A/N: So, I saw Saw an hour ago, and I bawled my eyes out as usual… So to cheer myself up, I decided to write a fluffy little pi

A/N: So, I saw the first Saw an hour ago, and I bawled my eyes out as usual… So to cheer myself up, I decided to write a fluffy little piece about how Saw ended, if it's up to us ChainShippers!

Comforting Adam

"Why do you care what I think, anyway? I don't give a crap if you covered yourself in peanut butter and did a fifteen-hooker gangbang!"

Little Adam. So entertaining and so annoying. And it's still weird, because I don't think I've ever seen him… Try to be funny, or whatever you call it.

You could tell it when he said that, too. It wasn't like he said it with a little smile. He really looked he didn't give a crap if I covered myself in peanut butter and did a fifteen-hooker gangbang, and he wanted me to be aware of that.

And that hasn't really gone away in time. Now, he's just like he was in that fucking bathroom. And, at the same time, so very different.

So much more immature. So much more afraid.

In a so much bigger need of the closure of another human being, and still so much more careful when it comes to keeping people away from him.

Take it from someone experienced. I love him, he loves me. We're best friends, we're lovers, we meet every day, hell, we live together, and I still have to fight to console him.

I have to pin his wrists down for him not to punch me those nights when he wakes up screaming, when his hair is sticking to his forehead and his latest nightmare is smoldering in his grey eyes, and I try to hold him, but he wriggles out of my arms and mutters something that sounds like: "I'm fine."

Little Adam. So proud and so stupid. Plus, we both know he'll crack any second, that his shoulders will shake and his sobs will find a way up the throat he tries to close, and then I'll do whatever I want with him. Weather he likes it or not.

I will put my arms around his waist, bury my nose in those soft, black strands of hair, and I won't whisper that I love him, simply because he won't let me, but I can whisper that I'll never leave him again, and sometimes, that's enough.

Most nights are like that. Most of our days follow a pattern now days: He gets home from work, that he's so childishly proud of that my love for him just grows when I see that grin on his face, spots me at my laptop and walks up to me with a merry: "Hey, man" and pulls my head back by my hair and presses his lips to mine in an upside down-kiss, and every time, it feels like I'm hungrier for his strange taste of warm, sweet saliva mingling with the bitter sting of tobacco than I've ever been before, simply because I haven't seen him for ten hours. He always makes time go slow. At least when I'm away from him.

Then we sit in front of the TV with pizza or sushi or whatever takeout we've settled on that day. Adam barely knows what a frying pan is, and Allison has made food for me ever since I married her, so it's unavoidable, really. And we talk and make jokes until Adam falls asleep on my chest, since I know he's afraid of the dark, that he's afraid of being even alone since we got out of the bathroom, and it's just with me, in a light-bathing living room, that he can sleep. Dares to sleep.

Of course, this isn't something he's actually told me. Adam is too stubborn and proud for that, and he's not even an adult, he's a sarcastic, ignorant little kid, but I'd never want him to be different. This is how I love him, after all.

Anyway, Adam occasionally falls asleep on my chest. But it's more common that I suddenly realize how irresistible he is, and that my hand finds a way of its own up to his hair, and he sends me a quick glance before I grab the neckline of his washed-down, too big t-shirt – another sure sign he's not grown up yet – and pulls his face to mine, show him how happy I am that he made it out of the bathroom and that he's here with me, and nowhere else in a serial of deep kisses that soon turn into more, turn into his hands on my shirt and my lips against his neck.

The moments afterwards are the best. When he lays down on his side, his breathing ragged and his dark hair damp with sweat, and I nuzzle up against his back and put my arm around his waist, and we're both warm and safe, and Adam is too tired to push me away.

Most of the time.

I'm still not allowed to whisper that I love him. I don't think I ever will be. But right then, it doesn't matter.

Because then, I've at least showed him.

And then we fall asleep. Together. And then, it's as good as it possible can be, but it only lasts for a couple hours.

Sometimes.

Then I feel the little body turn, writhe and squirm in my arms, and all the way into my sleep, I hear his agonized whimpers.

Always.

And then I wake up and see him. And that's even worse than hearing him, to just feel his misery. Now, I have to see his plagued face, see his teeth gritting and tiny silver tears seeping out from his closed eyelids.

And I have to realize, somewhere, on some level, even though it pains me more than that saw did when it tore over my ankle, that I can't fix him.

But I still try. Every night, I try, and I have to grab his fighting shoulders and push them into the mattress, say his name over and over in a desperate plea until he wakes up. Screaming.

It always takes him a moment to understand what's going on. At first, his gaze flicker around the room, doesn't even stay on me, as if he has to assure himself that he really is here, not in the bathroom, not in that awful, awful place where only I was, but still was filled with people that wanted to hurt him.

"It was just a nightmare," I say and draw my hand over his cheek. "Just a stupid nightmare."

He usually still breaths heavily.

"God…"

And then, his eyes land on me again. And the reality comes back to him. His dumb, proud reality that always comes down to one thing: Show no weakness. Show no tears.

Don't even let this confused, helpless doctor who you happen to love see your vulnerability.

"Adam…" I usually try when I see this reality return to his eyes, since I don't want it to. I want to give Adam my reality, I want him to understand that I won't hurt him.

"Oh, come on," he usually says, sits up and turns his back to me. "It was just…"

"A nightmare, yes," I usually cut him off. "Adam, can't you just…"

"Oh, for fucks sake," Adam always hisses, and I can already hear his voice shaking. "Are you playing doctor Phil, or…"

And there, his voice cracks. Always. Because Adam is strong, but not that strong.

He needs me.

And then, I can put my arms around him, I can rock him back and forth, I can whisper in his ear that I'll never leave him.

"Lawrence…" He mumbles, and the tears are streaming down his face, despite that he pulls his hand over his cheeks in angry, almost violent motions. "I… I'm back in that fucking room…"

"No, you're not," I say and lean my chin against his shoulder. "You're here. With me."

And I'm always happy then. I'm happy, and that's so strange, because in the same time, I'm so gut-wrenchingly unhappy that I almost cry as much as Adam.

I'm sad because Adam is unhappy, and because I'll never, never ever, be able to help him. I'm sad because I want to protect Adam from everything that can possibly harm him, but that bastard Jigsaw has given him wounds I'll never be able to heal. And Adam probably knows that, too.

But in the same time, I'm happy. Because these moments, when Adam isn't just too tired, but also too weak to push me away, I can at least momentarily help him. I can't sow his wounds shut, but I can kiss them, I can clean them, I can make the pain go away, and even if it's just for a second, it's worth it.

And I'm still unhappy because Adam is so damn proud, even though that's one of the reasons I love him. I'm unhappy because he'll never allow me to tell him how much he means to me. How much I love him. How I'd hold him to my chest, wipe away his tears if he'd only let me.

But once again, I'm still happy. Because at least Adam lets me tell him that I'll never leave him again. And to be honest, it's more important to me that he knows that. That I can give him the comfort in knowing that I won't make the mistake I did in the bathroom one more time.

I've left Adam once. I've left him in the dark, alone, wounded and crying.

No way that I'll do it again.

You likes? This just poured out of me to cure my Saw-induced depression, so… Anyway, let me know what you think!