Aurora
Sam's chest infection lasted for nearly three weeks, much longer than it should have. It was worrying what with Sam almost ending up in the hospital a few times. It meant that my birthday was fairly low-key, Sam barely even noticing that the occasion had come around as his days blurred together in a haze of delirium. He felt awful about it once he had recovered, not that I blamed him for a second but he was determined to make up for it, showering me with affection and a new charm for my bracelet, of course.
He couldn't catch a break, however. With his birthday on the horizon, the last thing he wanted was to be ill again but after just over a week of good health, his immune system struck again. Waking up on the Eve of his birthday to Sam coughing up blood and struggling to breathe was one of the most terrifying moments of my life. I didn't think we would be spending his birthday in the hospital but here we were.
Pneumonia was what the doctors said. Likely a result of his weakened immune system following his recent chest infection. What they couldn't work out, however, was why his condition was so severe. Usually, the infection would go amiss in someone like Sam, otherwise healthy with no underlying conditions, commonly mistaken for something as trivial as a cold. But here he was, lying in a hospital bed on his birthday, doped up on IV antibiotics and morphine, looking no better than he had the day previous.
"How yer feeling?" I asked for what felt like the millionth time in the last month. My back ached from the uncomfortable hospital chair that I had occupied for the last couple of hours, my hand holding Sam's, careful of the IV in the back of his.
"Like shit," he wheezed, turning his head on the pillow to look at me. The harsh lights of the hospital reflected the light sheen of sweat that glistened across his forehead, causing the hair atop his head to curl slightly.
"I'm sorry, babe," I frowned, running my thumb over the back of his hand.
"It's not your fault like," he coughed.
My lips pulled into a tight line. "I know but I feel bad," I shrugged.
"Shit birthday, eh?" he joked weakly.
"Certainly makes for one hell of a story," I teased lightly. He let out a slight laugh, wincing in pain as he broke into a fit of coughs. "Alreet?"
"Yeah... yeah," he assured me, taking a sip of the water I offered him.
"Knock, knock," Dean's voice echoed around the hospital room.
"Hey," I smiled as he entered the room, followed by the rest of our friends carrying an assortment of balloons and gift bags.
"Happy birthday, mate," Joe grinned. The rest of the group chimed in with their own wishes of happy birthday, a mixture of smiles on their faces.
I moved to lie beside Sam in the hospital bed so someone could take the chair, careful not to disturb him, Drew sitting at the end of the flimsy, plastic mattress. Dean took residence in the chair I once occupied, Harlow perching herself on his lap. Tom and Jess followed suit on the second chair with Joe stealing the last chair.
"We brought cake," Jess announced, holding up the chocolate traybake in her hands.
"Legends," Sam grinned, his smile lopsided as it pulled wider.
"I don't think you're allowed cake, love," I told him, my lips pursing together on a tight line as I brushed his hair from his sweaty forehead.
"That's bull," he pouted.
"I'm sorry," I frowned as I pressed a kiss against his damp temple.
"S'not your fault," he murmured in deflation.
"We've got candles too but we're not allowed to light 'em, so you're just gan have to pretend," Dean snorted.
"I doubt I'd be able to..." he began, cut off by his need to catch his breath. "Blow them oot anyway. Not that ya'd want... my germs all over it."
"God, yer sound awful, Sam," Harlow commented.
"Cheers," he wheezed.
"Yer can't catch a break, can yer, babe?" I frowned, my lips pulling into a sympathetic smile. He shook his head lightly, too fatigued to give a verbal reply.
"Poor sod," Drew muttered.
"Here, why don't yer open your cards and presents? Cheer ya up a bit like," Jess suggested.
"Did ya grab mine?" I asked Dean and Harlow, who I had put in charge of stopping at my house to grab Sam's presents. I wasn't expecting to be here and I had refused to leave since Sam had been admitted yesterday, going as far as to sleep in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. My back was certainly paying for it now though.
"Yeah, here," Harlow replied as she handed me the blue gift bag.
"Cheers," I smiled.
We all began piling our gifts on top of Sam like some sort of buckaroo. It took a while for him to open the variety of gifts due to his lack of energy, so much so that I had to intervene a few times and help him. It made my heart ache to see him struggling but I could do nothing but watch.
"Thank yous," Sam panted as he opened his last gift. The room had become decorated with birthday cards and balloons that had been tied to the rails of his hospital bed, a feeble attempt at livening up the bleakness of the sterile environment.
"They're having a party in here without us," Shirley joked as she and Ronnie entered the room, a sandwich from the canteen clutched in her grasp, which she passed over to me. "I got yer a little sommat to eat, you're probably clamming," she told me softly.
"Thank you," I mumbled gratefully.
"You're just in time to sing happy birthday to wor Sam," Tom teased.
"Oh, reet?" she smirked as her eyes landed on the cake in Jess' clutch, now adorned with birthday candles we were unable to light due to their potential fire hazard.
"Aye," Harlow grinned.
"Don't hold it too close to him, I don't think any of yous are fancying pneumonia," she warned.
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Sam, happy birthday to you!" we sang in unison, letting out a cheer at the end. Sam buried his head in my side in embarrassment but I knew deep down he secretly loved the attention.
"Happy birthday, love," I muttered in his ear.
"Ceemon now! Everyone squeeze in for a photo!" Shirley instructed us.
"Mam," Sam whined, throwing his head back in exasperation.
"Oh, shut up and smile," she grumbled, holding her phone up to take a photo as our friends crowded around him.
"I swear... if this goes on Facebook," he panted.
"I'll stick it where I bloody well want," she huffed.
"I look like shit," he protested weakly.
"Yer look handsome, shush," I told him sternly.
"Smile!" Shirley beamed behind her phone.
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Drop Dead | Sam Fender
Fanfiction'Did you come around here just to start a fight? Drop dead.' Sam's difficulty with relationships stems all the way back to his adolescence. He hasn't had it easy growing up in the Northeast of England but he managed to escape his teens unscathed. Mo...
