Chapter Text
“I mean, you’ve gotten knocked out before. Maybe we can just hit you with a frying pan with every night.”
Leigh’s suggestion– which frankly, was probably a better use for Sam’s kitchenware the way he cooked –goes unentertained. If you asked, Sam wouldn’t be able to tell you how and why they got into this conversation, perhaps another fight for the ever coveted couch. He groaned, unhappy at the reminder that his apartment very much was not meant for the amount of people now in it.
Leigh and Morton took care of themselves, thankfully. She with her strange blanket nest beside the bookshelf, and him with his item horde in the corner opposite the kitchen. Sam Jr. happily slept in its “father’s” arms– well, arm . Joel had enjoyed the couch, though he had once or twice slipped into Sam’s bed anyways, and thankfully still got to keep it, with the added bonus of Hellen’s presence being a safe comfort and her lap a nice pillow. But now there was Sophie, who’d come knocking just that morning, and who he absolutely would NOT just leave outside like that–
Hellen. Right. Amidst all the discussions on how to alter the living space to better account for every head now in it, her lack of, and apparent inability to, sleep had come up. After all, if she didn’t need to sleep…
“You really don’t? Are you never tired?” He asks, drifting back to the topic at hand. “We have covered a lot of ground lately…I know you always say you’re ready to go, but…”
“Physical rest will suffice.”
“It’ll suffice yeah, but I mean, even mentally tired? We haven’t rested at the apartment much.”
At edge of her mask, he can see even her innermost eyes peering at him beside her, where they all sat in the living area. He can’t help a slight flinch. That was…probably too personal a question, in front of everyone else no less. She made it very clear she was rather private and blunt, which he frankly appreciated given her unreadable expressions.
“I don't need it.”
But unfortunately, either not realizing or not caring about the obvious intention to move on, Leigh had continued the line of questioning, offering several hypothetical solutions, as did Sophie, and then Joel, and even Morton at one point, until the conversation entirely devolved from sleeping conditions to conditions of getting Hellen to sleep, which she merely sat and withstood.
She held her tongue far better than he could’ve, Sam thinks. And so, the day became thoroughly derailed, delaying them leaving the apartment by a good while. And even while out and about, in active danger no less! Leigh would pipe up with an idea now and then. Even with a break to do a few floor laps with Sophie to see if they could cross paths with Harriet, the little girl had suggestions increasingly more and more outlandish for her new friend.
His suggestion: Meditation? Basically what she did every night, anyways. Unsurprisingly, it had no effect.
Joel's suggestion: Physical exhaustion? Hell, even the day they’d spent trapped in Mr. Henderson’s apartment, only emerging into the following morning, so thoroughly spent even Leigh was limping and sagging against the walls, she hadn't slept. Hellen had sat upright on the couch, staring unblinking at the wall ahead of her, nearly a statue save for the hand gently petting Joel’s hair as he slept.
Morton's suggestion: Chemical sedation? Musette, bless her heart, had listened to their clumsy questioning about medications and drugs with a sympathetic expression instead of bewilderment. “Sorry, but I’m no anesthesiologist. Even if I had the right equipment, you would need quite a hefty dose, my dear.” Still, she told them not to write off the possibility of prescription medications, and Sam filed the information away for later in case that one trader came by his door again.
Sophie's suggestion: “Sometimes my mom gives me uh…mella-toe’in?”
Leigh's suggestion (ignored): gratuitous blood loss.
Defeated, the mini mission of “make Hellen sleep” was deemed a failure and forgotten, in favor of unexpectedly acquiring the key to the convenience store and taking down the beast within, an unanswered prayer to Sam’s quickly emptying fridge and cabinets.
Locking the door behind them made his stomach sink, his head hurt as they marched back up the stairs to his apartment.
We’re coming back tomorrow. We’ll gather and go through all the supplies, take only what we need. We can figure out what we don’t and we’ll make a list and we’ll ask Jeanne and Lyle and Eugene and even the robed weirdos what they need and you’re not stealing, we’re not stealing we’re not dooming them we just need to make sure no monsters get in it’s the only source of supplies we have to protect–
“Sam.” He had not even realized he’d spiraled so hard, he practically was on autopilot til now, when Hellen’s voice and big hand on his shoulder snapped him from it.
It was…hard, to fight off the guilt. About stealing, about killing, about the fact he wasn’t the only one in need. But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it? Now he has three kids depending on him, two friends who could fend for themselves sure but he didn’t want to do that. A safe place was a rare blessing now, and strong and capable or not, his chest hurt imagining Leigh sleeping in the rubble of her old apartment or Morton disguising himself into his bags of junk in the night, hoping to go unnoticed by the insane.
“Sorry, I’m just–” She deals him a flat stare, and he knows he doesn’t have to save face, she’s seen the bottle on his bathroom sink, had subtly and mildly awkwardly said if he needed anything to ask. Samuel XXXX, clomipramine 75mg. 4 pills left last he counted, promising to refill the next day. That was 6 days ago. “...Tired. How are you feeling?”
“I'm fine.”
She was unreadable as always, behind the mask. As much as she loved Sam Jr.’rs gift– he swears he’d seen her stare get watery when it handed it to her –it was, unfortunately, both not very protective and very at risk of damage in the heat of battle. Still, he’s become rather good at gauging her tone and body language and…he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what or how, but his brain immediately insisted that was a fat lie. Something about her just seemed…
Exhausted. She was no less intimidating and harrowing, but in the mundane setting of his apartment, she seemed smaller.
“Okay, good, that’s good. Uh–” Nodding towards the kitchen, she picked up on the silent request to follow him, doing so while the kids and Leigh behind them helpfully “sorted” what of the convenience store’s food they could fit in their unprepared bags. “Listen, I don’t really know what to do for Sophie, I know I gotta figure some things out and you’ve been really level headed with this stuff so far. After dinner, you mind if they get the couch, and you could help me plan out tomorrow? We gotta figure out how we’re gonna haul everything back, and then I was thinking we’re going to have to go through the empty apartments and drag bedding, maybe even furniture up.”
“I can do that.”
Her succinct replies to his tendency to over-explain and ramble was always appreciated. He gives her a beat smile, rubbing his aching temples. “Thanks. It’s uh, it’s nice, having another adult–” Leigh doesn’t count, he was sure they silently agreed “--around, you’re good for bouncing ideas off of.”
“You’re letting me stay here. I'm living in your home.”
“I know, I know– just still, appreciate it.”
He’s anxious to get to it, his mind had a tendency to fixate on an upcoming task until it was time to do it, but he does his best to quell it as he helps store their assorted goods. The circumstances aside, he…can’t help but admit he likes the background chatter to the apartment, even if it gets overwhelming at times.
Distantly, Sam realizes just how painfully lonely he was before. Even if this was a bit of a monkey’s paw style solution to that.
But it was hard running the fort, keeping things civil, shepherding everyone into plans– and staying on plan. Even when she was just doing the dishes, or reminding him of the time, her remarkably steadfast demeanor was a nice anchor in the day-by-day, shifting chaos full of unknowns. It was harder to ignore sense when someone was telling it to you, not you trying to convince yourself of it, something he had to do more and more lately.
I had no choice but to take that, to kill them, I have to defend myself, the fact that used to be a person doesn’t matter, could I have talked them down? Maybe I should’ve just run? Am I a monster too? And so on.
Dinner is a blissfully peaceful affair, everyone too tuckered out to do much save for Sophie, who he has a feeling steals the room she’s in no matter the setting. Everyone showers (thank god water bills don’t exist anymore, or for now, he muses), Leigh and Morton take their self-assigned spots;
And Sam is glad when the kids don’t object to sharing the couch between the three of them, with Sophie rather attached to Sam Jr. in just the short several hours she’s known him, and him quite content slumbering against her shoulder. Joel was happy with whatever didn’t leave him alone. He corrals them both into the bathroom to brush their teeth, Sam Jr. sat on the edge of the sink while he brushed them for it. He helps Joel brush his hair while he enjoys brushing the rat baby’s short fur, then leaves them to change into pajamas. In absence of anything else, he settles on an old work shirt and sweats tied tighter with a rubber band for Sophie. If it works, it works.
“But where– Hhhhh – is miss Hellen going to sit?”
If there’s one thing suddenly being a position of guardianship has taught him, it’s that children are incredibly, painfully observant, and any time he hopes they won’t ask a certain question, they almost always do.
“Don’t worry.” Hellen comes to the rescue. For whatever reason, Joel didn’t tend to question her statements, yet somehow always wanted more detail from Sam. Endearing, but a little maddening at times. “I will find a comfortable spot in his room. It is more important that you all sleep.”
“Yeah…We’ll figure everything out tomorrow guys, okay? It’s just for tonight.”
Sam leans forward to pick up Sam Jr., who as they all learned, turns to screaming and wailing if left without a goodnight kiss by its “dad”. He coos something he forgets as he says it to the rat creature, smiling earnestly when it giggles and grabs at his face, pressing its dual snouts against him in an attempt to return the affection. Sophie reaches out with dramatic grabby arms, already wanting back her new best friend and cuddle buddy– Sam Jr. happily curls into its blankets, bundled up on her chest. Joel lays beside her, facing the opposite direction, so they’re not in each other’s face.
He bids them goodnight when he hears the bathroom door open, patiently waiting for Hellen to do…well, whatever her nightly routine was. There had been, thankfully, unopened toothbrushes among the scattered products in the store, and everyone with teeth to brush was quietly relieved they wouldn’t have to resort to…ah, existing ones in the apartment. Her mask had droplets of water still sticking to it, reverently washed of blood and the day’s actions, he thinks. Behind him while he watches, Sophie and Joel bicker over whose feet is in whose mouth.
She strides up to him, and both of the kids wish her goodnight as well. Sam Jr., hearing her heavy footsteps, peeks his head out of the blankets in search of her. Her posture visibly softens, and a calloused hand reaches out to scratch the fur on his little baby head, it chortling and chittering in delight at the touch.
When the door shuts behind him, he nearly falls against it, tempted to slide down the floor and not get up. But as it stands, it’s not him alone in here to breakdown in privacy, but Hellen too, who immediately inspects his plant before anything else. He can’t help an amused smirk despite himself, watching her dote over the thing, not unlike how she just did for his “son”. Leaves between her fingers, tipping it carefully to look at the stems.
“You’ve been taking good care of it.”
It’s a little embarrassing, the disproportionate amount of pride he felt hearing it from her. “Only because of the pointers you gave me.”
It’s only just now he realizes he has no chair in here, he usually just dragged the one from the living room in here, but it’s not like he was at his desk that much anyways. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Uh, sorry, we can just sit on the floor I guess. Actually, uh, if you wanted–”
Sam also can’t help feeling a little awkward doing this, but he kneels beside his bed to pull two bottles out from underneath– one vodka, one whiskey. She tilts her head seeing it, and he can’t really blame her.
“I didn’t want the kids to see, don’t wanna be a bad role model or anything but it just…helps, you know? Especially when I first lost the arm. I really just had a sip or two to sleep.” Carefully, he lowers himself to the floor, retrieving two shot glasses from a tote hidden beneath. “Don’t feel pressured or anything, I just uh, wanted to offer.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” After a moment of thought, she sits beside him, and even sitting side by side she towers over him. As she does, he can’t help staring– where her expressions might be gone, her body language was not, and he’s unsure if she’s just never relaxed like this in his presence or maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears she sags in a way she doesn’t normally, using the bedframe to support her, like her own weight was wearing on her. She takes a shot glass gratefully, though she doesn’t immediately use it, just holding it against her knee. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“Just didn’t want to give the wrong idea.” But it’s nice knowing she won’t judge, as he uncaps the whiskey and fills his own glass, though he doesn’t touch it right away either. “Anyways, since trying to figure out stuff with everyone gets, uh, messy, I figured it’d be easier to discuss it just the two of us. I know it’s getting kind of crowded, I only had so many blankets, and holding Sam Jr. was easier when he was smaller. I’ve been trying to decide what to do and unfortunately I think we might want to drag a bed up here, maybe one of the apartments on this floor? I was hoping we could nab a crib too, that I can at least keep in here.”
Hellen grunts an affirmative. “I imagine you want me to help carry them?”
He reddens. “You don’t have to. But uh, now that my arm’s gone…and I think you’re the only one strong enough.”
“I can do that.”
“Alright…As for tomorrow, I think we should get into the convenience store and just take whatever we can carry. It feels kind of scummy but I figure we just put aside any excess and we can reach out to the others, Sybil, Jeanne…” He pauses, rolls his eyes. “Lyle. I guess. I just want to make sure we’re not poaching everything.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“We’ll have plenty of food, but we should grab at least some toiletries. Uh…Do you need any, you know, lady products?”
He thinks he hears a snort beneath the mask. “I do not. Leigh may, or Sophie.”
“Oh, god. I didn’t even consider that. Uh. Do you–”
“..."
"..."
"...I am not doing that."
“Yeah-that's. That's fair.” Sam breaths out, rattled by this realization. “I wouldn’t know where to start, and I doubt an eight year old wants a nervous guy she barely knows to talk to her about it, but I don’t know if her mom even talked to her about it. But we’ll grab some, just in case. And I know for a fact there’s a corner with some basic t-shirts and sweats and stuff. I was able to get some of Joel’s clothes but Sophie’s only got what she’s wearing, and Leigh’s been in the same ripped up pajamas and I know she doesn’t care but uh, they kinda stink– wait,”
Hellen tilts her head again, a seemingly conscious way to display being inquisitive that’s become second nature. It’s an oddly cute action considering her demeanor.
“You don’t have anything else, right? I probably have a thing or two that could fit, I used to be bigger.”
She never complained, but surely it must be uncomfortable, staying in sweat and blood stained coveralls, with only a singular wash since they initially cleansed the laundromat. She never complained about anything actually. Always helpful, always polite (when her boundaries were respected, at least), always ready to go. It…made him feel guilty at times, and she knew it, but he couldn’t help still trying to emphasize how very much not obligated to do anything she was.
“It’s fine. I manage.”
“I mean…” Sam sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be pushy. I know we’re all kind of…managing, but I’m trying to make the best of it. You also live here now, kinda, so I don’t want you to feel…I don’t know, like you can’t relax?”
She stares at him, and he can’t help but squirm under the scrutiny, resisting the urge to scramble further. He tried to stop doing that, it didn’t help anyone and tended to make everything worse, but his brain seemed to insist that one more apology will fix it, surely. She’s deciding, he thinks, though what she’s deciding he isn’t sure, only that her eyes twitch inches or so in gaze as she does.
“I understand. But I would speak up if I had objections.” That he'd definitely learned, when he originally would pry too much. She didn’t hold her tongue when her peace was disturbed, that's for sure. “...Would you be uncomfortable if I unzipped the top?”
The question takes him horribly off guard, not because he was actually opposed in any way, but because she didn’t normally actually take him up on any offers to make herself comfortable. Once his brain caught up, he shrugged. “Not at all.”
Remembering the shot in his hand, he sighs and sips it down, eyes closed and cringing at the burn. He wasn’t really huge on the taste of any alcohol really, it was fully practical for him, something to shut his racing mind up and dull the pain of the stub where his arm was. A pleasant warmth blooms in his chest, a familiar prelude to some degree of relaxation, a reorienting that made the world feel a bit more normal again.
“I just wanted to say-!” He opens his eyes again and– oh, he, he thought she had something on underneath that. But apparently not, because when he looks back over Hellen didn’t just unzip the coveralls a bit like he thought she’d would, but rather opened it to the waist, where it was now tied around her. All she had on underneath was a thick black sports bra, digging heavily into her broad, toned shoulders. Her tan skin was dotted with moles, and except for a few warped, raised spirals etched into her flesh, was surprisingly human in appearance. And– okay, good lord, he knew she was strong but her arms were huge , toned and yet not without padding, looking soft even from here and–
Sam very forcefully shifts his gaze to the floor.
You’re a pervert. You told her to get more comfortable, and now you’re ogling her like some old pervert. Is that what you actually wanted all along? You’re disgusting. Of course that’s the first thing you notice. Creep. What’s wrong with you?
“I just. Wanted to say I appreciate everything, you know? I mean it when I say I’m grateful for how level headed you are, sometimes it’s hard to get out of my own head. When I’m out there I can think, like autopilot, but sometimes it’s just…a lot, especially when I’m just sitting here and replaying it all. It’s so…chaotic, but you’ve been really helpful and uh, solid. I guess. You’re really helpful, Hellen.”
There was all the subtle signs she was processing, her fingers tensing and untensing slightly, again the minute twitching of her pupils, her breathing seemed to slow a little. He wonders, sometimes, if she catches him staring, but if she did, she had yet to say anything. He can't help it, always painstakingly watching for signs, shows of what goes on in other's heads, to gauge.
“You're letting me stay here.” For the first time since they’d sat down, Hellen pours a shot of whiskey for herself, tipping her mask up just enough to account for the glass. She doesn’t even twitch. “The least I can do is be respectful of your space.”
“Well, you do more than enough. I know everyone’s grateful, even if they don’t think to say it. The kids love you, you know.”
“...Hmph.” It was an unusually minute response, even for her. Did he sense a little embarrassment?
“...That’s to say, uh, are you doing okay…? I know everyone made a big deal of the whole no sleep thing, but I was a little worried. Even sitting up all the time can’t be that good for you, so if you ever want to borrow the bed, or even set one up up here, it’d be okay.”
“You don’t need to worry so much about me.”
“I know, I know.” Another shot, if only to shut up his weirdly shaky nerves. He both was very much enjoying conversing with her, and yet shaking in his boots as he does so. It was always harder when you actually cared what someone thought of you, he supposes. “But I do.”
“...Of course you do. It’s in your nature.”
“Uh…huh?”
“You worry about me. About the boy, the baby, and now the girl.” Sensing a brutal dressing down, he shrinks into himself a bit. “You stop Leigh from doing stupid things, you listen to Morton prattle. You’ve lost a limb and much blood by helping others, even when they are strange and unusual. Even when it is done, you worry about what you could or should have done, when it is pointless to.”
Ouch. Right on the money.
“They’re people.” Sam replies, almost defensively. “Sure, maybe some folks have extra arms or eyes or look like worms or rats, but they’re just…people.”
“I'm not shaming you. I owe my life to this fact.”
“...What?”
For the first time in ever speaking to her, he thinks, unable to help noticing the idiosyncrasies of others, Hellen won’t meet his eyes, instead looking again to the shot glass now being slowly rotated by her nails.
“You are not the first door I knocked on.”
His stomach sinks. Oh.
“I…I’m sorry. People are scared, I guess.”
“I am not shaming them, either. They are surviving, and I am different. It's just how it is now.”
“...Well. I’m glad, that I let you in. I’m glad you’re safe here.”
She was strangely still for a second, except for a slight movement of her mask, and he knew her teeth were moving under there. She didn’t unfreeze to do anything except pour and down another shot, which startles a reluctant smirk out of him. Maybe she wasn't used to being flattered?
“Did you lose your apartment when everything happened?”
“I don’t live in this building.” Hellen changes positions, seeming to sink into the carpet a bit. She looked less like a statue and more like an actual person at rest. He smiles without realizing when he notices. “I was working on the flowerbeds outside when it happened.”
Oh. Well, that would explain it. Her having “nowhere” was very literal then, she was quite literally trapped in an apartment complex she did not reside in, with only what she had on her person. His heart hurts thinking about it. For all the things happening to him...he really was lucking out compared to others, huh? If he'd gotten groceries just a few days earlier, not gotten fired...
“…We’ll find you some clothes, okay? Whatever you need.” He thinks a second longer, then adds: “Please don’t fight me on this. I want to.”
“...You're stubborn.” She grumbles, tone unusually quiet. “Thank you.”
"Do you want to take one of these, by the way? I…know we kind of gave up on that whole trying to find a way for you to sleep thing, but I’m not gonna lie, I was wondering if…”
She laughs, or moreso chuckles. It’s a short, aborted noise that’s more of a huff or bark than anything, but it happens, the only thing more than a snort or heavy exhale he's ever heard from her. A pretty sound, he thinks somewhere floaty in the back of his head. “You want to know if getting piss drunk will put me to sleep?”
“Only if you want to! Or something close to it…I’m serious, you can take the bed sometimes if you want. I’ve slept in worse places than the floor.”
“Nope. It's yours. And you are still healing. You need it more.”
Sam sighs. “I knew you'd say that. I just, think you should get a chance to relax. You know.” He shrugs. “All of us do. Maybe tomorrow we raid the store, drag the furniture up here, and the rest is a day in, just get everything sorted. No battles, no injuries, just…” He looks down at the bottle, then at her. “Living. Not surviving.”
God he wishes she had a face right now, anything to give even a clue into what she was thinking, his normal observations failing him. He thinks he might be putting her into a position she’s never been in before, and curses himself getting so loose lipped. Was he pushing too much? Previous attempts to over-worry toward her had gotten him told off, so much so he initially just left her to her own devices. And now here he was, fussing over her like he did the others, when he'd done so well and gotten so far giving her the space. What was wrong with him?
“...That would be nice.” Her fingers tighten around the glass. Some painted decal on it chips off. “And I do miss it.”
“Sleeping?”
She nods. “I can come close. I can’t “turn off”, but it’s like pushing my consciousness out of the way…Yet I am still here. It is still playing in the distance.”
“...Repeating?”
She nods again. “The same, over and over.”
“And it keeps you awake.”
“Not me. Present. Alert.”
“I can’t sleep now either.” Sam admits. “I used to, my meds made me drowsy. But even when I’m exhausted, even when I lost all that blood, I just…lay here sometimes, thinking. About what’s going on, what will happen, how do I tell Joel his family is gone, how do I tell Sophie her mom might be dead, what’s Sam Jr.’s future will even look like, what will happen when the apartment runs out of food and we have to go outside…If we can ever go outside–”
“Stop.” Her voice sounds strange, the same tone she used to take telling him to leave her alone. Used to . He marvels over the wordage, it made it sound like they’d known each other much longer than a handful of days. He supposes the end of the world will do that, they didn't have the luxury of time to become familiar. “Overthinking will drive you insane before looking ever will.”
“I try.” He swallows. “It’s hard.”
“You’re out of your medication?”
“I’ve been cutting them in half.” He aches for another shot, and decides to cave to the temptation. “I need my head on straight. They need me.”
“They have you. You need you.”
“...How do you do it?” He hopes to god he’s not prying. It isn’t lost on them that this is “talkative” by Hellen standards, and as it stands, this is the most he’s ever been let in. He’s honored, unnerved, and fascinated all at the same time. “You said you understand, and I didn’t wanna ask, but well…you too?”
“Yes. Differently." She searches for words, and he lets her, both looking at their respective glasses instead of themselves. At some point, Sam suddenly realizes, he’s leaned over, his body looser with the alcohol in his system, and they were arm to arm. She either hasn’t noticed or doesn’t care, and has made no move to push him away. She’s warm. "I have always had thoughts I cannot control...Unsavory ones. I have no urge to act on them, it is…merely like suggestions from an outside source I can’t prevent. I keep busy.”
Sam kind of gets it, you're forced to hear, but not to listen.
“Ah...so, is that why you never really take a break?”
“Partially.”
“...I’m sorry.”
“I will manage.”
“So plants kept you busy then? Before all this?”
“Anything that requires my hands. They have needs. They grow, I prune. They need a new pot, new soil, new placement. I dig, I weed, I water.”
Something curls in his chest, and it's only a strange, alcohol-driven surge of bravery that lets the cheekiness out, but he's noticing a pattern. “...You like getting to take care of things, huh?”
“...Hmmgh.”
He laughs, and without thinking about it, lifts the bottle and refills them both. They drink nearly the same time, and the air between them goes quiet, but not awkward. He feels on equal footing with her, more so than he did before, and it’s nice. Especially given, for all he's come to depend on her, she has been something of a locked box. Details only able to be guessed at, or only forced out in some manner.
No sound can be heard through the wall, not the pitter-pattering of little feet or Morton’s kind-of-feet, meaning the young ones are truly and well asleep, and all was peaceful outside. They were safe, no knocking at the front door, no pressing emergency injury or circumstance. No one bleeding or hungry or scared.
For perhaps the first time since this all began, he just…relaxed.
And apparently, when he relaxes, he’s stupid.
“But you don’t let others take care of you.”
She physically starts. It’s very small, but he feels it where their arms are touching. Fuck, he thinks, trying not to panic. She definitely would not take kindly to that, he thinks. Good job, idiot.
“You don’t either.”
“Yeah.” Sam chuckles, relieved. “I guess I need to fix that. Good thing you’re so firm with me, huh?”
Again, her mask shifts ever so slightly, the tell-tale sign of rows of teeth shifting in thought. He must have gotten through to her, he supposes, though he only hopes he didn’t actually embarrass her. It wasn’t his intention, and he certainly did not want to squander this nice moment they were having. He just wishes she would be more gentle to herself, restrain herself a little less, not make herself out to be a monster she isn’t. Eating in the bathroom, keeping her eyes low, like her face warped beyond her control was something to be ashamed of. Hypocrite that he was.
He…maybe didn’t sit with the fact until now, or have a chance to fully process it, but he really, really liked her. He felt for every lost soul that found its way in his apartment, but Hellen he probably felt most closest to as an adult, like an actual friend. Like they actually understood each other. Unfortunate that it took an event like this to cause it, but he's glad to have met her. If he just ruined that–
“You’re teasing me.”
“I’m sorry, I promise I wasn’t trying to make fun of you, I just– kind of self-deprecating you know? ‘Cuz you’re right, I do it too, I’m sorry–”
“No.” Hellen cuts off his rambling with her usual bluntness, and he flounders into silence, waiting for her to elaborate. But she’s pouring herself a shot and not even bothering to put the cap back on first, just throwing it back. And then she’s turning and grabbing his wrist and yanking his hand forward to land on her chest, above her heart. He nearly kills himself swallowing wrong but controls the coughs by sheer shock at what the hell just happened. It takes him a moment to process he’s touching skin, and holy shit her pulse is fast, and her skin is soft, but also she’s solid and sinewy underneath. His hand is so close to her tits which he is accidentally staring at in trying to focus on his hand, her chest so broad and wide they spill a little out the sides, her collarbones are smooth and defined– “You’re teasing me.”
Oh. Oh.
He…hadn’t intended on that either, and frankly, he was a little surprised– okay no, big surprised, but mostly because… him ? Sure, he wasn’t some mutated something, but he didn’t exactly consider himself the nicest specimen around. Former convenience store cashier and stocker who survived off frozen pizza and barely left his apartment, with a waning hairline and waxing waistline and dark circles that never went away, early wrinkles. What a stunner, huh? And yet…
Hellen was attractive. He’d startled the first time he saw her face, sure, but he thinks a portion of it is some weird involuntary thing the Visitor tacked on. Besides, her face didn’t change who she was, and he liked who she was, very much. He liked her strength, her fortitude, safety embodiment, but levelheaded too, and though it mostly came out to Sam Jr. she was, whether she admitted it or not, kind. Certainly not as empty as she tended to project. She cared enough to watch over him after the arm incident, watch Joel and Sam Jr. in his stead, risk her own skin alongside him, even if they hadn't been nearly as comfortable as they were now. She didn't mind following him through hell to help others, so he supposes she must at least not minding doing the same, but suspects she just wanted to. She got excited at knives and cared about his houseplant and washed bottles and cans out to recycle. What monster does that? Certainly not the one she clearly thinks she is.
Her height flustered him at times, for multiple reasons, and more than once he had admired her build, top heavy and angular, the subtle muscle in every action, thanking god for her physique when it came in handy, even if it was all hidden beneath fabric. He had eyes, sue him. Would it be insane to admit he found the mask charming, too? They made the eyes that peaked through brighter, the lack of lids always making them look wide and excited. Intensity he shied away from at first, but now actively sought out for comfort. Were her eyes that color before, he wonders.
These were all things he technically knew, but was not actively aware of, and now he was suddenly aware, very aware in fact, the shots all snowballing in effect and his body is sluggish to rise to the possible occasion, but it reacts.
“Hellen…?”
“You can stop me.” She says, her breath heavy beneath the mask, he can tell. There’s a timbre in her voice not normally there, and he feels it with a tingle down his spine. “If you do not want this.”
More than anything, he realizes he would have never expected Hellen, of anybody now in the apartment, to cross the dreaded “what if someone is horny” aspect of several bodies in one tiny apartment. It almost seemed…above her, though now that he tackled that thought, he isn’t sure why he thought it. She was human after all, of course she was capable of it. He most of all should know she wasn’t some emotionless thing devoid of want. And apparently, she wanted this. Wanted him?
…Did he?
His heart, brain, and dick all hold up big “10” signs in his mind’s eye.
Only…
“Take off the mask?”
Sam sees her eyes shift in shock underneath it, and she seems to mull it over, the most painstaking thing asked of her yet, beyond learning how to treat amputation on the fly or carving out details of shared mental illnesses, which he's still kind of stunned over, even if it's only happening because they'd accidentally crossed that barrier with the pill bottle. The mask that covered her greatest shame, her greatest anger, a physical alteration of her flesh and bone beyond her consent that furthered the existing, inherent, inexplicable wall between her and everyone else, that made everyone even before keep her at arm’s length, everyone except for…
She looks Sam over, and seems to make a decision. She lets go of him, undoing the buckles buried in her hair, her hands seeming to fumble the slightest as she pries it off. She treats the plastic hockey mask as though it is precious ceramic, and he supposes to her, it is her face, how she presents to the world, thick and steely and impervious. The many eyes now embedded in her skull shift and wander momentarily, adjusting to their new exposure to the light, but when they settle they settle on him. He stares back, unaffected– no, unafraid, taking in the multiple stares wholeheartedly, happily. He takes in up close for the first time the rows of slightly pointed teeth, the way her skin has been pulled and molded like stretched toffee, like the shape of the sand when the tide recedes.
She has no lips, and he has barely any experience, but Sam makes do. It’s clear taking it off was a major show of many things, especially trust, and he intends to show how much he understands the gravity of it. He cups her head, momentarily stunned by the fact he gets to touch her of all people, feels her stiffen but not stop him, and he kisses her where he can, where skin still exists– the flesh around her right eye that did not get moved, to the side where her cheekbone lie underneath, tips her head back to pepper his lips along her jawline. Her breath, wet and whiskey-scented, can’t avoid hitting his face, her maw kept open in a permanent swirl but he didn’t mind, took pride in the hitched little wheezes each one seemed to draw out of her.
When he pulls back, heart stammering in his chest awaiting her reaction, all those eyes are focused on him still, unable to close– and much to his equal parts amusement and delight, her pupils are blown, each one wide and black and soft. Cute…
“You actually want this.” It sounds like she didn't think anyone could, and his heart breaks a bit at the thought. Even if he did mind her appearance she was...well...
“I- yeah. I want you.”
You. Not this. It's not like he'd do this with just anyone.
He supposes it must've been the right thing to say, because once he does Hellen pounces, grabs him and hoists him up and onto his bed as he muffles surprised laughs. She yanks down the rest of her coveralls, kicking them aside carelessly in favor of straddling him, and her weight on him is delicious. Sam’s too busy looking at her to think, taking it in, her form looming over him, the miles of uninterrupted skin. The subtle muscle hidden in her bulky form, miscellaneous swirls from the visitor and scars from her work dot her here and there, as do freshly healing wounds. He knows his hips and back will kill him if he did this much longer but no where in his heart or mind does he want to move her, finds he rather likes being pinned by her.
A question dies on his lips as she’s tugging his sweatshirt up and off, and he feels terribly exposed and much less appealing, not used to being seen like this. She’s technically had his shirt off before, helping him treat his arm wound when it first happened, but this is very different. She’s not focused on ripped flesh and dying tissue, but plump, slightly hairy skin, his very normal human form. She must like something, because she hums happily, causing him to flush. He needs to be occupied instead of getting in his head about it.
“Can I…?”
“You can touch.”
His hand reaches up to take her jaw again, and her many eyes flicker at it then away, seemingly not expecting it. But he didn’t want to rush, take it for granted, because frankly if he was just here for tits his laptop had a multitude of free, faceless models and camgirls at just a few keystrokes. Hellen was real and flesh and bone and beautiful and visibly warring between hesitance and intense want. Who could ever pass her up?
It trails down her neck, thumb tracing momentarily one of the raised whorls, tougher than the rest, like thickened scar tissue. He feels up her powerful shoulder, the deltoid fluttering under his fingertips, gingerly lifting up a bra strap. Sam looks at her– and even without facial expressions, he knows her stare means “what the fuck are you waiting for”, so he grins sheepishly and pulls the clasps in the back apart, her allowing it to slide down and off her, carelessly tossed aside with the rest of her clothes.
He had, ah, known she was a little well endowed too. Not really the kind of thing you could hide, but seeing it exposed was a whole other thing, paler lines of stretch marks like fish in a stream running down her breasts, dusky wide nipples hardening without cover. He dares to fondle one, his slow body finally starting to chub at the way it fills his hand, that rolling his thumb against the bud makes her hips scoot in delicious friction against his half-hard dick. Squeezing makes her exhale hard through her nose, nostrils still in there somewhere.
Hellen’s patience officially snaps. Though flattered, and against her will, endeared by it, he is too slow, too gentle, too…sweet. She leans down, knocking his head backwards with hers, and he groans as her tongue– lips be damned, the interior was all the same, just hard to spot among the other more useless teeth –swipes up the length of his neck, tasting his pulse thudding within. He groans, deep and throaty, and she wants to hear it more . However…
“We have to be quiet. The others.” Her pointy teeth press ever so slightly, and he bucks a little without meaning to. “Can you do that?”
Honestly? He wasn’t sure, at the pace she seemed to want to go. But he would try, for her. “Y-yeah,” Sam swallows thickly, nearly chokes on it. “You can bite.”
“I know.” They press down harder, warning him. “I will.”
Human teeth and warped fangs work in tandem to nip at the junction of his shoulder and neck, where it could be hidden if he really wanted, not breaking the skin but surely hard enough to bruise. His whole body curls with the jolt of electricity it sends through him, knees pressing into her sides. He wonders if she wants him marked up, wants him claimed even if others cannot see, or if that’s just his own unexplored wants suddenly making themselves known, because the thought makes him ache.
Her hands, big and calloused and dry, grope wherever they can reach, finally finding purchase in his hips, digging into the fat there as she bites again, at his chest this time, licking up the sweat beading as his breath stutters. He doesn’t want to be a dead fish, but at the same time, there’s something appealing about being entirely at her mercy, though he keeps his arm around her, tracing gently with his nails. They dig in when those fangs run over a nipple, not finding it in him to be scared of accidentally losing one, knows she can be gentle.
She nearly rips his jeans and boxers off him in one clean swipe, discarded at the foot of the bed, hungry for the rest of him. His legs ache from all the running and exploring but he can at least hook them around hers, pull her in, squirm when she takes his dick in hand. She’s more careful there, palming it and visibly breathing heavier when it twitches for her, hard, leaking at the tip. She lets go of him just long enough to spit onto it, her hold much slicker and better , stroking him light and short and teasing. It makes his thighs twitch, his toes curl, struggling to keep still. She watches raptly– did she like seeing him struggle?
The alcohol makes everything feel on a several second delay, makes him feel heavy and floaty and loose, like this is all a dream. Still, he wants to do something , so he tugs at her to regain her attention. “Hey…”
“Hmm?” Though Hellen seems in her own world, not at all minding the mismatched energy, idly stroking him like lost in thought. It makes his voice waver and struggle to get the words out.
“I–I want to, uh…” God, how does he even ask? Might as well be out with it. “Um. Sit on my face?”
The rows of teeth undulate as she processes, her grip on him tightens a little and he hisses and ruts into it. It’s nice to be the one taking her by surprise for once.
“...You continue to shock me.” She slides off him, and suddenly every cell in his body is begging for her back, missing that solid weight on him but it quiets down as he watches her slide off the ratty shorts she still had on, the last thing keeping her from being entirely bare in front of him. He doesn’t miss the dark stain on the crotch of the material. “Please keep doing it.”
Gladly. He admittedly has no experience here either but fuck, can’t be that hard, can it? And she’s been awfully forgiving of his lack of finesse, carefully angling her thick thighs on either side of his head, trying to find a way that doesn’t risk a neck injury were she to slip. He thinks she could just flex them and it’d pop his head clean off, and embarrassingly, it just contributes to the well of liquid heat in his gut. Sam can’t peel his eyes away, taking in the thin line of hair on her navel leading into a thicker bush, a clit big enough (or hard enough, or both) to peek out even without being spread open, her obvious excitement with the way the skin is shiny and wet, he could even smell it on her.
His mouth is on her in an instant, hungry, greedily swiping up her with a flat tongue to taste her. She lets out a gratified grunt, one hand gripping the headboard while the other wound itself in Sam’s hair, clutching the curls tightly. He kisses at her sloppily, between spreading her with his tongue, letting his whims guide him and taking to heart every action, spot that made her fingers in his hair tighten and pull, her hips shimmy. He enters her as much he can and she presses down and grinds into the motion, wheezing far above him, his hearing muffled by her around him. He thinks he could be happy here, fully encompassed by her, forever, time no longer mattering.
No Visitor outside, no orphaned and needing children in his living room, no horrors and death in the halls, just humanly pleasure and hedonistic delight, letting her cradle and direct his head where she wanted him, force him further into her, growing impatient as he doesn’t even touch her throbbing clit. Sometimes he got the one up on others, sometimes.
Suddenly her hand is on his forehead instead, pushing his face back and away from her. Sam sucks in oxygen he hadn’t realized he was lacking, glistening with her slick, eyes unfocused on anything but her and wanting so badly to get back to it, to feel her keep twitching and grinding and quivering around him.
“Open up.” Hellen’s voice is strained, but no less powerful, the same tone she used to shut someone up in an instant. It was doing things to him, and he’s not sure he can ever hear it the same after this. He does, and she pulls her clitorial hood back and situates herself so the nub sits flat on his tongue. “Suck.”
A moan is strangled in her chest when he does, just barely kept within control, and Sam realizes with no small amount of elation that it’s big enough he can basically suck her off, toy with it in his mouth. She can buck and hump his face and it slides against his tongue, makes her full body shiver when he just barely lets in his teeth, and sucking and pressing at the same time makes her fist close so tight it threatens to rip his hair out.
“Crissie,” later, he’d realize he’s never heard her swear until now. A badge of honor. “You listen well.”
Unable to reply, he groans against her, the vibration of his voice makes her jolt so hard it accidentally pulls her from his mouth, rutting against his lips. Something about the implication of ordering him around feels like several things clicking nicely into place. He could listen, he could be good.
Sam whines quietly and cranes his head to seek her out, sloppily eating her out wherever he could reach, any carefully crafted rhythm gone to untethered desire and need, lost in the taste of her, smell of her, needed her–
Hellen’s leaned against the wall now, beside his head versus on it, legs momentarily failing her, and he rolls over enough to keep them attached and finally grab shamelessly at her ass, push her back against him, her once more picking up the slack and all but rubbing herself on his face until she’s letting out these tiny, faint rattling noises he thinks means she’s close. He wants it, wants her to cum on his face, couldn’t possibly imagine a better outcome to all this then getting to feel her release. But thankfully, he doesn’t have to wonder or wait much longer, as she shoves him against her core and even the hand on the back of his head is shaking and he can feel her contracting muscles on his tongue, rumbling with contained noises, using him like a tool and fucking his face until she slows and sags to a stop.
Her fingers are numb and tingling when she lets his head go, falling back against his sweat-soaked pillow, gasping and panting and very, very pleased with this turn of events. Even his own erection seems like a distant priority in favor of now resting his head against her sticky thigh, kissing idly at random skin in his admiration.
“Y…you…”
Hellen at a loss of words, he wasn’t sure there was a thing on the planet that could do it but it was him. He was on cloud nine.
But in the absence of her as she regained her breath and her place on earth, he could finally reconnect with his own body, his dick leaking an embarrassing amount onto his stomach, flushed and throbbing . He wanted her to relax, sure, but he really really hoped–
As if answering his unspoken prayer, she’s straddling him once more, all the workhorse strength she usually showed in battle keeping her upright even as she still twitched with the aftershocks, even while a bit distracted. She leans forward to lick her own fluids off his chin, his lips, tying her tongue with his briefly in the only way capable for her to kiss him back– it’s clumsy, rushed, betraying the fact she was still very much ready to go and just as eager to. Never did he think he would see her lose her fine sense of control, but she did, and she was using it to eat him up wherever she could have him.
Good god, she was going to wreck him, he thinks. It only makes him more excited.
“Hellen–”
She takes him in hand, scooting back enough that his cock is in front of her, leaned against her core. He can't help being suddenly self-conscious, he was average in about every way, unremarkable and uncut beneath a short bed of curls, but she made him look so small, would it…?
Her rubbing his dick against her immediately shuts up that line of spiraling, slicking him up with herself, huffing a laugh when he has to let go of her to clap a hand over his mouth. Even just that, the sensitive skin of his dick sliding against her wet and hot body, could eventually drag him over the edge he thinks. But not content with that, she angles herself and him to take him wholly. He slips into her easily, both of them stiffening when he pops past the ring of muscle into her properly– she was so, so warm, soft and responsive and hugging around him, Sam melting back into the bed and frankly not processing anything but it, the world reduced to her on and around him.
And then she's pulling the hand away from his mouth, pinning it above his head by the wrist. Sam blinks up at her, bleary and confused.
“I want to hear you.”
“But we have to be quiet…”
“I know.” She replies simply, using her other arm to brace herself over him. “Do both.”
It's about all the warning he gets before she's moving, raising her hips up to slam back down onto him, his lip ending up between his teeth to prevent himself crying out, let out only what no one outside could hear. It's slow and spaced out as she adjusts but each drop of herself onto him goes off like a bomb on his nerves, and sweat drips from her forehead and onto him as she resists going too fast too soon, betrayed by little squirms against his pelvis she fails to stop. He’s glad the walls aren’t too thin, both turned on and mortified by the damp, moist slap it makes every time they meet, a combination of her arousal and his spit splattering between their thighs
In just a short minute she’s speeding up, her thrusts less dramatic, not pulling him out too far, grinding into him with a tempo that makes every breath burn with exertion. Sam fares no better under her, doing his best to match her pace, not as strong but craving just as much to sink further into the delicious feeling of her, chasing a peak that seemed both far away and just around the corner, blurring together. She clenches tight around him on purpose and he damn near punches the wall to muffle the whimper behind his teeth.
Unable to really “close” her mouth, a thick line of drool slips out onto his chest, a testament to her being lost in it– and what a sight for him, to look up and see her backlit by his shitty lamp in the corner, her normally sharp multitudes of eyes hazy and and unfocused but still all on him, her hair damp with sweat and her powerful chest heaving as she put her whole body into claiming him. He was sure he’d see it every time he closes his eyes and he could not be more grateful, never thought he could see her deconstructed like this, but it was beautiful, feeling like he got blessed with something rare and sacred.
Briefly, Sam wonders if a small fraction of the visitor is in every soul they’ve touched and transformed, the feel and sound and sight of her feels like every lunatic recalling from the cursed who could still speak. They sounded almost religious as they praised its beauty, and he thinks, now, he understands what that must feel like, to look upon something with that much unearthly splendor. Right here in his bed in his dinky little Montreal apartment.
She trusted him , he realizes, and the thought sends a heavy thrum though his entire body as though she’d bitten him again.
“Cl-close,” he dare not say more, lest it escape him a loud whine the others would surely hear. “Hellen, please…’S good…You feel good.”
A near animalistic growl escapes the sides of her mouth at the last comment, redirecting his pinned hand to her hip, and he does his best to support her in the motions, drag her lower half to meet his asymmetrical rhythm. His body screamed and burned with overexertion from the day's events but he wanted it, wanted her so bad, pushed through it with all the might left in his body. Instead of hunching over him she droops so they’re face to face, chest to chest, he savors the feeling of soft breasts and stomach against him and her hot breath on his face and the hands now cradling his head and the fact her borrowing his shower has made her skin and hair smell like him, his shampoo-
Again, she licks up his neck, sinks in her teeth carefully enough to not break skin, mindful not to hurt him even now. Hellen nibbles and tastes and her much bigger hands creep wherever they can touch, squeezing rough and startled when a thrust back hit just right, her body heat all-consuming.
She shifts her hips some direction, just-so, and when he slips back into her she squeezes in a way that steals every bit of oxygen from his body, suddenly tight around him. Close. Where his arm is hooked around her he can feel her shaking, a fine vibration that makes him realize she must be sensitive, and yet she still rode him like a mission, pushing her human body to its brink just as he was, in pursuit of that pleasure. Her nails dig into him as she gets grabbier, mouthing at his throat feverishly, trying desperately to drag him to the edge.
“He– ell-eeeen…” the pathetic keen of her name is thankfully muffled into her shoulder, trembling hard as his body careens through his orgasm, something snapping and giving way and then creeping down his body, dick throbbing as he fills her, clinging to her tight to ground himself through something subtle yet earth-shattering, a body lax with alcohol and exhaustion wracked with ungodly pleasure and need.
Her legs squeeze him as she feels it, liquid heat joining the wet mess, her own cunt painfully sensitive yet body urging her for more, walls fluttering to milk him of everything he had. Hellen keeps up her rutting, even when Sam gasps and chokes on air beneath her, overstimulated, lifting her hips just enough to take her clit between her fingers and jerk it, narrowing her attention to Sam softening but still filling her up, the friction of her hard length against him. He’d sucked her bruised and just her own fingers feel nearly too much on the abused nerves, he knows only because he feels her trembling harden, but the intensity is exactly what she needs.
Hellen presses her face into the mattress, not daring to risk being audible as she crashed down, her second orgasm ripping through her and leaving her shaky and weak in its wake.
Sam, even while recovering from his own mind-blowing orgasm finds it in him to press gentle kisses into her hair as she does, and she huffs, in disbelief that even now, he was focusing on her.
For now, they’re content as they come down, just breathing, her sinking until she’s laying on top of him and him thoroughly enjoying the solid, even weight of her body pressing down on him, the skin to skin intimacy, the ability to rub languidly at her broad back while her many teeth gently “nibble” at his jaw, something he realizes is likely her version of a kiss. He smiles into it, nudging his face against hers. It feels almost too affectionate to be real. It's something else he would have never pictured from her, but maybe it was the afterglow taking the wheel, taking down her walls.
“...Hellen?”
“Mhmmm?” His bed is fighting for its life beneath the both of them sharing it, she’s sinking into his too-soft foam topper and her face is still in his shoulder. Even her hold on him is loose, a thumb idling drawing circles into him somewhere. He’s never felt more relaxed in his life, even before the apocalypse. And yet…
“...So uh, this, changes things? Right?”
From what portion of her isn’t hidden in him and the sheets, her eyes roll. “Even now, you’re thinking.”
“Sorry,” Sam mumbles, earnestly guilty for asking, but left a little unsteady by the rush of chemicals and sensation and everything, the need to reassurance seek wins out. But he didn’t know what comes next and uncertainty was by far the feeling he handled the worse. “I just…You’re not gonna, you know, regret this later or something, are you? I know we were dr–”
With a gruff sound, she repositions them so she’s slightly higher up, yanking him into her. It forces his head against her chest, cradled in her arms beneath her, caging him in with her body. It’s what he imagines being cuddled by a bear would be like– sharp in some places, but warm, fuzzy, safe. Against the welling anxiety, his body relaxes all over again and sinks in to match her.
“No, it does not have to. Yes, I would not have done this if I did not wish to. Stop talking.”
He loved her bluntness, he really did, the open-and-shut nature of it shut down his worrying like nothing had before.
“Sorry,” in apology, his hand comes up to scrunch through her hair, short frizzy locks that were already seemingly growing out of the mullet-like style she kept it in. She rumbles her appreciation against his scalp, not lifting her head away from him. And he realizes she seemed almost…sleepy…?
“It was good.” Her voice, heavy with drowsiness, reverberates through her chest. “Thank you.”
“Oh, uh, no problem…I liked it too, a lot.”
“We should do this again.”
His dick, wilted and flaccid and frankly a little raw against his leg gives a singular twitch.
“Y-yeah, totally.”
Realistically, they should get up, clean up, at least throw on some clothes or a blanket in case someone knocks or, god forbid, something breaks into the apartment. He’s foggily aware she’s dribbling onto his thigh where its trapped between hers, and his nub itches slightly without a fresh application of balm.
But practically? He’s wiped, whatever strength he had to finish the night wrung out of him by her riding him within an inch of his life, and she’s like the best blanket he’s ever had. He didn’t realize how much the sound of someone’s breathing, the tickle of someone’s hair just beside you could lull one to sleep.
She wasn’t asleep, he could tell, and if that didn’t do it, perhaps it was truly impossible. But he’s never seen her like this, never seen her herculean body anything but stiff and stoic, her true face exposed this long, her eyes unable to close staring at nothing but not looking , a blankness that implied complete relaxation. He wanted to see her like this again, to let her experience it again, almost the absent bliss the Visitor had stolen from her…
He closes his eyes, and hopes to some time see her do it again.