𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. sam uley

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲

What, he thinks when he sees the ash.

No, he thinks when he sees the ash.

His wolf is distraught and, at first, he's not sure what he's seeing. Because certainly there's no way that Sage set the world ablaze with an inferno only to not leave the fire unscathed. He heard--they said she might not make it but. . . not this. Anything but this.

A howl wrenches through his throat, broken like a porcelain doll smashed on the floor.

He tries to run to her--there's got to be something left in the ashes, something of her that he just can't see right now--but the vampire, the Ancient One, is holding him back.

He growls and aches and snarls and his threats are vicious and he thinks he might kill this creature if they don't let him go for Sage, if they don't let him save her from this daunting fate she had chosen for herself.

"It is done," the Ancient One mutters, sounding saddened by the news. "She is gone."

He snarls again, and his wolf is untethered, animalistic in its haste to get to the body that he knows will be there. There is no way that Sage is gone. The Ancient One is wrong. Has been this whole time.

Get her off of me, he commands his wolves with a low growl, body trembling underneath the vampire's dark, strong arms. Now.

And then there is a weight off of him, and he runs and runs and runs and it is not a long distance but it feels like he's crossed half the world to get to where she is-- where she has to be.

He saw the ash, he knows, but there is a desperation clawing at him like a vulture in a desert ravaging a scrap of meat left in the heat. Sage will come out of them, he knows. She will be well, will have killed all the other vampires, and they can go home with no more worry on their minds.

But he. . .

He doesn't. . .

His wolf snarls, and Sam is overcome with a need to let it take over, to be him and be it and have nothing in between.

In front of him lies one person, one creature.

His clothes are gone, and there are sobs echoing out of his mouth.

Sam goes in for the kill, despite the fact that Aro's eyes aren't red anymore.

"No!"

It's a desperate plea, and Sam is going to ignore it, but then Carlisle is there, hands crossed in front of him like he's warding off a wild, cautious animal in the woods.

Sam snarls, licking his gums.

There is a faint echo in his heart, like it's been torn from him. There is nothing left, he thinks, as the world paints itself in grey the longer Sage doesn't appear from the ashes she left behind. Nothing but a deep, agonizing ache.

He doesn't care about this human's life. Will never care, even if Sage did.

"She saved him for a reason," Edward says next, and Sam swivels his red gaze over to the vampire, growling deeply.

Stupid, his wolf snarls, even as his heart breaks and breaks and breaks. Stupid leeches. Must kill. Need her.

And it's the only thing that Sam understands--the deep, visceral need to see Sage and make sure she is well. Red bleeds into his vision, and he breathes another broken howl into the spring air, rain pouring down onto his fur, weighing him down.

Need, need, need.

And then he is sticking his nose in the ground, sniffing, searching for her because she has to be there. Sage is somewhere in the destruction and she's going to be okay, and she'll know what to do with the leech, and everything will fade until there's nothing but her to breathe in, to consume and inhale until he is nothing but her, her, her.

Sage, he thinks, nosing through the ash, sniffling and snuffling. Snarling and longing and wishing that he had never touched her, that he had never seen her so long ago in the snowy plains with fear in her eyes and fire dancing on her fingertips.

Sage, his wolf howls next and it is a guttural ache, the kind that gets into his bones, makes them crack and bend until he is miserable and stone, bones as brittle as they are strong.

Sage, and he thinks he knew fear, but this is something else. Something past that and consuming.

This is the aftermath of the terror. It is the absence of Sage in the expanse of the air, an empty spot where she should be standing, grinning softly at Sam because they had won—they won and she is supposed to be here and everything is supposed to be okay because Sam had her back and she had his and--

And she is gone.

Sam's fur is thick with ash, his lungs heaving as he pants and howls and breaks.

She is gone and she left and there was last night but that is all they will ever have.

All they will ever be.

His wolf runs.

He does not look back.