else for participating in the event and you can read all of their fics on this master list here!!

For this I heard one line from Sam about how he wanted Darlin' ever since he's met them, and of course I had to fucking run with it!! Mix in a little religious trauma and boom!! Fic has been made. :) Thank you to @lovelylonerliterature for being my beta reader and @autisticempathydaemon, @cashandprizes and @horrorscoupes for being my IRL Sam Collinses, hehehe. (Also Lo, the other religious trauma fic is coming. >:3)

CW: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, sam was raised southern baptist and it shows, darlin isn't catholic but they were also raised religiously, Self-Hatred, sam hates himself for being a vampire , Mentioned Alexis (Redacted ASMR), Mentioned Quinn (Redacted ASMR), only by names and action, Blood Mention, Blood Drinking, Disordered Eating, he is a vampire after all and he hates it, Mentioned Character Death, Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Minor Injuries, darlin is involved so of course there are injuries, sam is going through an existential crisis while darlin is just there teehee

click here for the ao3 link!!!

There were two types of blood to Samuel Collins. The ones he could barely tolerate and the ones he downright detested. It took a while for some of the former to graduate into the latter, but he doubted that he would ever be the kind of vampire that would savour the taste of blood. It was fuel, barely even food to him.

He chugged another blood bag, following it with a sip of his bourbon. The alcohol burned down the tangy aftertaste, making it slightly easier to digest it. For the first time in a decade, he found himself in an intense hunger, almost as bad as his bloodlust. He couldn't figure out what it was. He didn't feel extra stress, nor was he exerting his magic all that much. Whatever the case was, the result was him downing more blood than he did during his newborn years.

He sighed, staring at the empty bag and cup in his hands. He would wonder what he did to deserve all of this, but he's known the answer since he was younger and brighter. Throwing the bag into the trash, he poured himself a full glass of his bourbon and flopped onto his couch. Sam took a swing, hoping to get rid of the residual blood clinging to his throat.

He hated himself for the fact that he needed blood to survive, he was a healer for God's sake. Yet he hated himself for hating himself in the first place, stuck in a vicious cycle that would never end. There was nothing wrong with drinking blood, it's the same principle of humans eating meat. Sometimes, the lion has to eat the gazelle in order to survive. The circle of life. But Sam couldn't help but feel disgusted, filth finding its way from heart and tainting his body.

Guilt ate him alive, his old prejudices coming back to haunt him. He's met wonderful vampires, both before and after his turning. And he would never think of Vincent as a monster. But he couldn't help the little thoughts in his head that the fact that he was a vampire was wrong. He was just a monster, a feeder and a leech. (It's funny how his father's voice haunted him to this day.)

Sam never understood the difference between drinking the supposed blood of Christ and this, one was deemed holy and the other made him a heathen. If he drank blood from a holy source, then would his sins be washed away? Was there a chance that if he swallowed his pride and walked to the altar with a chalice in hand, would God, the Forgiving, forgive him?

The vampire forsaken God long after he was forsaken. It didn't stop Sam from making small prayers when times got rough, despite the fact that He wouldn't hear him. Some habits die hard, he knows that all too well.

He wondered how long it would take for him to make peace with his new lease on life. There was no chance of trying to go vegan, he'd exhausted every avenue of research in that direction. Meaning this was it. There was nothing more he could do to save his damned soul. He loathes Alexis a little more each day he goes without the sun kissing his skin like it used to.

Daddy always said that he was a dirty sinner at heart, his soul was stained from birth. It made sense that his physical body would match his sinning core. Alexis was just God's punishment for the monster that he was. Maybe if he spent more time on his hands and knees, he would have escaped his fate.

(That didn't explain them though. There was no way that He would send them his way. If Alexis was his punishment, then they were his salvation. Yet the only reason he could conceive as to why they came into his life was to punish him harder, teach him a lesson he's spent his life internalizing. He'd only pray that they won't get caught up in his hellish flames.)

It took two cups of bourbon and a whole lot of water for Sam to finally stop gagging at the blood. Funny how when he was younger, he would lick his bloody lips as a showing of strength and pride. He felt powerful when he consumed his blood. Now look at him, disdain was all that was left of the broken man sitting on the couch.

Time travel was the only answer to his problem, going back to the past to tell his younger self that Alexis wasn't worth it. The fun and wild thrill she gave wasn't worth the utter agony that would come his way. At the very least, he would tell himself to make it clearer to her that he didn't feel the same. But he didn't, and he got exactly what he deserved.

There's no use living in the past, he told himself out loud. What's done is done and all he could do was make do with the hand life has dealt him. Staring out the window, the millions of stars stared back at him with judgment. Fuck them, who gave them the right to cast their holy gaze to him. Not when they stood high up on their throne in heaven. They had no idea how hard it was to stay pure down on Earth. Lucky bastards must be thrilled to watch him suffer for their entertainment.

(Doesn't that sound familiar? I'm talking about you.)

His residual anger was enough to burn the forest surrounding his forced home, but he had to get it under control. There was time to rage and lament to the world, but tonight wasn't it, not when they would be coming by shortly.

The partnership he had with Darlin' was tentative, despite him already saving their sorry ass. Both of them were still trying to feel the other out, ready to pounce if the other showed signs of traitorous actions. Beyond that, he could tell that Darlin' was a good person with their heart in the right place. A bit of a bleeding heart, something he didn't expect at all, but it was a welcome surprise. If they met in different circumstances, then things may have been different.

If they had been born earlier, or him later, then they may have caught each other on the D.A.M.N. Campus. He'd stare at them, hopelessly enamoured with the shifter that stood maybe a few feet away. How could he not, they were absolutely beautiful. Prettier than the songbirds that would fly by or the sun's light that formed a halo on their head. His buddies would laugh at him, dying that the Samuel Collins, fuckboy extraordinaire, fell in love. But hell must have frozen over, for he was a fool just for them.

He would saunter towards them, his flirty tone immediately dismantled by their smile. Yet his awkwardness would endear them for some reason and they would let him court them, something no one thought he was capable of.

He would lead them back to his house, laying them on his bed and showing them how much he loved them-

Sam's mouth dried up and his fangs started to ache at the thought of their body under him. Goddamn it, he needed another damn blood bag. Trudging back to the kitchen, he drained another bag, not bothering with a cup as he drank straight from the bourbon bottle to wash down the taste.

This was getting ridiculous. Absolutely, fucking stupid. He couldn't turn into a fucking newborn every time he thought about them. He shouldn't even be thinking about them like that. It was wrong, and indecent, and robbed them of autonomy. He felt like an abomination for even daring to fantasize about them. He was nothing but a sinner and he couldn't taint their light.

That didn't stop his fangs from elongating at the thought of their blood anyway. He couldn't help it. They were just so damn bright and wonderful, he had no choice but to forget his own immoral heart. When bathing in the rays around Darlin', there was nothing to focus on but them. Their enchanting laugh and crude jokes burrowed their way deep into Sam's heart, and they wouldn't be leaving any time soon.

And their blood, don't even get him started. Unfortunately for his lust and hunger (he doesn't want to call it love right now), he's had the chance to smell their blood quite often. From large gaping wounds that he would heal to that stupid blood-soaked jacket that Darlin' refused to let go, he's sure he knows their scent as well as the priest knows his congregation. Something about how shifters have more magic in their blood compared to other empowered people, but he knew that wasn't the reason.

It was just because it was Darlin' and that they were incredible and wonderful. It was no secret that they were a vampire magnet, catching all of their attention whenever the two went out. His own blood would curl and rage would flow through his veins, jealousy taking reign of his wicked heart. But he couldn't blame any of them. Most vampires look for salvation in the people they bite, hoping the magic in their blood will be enough to save them.

But they had more potent blood, even more than the average shifter. It had to have been a blessing for them, their magic so powerful and their blood being a reflection of that. He could tell from the moment they bled all over their couch, and it made every vampire obsessed with having the taste of their blood. Their blood smelled like the blizzards they faced and he wondered if it tasted as cold as they smelled. Or maybe their blood was as warm as their sunshine self.

Clearly, he wasn't any better than the vampires who'd grab them and bare their fangs to force their blood into their mouths. He was utterly disgusting.

Sam watched the clock on top of the fireplace. (He stared at the judging eyes looking back at him.) They should be here sometime soon, knowing they'd arrive five minutes early because they're just so damn respectful of his time. It would be easier to hate, or at the very least control his fondness for them if they were a little terrible. They were an asshole and a little shit, but awful? Never in a million years.

He had to find a way to curb his craving for them, out of respect for them and to remind himself that he didn't deserve good things. How he got addicted to a drug before he took it was beyond him. But they were absolutely magical so he wouldn't put it past the realm of possibility.

Exactly when he expected, he heard their motorcycle park itself in front of the porch. The roaring engine woke the butterflies in his stomach, having to stop himself from zipping around the house in excitement.

A few relaxing breaths later, Sam deemed himself ready to face Darlin'. His bloodlust was in control and his heart calmed down from the earthquake it was. He stood in front of the door, waiting for Darlin' to finally knock on the door and bless him with their parents.

An eternity later, soft knocks filled the air and his cheeks started to hurt with a smile. Of course, he gave a couple of seconds before he opened the door, not wanting to look desperate for opening the door immediately.

Eyes meeting theirs, Sam lost his breath for a few minutes. The stars he cursed earlier shone brightly in their eyes, galaxies swirling into a beautiful kaleidoscope of divine essences. His heart picked up again, giving up on controlling it and instead hoping that Darlin' can't hear the pounding in his chest.

(Momentary silence filled his brain when tranced by their gaze. He doesn't know how the fuck they did it. The voices that filled his head, of the father he abandoned and the women who condemned him, all went quiet with their smile. Only their sweet voice and unintentional sweeter words remained in his brain. Rosaries were nothing but decorative garbage to him, but they were able to silence the demons in his head. Who needs a cross when their protection was all a man needs?)

A hand waving in front of his face tore him from his thoughts. "Hello? Earth to the Cowboy? Anyone home?" they joked with him, but there was that twinge of concern in their voice. Too caring for his wicked heart.

"Yeah, everythin's good here, darlin'," he reassured, nodding while moving to the side to let the wolf in. He had to hold his breath when they walked by him, their sweet scent entering his nose and driving himself. Had he been a weaker man, he would have pinned them right where they stood, but he'd had enough experience beating himself for his desires.

Sam went into the kitchen to get some water for them, knowing that it's probably been a while since they drank a cup of water. The way they chugged down the water was all the indication he needed.

With water in their body, Darlin' got to the root of why they were there. Quinn had been sending some of his lackeys after them, to stalk and intimidate them to go back to him. So far, their efforts hadn't amounted to anything, just some poor bastards who were promised a bump in pay if they were able to bring them to him. But recently, Quinn had been sending stronger mercenaries their way. Nothing they couldn't handle, but the escalation was definitely concerning, for who knew what his next steps would be.

If his mother was here, she would have told Sam to send Darlin' off with a rosary and prayer. That would be enough to keep evil spirits away, himself included. Unfortunately for him, they would balk at the idea of having something to protect them, which was the only thing that was stopping him from becoming their bodyguard.

He had more selfish intentions though, the rotten thing he was. If he spends more time with Darlin', then he can silence the voices permanently. Their heavenly light could cast out the darkness entrenched in his heart.

Once they were finished venting about this recent development, they slumped in their seat, exhausted from their constant vigilance. Truly, they didn't deserve any hardships in life. They were too good to deserve anything like this. Blessed with a kind heart and strong resolve, why would it dare be wasted on a desolate place such as this?

God loves you, but not enough to save you.

"I didn't know you were religious," their questioning tone brought him out of his thoughts. He found it silly that they would ask a question like that until he saw what they were looking at.

It was an old crucifix on top of his fireplace, golden in colour and with various coloured gems. On it were the eyes that have been judging him since he left Mont Blanc. It had been a gift from his mother before he ran away, her way of blessing him on his journey. But it served more as a reminder of how far he's fallen from the golden boy he was all those years back.

The eyes of Jesus bore into his soul, asking him what was the point of him dying for his sins if he still turned out to be a heathen.

Hand waving in front of his face, he remembered that Darlin' was in the room with him. The heat from the crucifix's eyes died down, maybe wondering if they would deal their final blow to him.

"Yeah- um, my momma gave it to me 'fore I left home," he started to explain, finding any way to skirt this conversation and meaningfully answer their question. "She was a Southern Baptist at heart, thought a cross could save a life." He smirked at that sentiment, clearly it didn't do anything to save him. He didn't give himself any chances.

Their gaze was transfixed on the crucifix to the point where they didn't even look back to face him. Maybe it was a similar likeness that was calling out to each other? Who could know with that one.

"It's beautiful," their hazed voice filled the room. He looked back at the crucifix, not finding anything notable about it. It was just a wooden thing with a dead man on it. Nothing holy to worship, just a sign of empty promises made toward forgiveness.

If anything, the wolf in front of them was more worthy of worship and prayer, because he knew that any pact made with them would be worth it. Why pray to the dead when the living is so much better?

A genuine curiosity about their interest made him ask the question, "you religious growin' up too?" They never gave off the vibe of being God-fearing, but some people hide it better than others. Or learn how to not shove it down peoples' throats.

"I was, not Catholic though," they answered while finally turning back to face him. "Wasn't Southern Baptist either," they added with a chuckle. His wolf was filled with interesting little factoids. He couldn't imagine his Darlin' on their knees praying, but they always had a hopeful outlook that it was hard not to think they didn't believe in the divine. He hummed in acknowledgement, going back and sitting silently next to them.

"If you don't mind me asking…" their voice trailed in hesitation, a tell-tale sign that they were looking for permission to continue speaking. He nodded, giving them the OK to finish their question. Their eyes went back to the crucifix with a questioning look in their eye. "Why keep it around if you're not super religious?"

Sam understood it was a valid question to ask, even if he had a complicated answer to it. Was he supposed to tell Darlin' that he kept the cross around as his failure? That if he shut up and lived the life of pain that his parents laid out for him, then he wouldn't have ended up as the monster he was now. He hated himself and there was no one better than God to keep judging him.

"Well…" he stalled, trying to find a suitable answer. "I keep it as a reminder of where I came from," he started, only to scoff. "And where I don't want to go back to." He'd rather go through his accident again than go back to that hellscape. "'Sides, it's nothin' but a piece of wood. Ain't nothin' magical to it."

There was a contemplative look on their face, finding a way to choose their next words without touching on any sensitive subjects. Their narrowed eyes could burn a hole in the floor they were staring at and he could only wonder about the thoughts firing off in their head. (Really, he wondered if they ever thought of him with this level of intensity.)

"Do you believe in God?" they asked with a quiet tone. Now that was a question that he didn't expect from them.

"I just told ya I was raised religious," he snarked, "I don't know what you're tryin' to say."

They rolled their eyes, flicking his arm in protest of the teasing. "You're such an asshole, leech," they laughed it off and Sam was sure that was the sound of the seven trumpets. What a beautiful way to die.

They went quiet again, their eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "You don't have to be religious to believe in God, ya know."

"Oh yeah? What 'bout you Darlin'? Do you believe in God?" he asked in retaliation, interested in what their answer would be. Part of him hoped that they didn't, that he was right in putting his faith in what he could see.

"I do," they said bluntly. It wasn't the answer he was hoping for, but he kept quiet to let them keep talking. "I was raised with the whole 'what's written with you is meant for you'. Basically, what God wants to happen will happen." They rest their head on Sam's shoulder and his arm instinctively wrapped around them. "I know most people don't like that idea, 'cuz it robs them of autonomy. But I don't know, I've always found it comforting. No matter how much bad shit happens to me, it won't be more than I can bear."

"And if it is too much for you to handle?" he questioned gently.

"Then God would write some comfort for me," they giggled. "I know it's stupid, but it's the little things that get me through the day." They yawned and made themselves comfortable on his shoulder. Sam could feel his heart pounding. "You still haven't answered my question."

He took one last look at Darlin', with their pretty face trying to fight off the exhaustion that caught up to them. He couldn't stop staring at their eyes. Sweet and forgiving, they were the eyes he wished would look at them whenever he went to church. They were what God's gaze was supposed to be, free from the hate and judgement he suffered from the congregation. Maybe if they were guiding him from the start, then none of this would have happened. They wouldn't allow any bad things to happen to him.

(Then again, if he was never turned then he wouldn't have met Darlin'. Or at least they would meet in a drastically different context. He wouldn't have the chance to fall in love with them. So maybe Darlin' was right that there was a light at the end of the tunnel for everyone. He just can't believe that he deserved that respite.)

Contemplation be damned, there was no point in thinking about the question when he already knew the answer. "Yeah, suppose I still believe in God, just found it on my own terms." They didn't need to know that they were the only God that he believed in. His mind already started building the shrines in their honour, wondering if they would ever be enough to share his love for them.

It was much easier than saying the words 'I love you'. He may never have the courage (or the right) to say those words.

"I'm glad… that you could tell me…" their voice teemed with yawns and sleep. He chuckled, of course Darlin' would push back on precious sleep in order to listen to his response. That simple action did more for him than any divine being he was forced to worship.

Gently as he could, knowing that Darlin' was a light sleeper, he picked them up and brought them to his spare bedroom. As much as he so wanted to bring them to his bed, that was a big step that neither of them were ready for. Hell, they haven't even hinted that it was something they would be interested in, and his heart wouldn't survive precious Darlin' sleeping in his bed. But it was ok, he would wait an eternity to be with them.

Sam watched them as they slept, eyeing the little details that they hid in their waking moments. Like how their eyebrows were so expressive, or the way their lip scar would stretch with their smile.

This was so very wrong. Watching them sleep, observing them so carefully, he was being a fucking creep for this. But he couldn't help but not look away. Darlin' was so reserved in their waking moments, and he wanted to see them at their most vulnerable. Even if he was tainting them with his corruption, leave him be! He deserves to be a remorseless, selfish thing once in a while. They were so endearing in their sleeping state, and he promised to always protect them in all of their glory. From their sweet eyes and beautiful body and split lip-

There was blood dripping from their face.

His mouth watered before the intoxicating scent hit his nose. Sam froze where he stood, torn between the want to lick the blood of his face and the need to leave. His heart versus his conscience. He had fed only an hour ago and of course, their blood was enough to make him starve again. His shaky hands wiped the blood from their face and then quickly cleaned it off with a napkin in his pocket, not even giving himself the chance to taste it.

He ran out of the room, locking the door behind him to keep them safe from him. His chest heaved with panic, heart racing a marathon. It wasn't fair that Darlin's blood had this much of an effect on them, but it wasn't their fault either. This was Sam's problem to deal with, and he'd be damned if he made his Darlin' feel guilty over something they had no control over.

Calming himself to a reasonable point, he made his way back to the kitchen. Sam opened up the damn fridge to grab another damn blood bag and a bottle of bourbon, sliding onto the floor and chugging it all over again. If only he was normal, then he would just slip into bed and cuddle his wolf, and not run out at the sight of something as simple as blood.

At this point, he's sure that Darlin' would never want him. They've told him little bits and pieces about their relationship with Quinn, and how absolutely vile he was to them. From biting them without their consent to pressuring them into taking care of him, it's no wonder that they would be a little hesitant to jump into another relationship with a vampire. He had his own gripes with Alexis. But Sam was coming to the awful realisation that he was more like Quinn than he thought.

Shame and disgust filled his throat once again. It wasn't fair that Darlin' was stuck with monster after monster, they deserved so much better than him. Yet he couldn't help the jealous bile that filled his mouth at the thought of Darlin' with another person. What an awful predicament.

He gazed back at the crucifix with judging eyes. Only they weren't as harsh this time. Still judging as ever, but this time there was a hint of… was it encouragement? That wasn't the right term, but it was as if they were nudging him on a certain path. If he was truly willing to repent and walk the path of salvation, then somehow Darlin' would be a part of that journey.

He let out a wistful laugh, finding it impossible that Darlin' would ever want to waste their time 'fixing' him. But there was a corner of his heart, one where a sliver of light made its presence known.

Maybe God does love you enough to save you. Maybe they were God all along.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fanfic #redacted sam #redacted darlin #IM GOING BACK TO MY ROOTS #TO MY FAVE COUPLE!!!!#hot boi summer springback #zo writes tingz #this is zo speaking

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