Work Text:
The seasons turn, the year passes, only the end never comes: 1973 happens all over again. A loop, variations on constants, no progression made. Annie's words play (over and over) in his mind: well, don't worry, it'll be 1974 soon.
It never is.
The clocks are against him, time twisting back on itself, something essential broken during his jump back – something he did wrong, he's the reason (all his fault) it's gone wrong. The days stagnate, colours fading out, it's the fourth and thirty-seventh year of his life again and again.
Sanity slips away, and Sam forgets he ever cared.