Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or canon story, those are intellectual property of Ryan Murphy
A/N: N/A
Prompt: ):
Brooke was dead.
Sam was fucking frozen. Frozen in a haze of guilt and mourning, and when that overrode her brain, she had nothing but to get lost in a sea of cold stares, wandering the streets for some semblance of warmth or humanity. Addictions strained an artificial rush through her veins, but no force fed heat could come close to Brooke.
Even when she sobered up, reality was hardly even real. Time stretched on forever, a hallucinated mesh for her to stumble through. Alone.
Tracing the deep black lines of the tombstone was the last sensory stimulation she would ever register. Never before had Sam been so utterly struck by her own horrific mortality.
And never before was she so relieved to wake up heaving, feverish and crying in Brooke's arms.