It had been half an hour.
Well, Sansa couldn't say for sure, but twenty minutes had already passed when her phone died and that felt like it had been ten minutes ago. But maybe it just felt that long because she had nothing to do but lean against the stadium wall and stare at her recently done manicure. (French tip. It made it difficult, to hold pom-poms with such long nails, but Margaery had insisted, and Margaery Tyrell always had the first word in fashion.) Maybe it had only been thirty seconds since her battery died and she was just being overdramatic, like Joff often joked she was.
But it had definitely been at least twenty minutes. She had proof of that. Not only the time on her phone before it died, but people had stopped swarming out of the stadium gates a while ago and the parking lot was almost void of cars.
So here she stood, all alone, at night, in an empty parking lot. A shiver— that had nothing to do with the cold— ran down her spine. She had on only her hated cheer uniform, a bright red and gold tank top that liked to bear her midriff when she raised her arms and a pleated skirt that she was always feeling the need to pull down. It did nothing to protect her from the cold, not to mention the colors clashed horribly with her hair. It was the beginning of October and no amount of rubbing her bare arms was keeping her warm from the nip of the autumn air. Sansa dreamed of her fur-lined jacket, locked securely in the girl's locker room, where she had mistakenly forgotten it.
After the game, (Home win! Go Lions!) Sansa had tried to catch Joffrey's eye on the field but he was quickly swept away in the by his teammates for some locker room celebration. She trusted that he remembered his promise to drive her home afterwards and went quickly out to stand by the stadium's gates, where he had told her to wait. She knew Joff should be out and ready in five minutes tops, so she hadn't bothered to go to her locker and retrieve her cozy extra layer. Besides, she knew if she went back to the locker room she would end up talking with the other girls on the squad. Joff was always teasing that she talked too much. And she'd hate to make him wait.
After a few more agonizing minutes of staring blankly at the almost empty parking lot, Sansa had to admit to herself that she had been forgotten. It hurt, but she didn't blame Joff. He hated driving Sansa home. She knew because she always had to ask him to, he never offered. And who could blame him? Of course he'd much rather be celebrating with his friends than having to drive around his silly girlfriend, who couldn't go with him because of her strict curfew and who couldn't drive herself home because she'd already failed the test for her licence twice. He probably assumed that after a few minutes of waiting she would have realized he'd forgotten and got a ride home with a friend, like any sane person would have. It's not like he knew that she would keep waiting like an idiot and be stranded with a dead phone and no way home. It was her fault. Things in their relationship usually were.
It's okay, she told herself. Dad will realize I'm not home on time and come looking for me. The way her father worried it would probably only take him another hour to let his anxiety boil over before he was getting in his car and coming to get her. And of course the school's stadium was the first logical place to check.
She hoped.
Sansa felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. Her legs hurt from being on her feet for so long, but the sidewalk was too dirty for her to risk sitting down, and the full face of makeup Margaery insisted every girl wear for games was starting to feel heavy, and it was so cold she was starting to lose feeling in her fingers, and...Joffrey had promised.
The slamming of the stadium gate startled her out of her spiraling meltdown and a glimmer of hope shone through the darkness evading her mind. Someone was still here! And at this point, Sansa was not above groveling for help to literally anyone.
Except the one person she saw locking up the gates.
The football coach was … scary.
Sansa prided herself that she could always find a compliment, even for the worst of people. Like Arya's friend, Hot Pie, who weighed a few extra pounds and always smelled like grease but really did make apple pie better than her mother. Or that weird girl, Lollys, who eats lunch alone and is constantly crying in the bathroom but who Sansa told just today had lovely handwriting.
But there was nothing good Sansa could find to say about Mr. Clegane. He was tall, but too tall, in a monstrous, towering sort of way. He was muscled, but too muscled, and she could now see the way he bulged through even his thick leather jacket. His hair was long and dark, but lank and combed weirdly to the side. His face was plain, that is … where he had a face. The entire right side was a mess of charred black and red, wet looking burn scars that Sansa hadn't dared to look at for more than a few seconds at a time. She supposed, if her life depended on saying one nice thing about Mr. Clegane, she could say he was striking.
As he turned from his task, he saw her standing there and met her eyes for a moment, but she turned her head quickly, ponytail whipping and irrational fear gripping her heart. He made a sound that could've been a huff and lumbered past, without looking at her, on legs as thick as tree trunks. Sansa couldn't believe what she was about to do, but knew otherwise she had a real chance of spending the night on this sidewalk.
"Um, sir!" she called out, proud of herself for not stuttering.
His head whipped around, eyes blazing. "What?"
Anxiety fluttered in Sansa's chest. That was the other thing. Mr. Clegane was mean.
She had never talked to him before this, but Joff had told her stories and she's heard him herself yelling at his players during practice. Some people called him the Hound for all his barking. For such a tall man, he had the shortest fuse she had ever seen, and no one knew what little thing would set him off. With the things he said, all sorts of things Sansa would never repeat (not even in her head) she had no idea how he still had a job at this school. How he even got the job in the first place, looking and speaking the way he did, was way beyond her.
"Do you have an iphone charger I could please borrow? My phone died and I don't ha—"
"Do I look like someone who owns an iphone?" He looked like someone who lived in the woods and chopped all his firewood by hand and was also a serial killer. Sansa didn't say that out loud though. He turned back to her fully and she was caught in his hulking shadow cast by the parking lot lights.
She gaped at him, mouth open like a fish. She had no idea how to respond. What answer would make him less likely to chew her head off?
When she took too long to answer, he huffed and started rifling through his jacket pocket. Sansa tensed, waiting for him to pull out some weapon to murder her with and tried to remember even a little bit of the self defense moves Robb had attempted to teach her before she moved south. Mr. Clegane began to step closer and she was ready to say screw it and run when he pulled out the oldest looking flip phone Sansa had ever seen and held it out to her.
She was pretty sure he meant for her to take it, but all common sense and charm Sansa had ever possessed flew out the window in the face of this terrifying man and all she could do was stare at the dinosaur of a phone. When it was obvious she wasn't going to move, he shook it lightly in front of her. "Take it," he said, his voice as harsh as tires on gravel. "And call whoever you need to call so I can go home."
Sansa dreaded her next sentence. "Well, actually, everyone's numbers are in my contacts and I don't know any by heart so…" her voice became a near whisper and trailed off as she saw his face darken.
He shoved his phone roughly back into his pocket and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "fucking teenagers" and looked down at her.
Sansa was tall for a girl but at this close she barely even reached his shoulder. She avoided eye contact and kept her head down as if it was the most interesting sidewalk she had ever seen. She could feel his gaze on her, pinning her to the spot, as he stared for what felt like an uncomfortable amount of time at the top of her auburn head.
Suddenly, she felt his ginormous paw of a hand on her bare arm as he began to lead her away from the stadium, his touch oddly gentle for such a big man. "Come on then. Can't let you freeze to death out here, can I? Too much damn paperwork."
He lead her to a very old, very beat up looking pickup truck, one of the last few cars left in the lot, and gestured for her to get in. She wondered if she should chance it and decline his offer, wait and see if anyone else was around. Maybe the better alternative was sleeping on the sidewalk, rather than get into this scary car with this scary man and probably ending up murdered in a ditch somewhere. But Sansa thought maybe she was just being silly. He was a staff member and authority figure at her school and was therefore automatically trustworthy, right? Besides, despite his gruffness, he'd been nothing but kind in his odd, brutish way. Sansa really needed to stop judging people based on appearances, it's not like Mr. Clegane could help his scars, disgusting as they were. She climbed into the truck and saw the glint of a chain around his throat as he got into the driver's side.
She was on his burned side, so she kept her eyes glued to the dash as they drove off and she gave quiet directions to her house. He had immediately turned the heat on, but the chill of the air wouldn't leave her and she sat stiff and shivering in the most awkward situation she'd ever been in in her life. He hadn't even turned the radio on. By the looks of him, she'd guess he preferred classic rock or maybe even old country like Johnny Cash, but she'd bet his favorite was brooding uncomfortable silence which was exactly what was happening now.
Sansa, who always prided herself on her people skills, tried to think of something to say to fill the quiet, but when they stopped at a red light, he took his jacket off and tossed it across her lap. "Here," he rasped out, "I can't stand all the bloody shivering." Surprised, she mumbled a thank you and draped his jacket over herself like a cloak. It was still warm from his body heat and so big that it practically engulfed her.
"That was a very good game tonight, Mr. Clegane," she said, once she had gained enough courage. This seemed like a safe conversation.
He let out a harsh sound that might have been a laugh. "Good?" he mocked. "A bunch of children fumbling around like gnats. Lions won only 'cause they dropped the ball a few times less than the other team. What would you know about a good game, girl? Have you ever even seen a football game?"
She couldn't understand what he was so angry about. She'd complimented him! "I've been to every game this year," she said, indignant.
He scoffed. "Those sorry excuses hardly count, especially not when you have your back turned the entire time, jumping up and down in your little uniform."
She hugged his jacket closer to herself, clinging to this scrap of him while cringing away from the man himself. Her oldest brother Robb was a football star back home in the North. She'd been to several of his games, she wanted to argue. She may have been on her phone for a good chunk of them, but she'd been there. The whole point was moot though, if this was his reaction to a compliment, she had no desire to see what he'd do if she disagreed with him.
"Do you like football, Mr. Clegane?" she tried one more time. Everyone liked to talk about themselves, right?
"I'm no mister." He spat the word. "I'm a coach, not a teacher. Get that in your head, girl. And spare me all this small talk. You don't actually care and neither do I. You're just saying what you think you're supposed to. Let me ask you a question. Have you ever had an original thought in your head? You're just like a little parrot, with your bright hair, only repeating things others taught you."
She could feel tears at the backs of her eyes from the, in her opinion, unnecessary scolding. "That's not very nice," she replied weakly.
Lucky for her he only scoffed and she was saved from further scathing remarks. She sat back in her seat and said nothing else. Obviously her niceties were unwanted.
They went on like that for a few more minutes of awkward silence before her plan was foiled. As much as it seemed there was a mutual distaste for each other's company and conversation, he continued to talk on. "You're that one always hanging around Baratheon, aren't you?"
Her heart fluttered in her chest from something other than nervousness. Her sense of discomfort flew away at a chance to talk about a topic she was actually interested in. Smiling to herself, she said softly, "He's my boyfriend." Oh, just saying it made her light up upside! She'd met Joffrey Baratheon this summer. Her father had to go south for a business trip and Sansa had begged for days to go. She was so tired of the drab and boring North, where it was always snowing and everyone dressed like grandmothers. Her mother was from the south and helped fill Sansa, along with magazines and tv shows, with an unmatched longing for the decadency and brightness and romance of big southern cities like King's Landing and Oldtown.
Sansa had pleaded and argued; she was out of school on break, she needed culture in her life, she could see what debutante society was like in other places, she was going to die if she stayed in this house for one moment longer. The debutante point got her mother on her side. Catelyn Tully had been a prominent debutante in her day and had passed the, mostly southern tradition, onto her daughters. Well, Sansa embraced the fancy dresses and extravagant luncheons with open arms, but Arya began to fight tooth and nail the moment anyone even mentions finger sandwiches. Which was why, much to Arya's vehemence, Catelyn suggested Arya come to King's Landing as well, maybe seeing real debutante society would inspire her to take part in a years honored tradition. Sansa highly doubted it, but if it got her closer to King's Landing, she was willing to deal with Arya for the summer.
King's Landing was everything Sansa ever dreamed it'd be and more. She'd experienced fashion, and culture, and actually warm weather for the first time in her life. But most importantly, she'd found love.
Joffrey Baratheon was the son of her father's best friend and business associate. He was in the year above her, tall and handsome, and he liked her. They'd gone on a few dates over the summer, he was so sweet and he'd told her she was pretty, and by the beginning of the school year, they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend. Her dad had had to stay longer than he'd planned in the south to finish his work anyway, so it only took a little pleading and a dash of puppy dog eyes and soon enough she was enrolled for her sophomore year at the prestigious and private St. Baelor High School. The same school as her Joffrey. (Arya was also staying in King's Landing and attending the adjourning junior school for her last year as a middle schooler, news which made Arya throw such a conniption that it ended with a broken glass table and a hole in the wall. It was just like Arya to ruin one of the happiest moments of Sansa's life.)
Mr. Clegane let out another one of his weird, maybe laughs. "Then why aren't you with your boyfriend tonight, girl?"
Sansa didn't like the way he said the word 'boyfriend.' It felt mocking, like she was a little girl dressing in her mother's heels and makeup, playing at being grown up. And was it that weird to not be with her boyfriend for one friday night? It was already almost eleven o'clock! "Um." Sansa began to fiddle with the ends of her ponytail. "He was supposed to drive me home after the game, but I guess he just got busy." She tried to laugh nonchalantly, but it came out shaky.
She still wasn't looking anywhere near his direction but she heard smugness in his deep voice when he said, "Yeah, real busy going to Tyrell's party. Wouldn't stop talking about it on his way out."
"What?" The sentence gave her such a shock that she whipped her head in his direction and didn't even think about how rude her response was.
Loras Tyrell was Margaery's brother, a senior, and the quarterback. He was the best player on the team if she was being honest and the only one that rivaled Joff in looks. She loved Joffrey with all her heart but had caught herself staring forlornly at the back of Loras' quaffed locks from her seat behind him in her advanced AP lit class on multiple occasions. She knew of the Tyrell's huge parties they threw almost every week, and had been invited multiple times by Margaery herself, though never got to go because of her curfew. She assumed their enthusiasm for getting wildly drunk every weekend petered out as they got further into the school year and their party throwing with it. Apparently the parties were still going strong, she'd just stopped being invited.
She felt upset, but that was stupid, wasn't it? Of course if she turned the Tyrells down every time they'd stop asking. And Joffrey was allowed to have fun with his friends instead of babysitting his girlfriend. It wouldn't have been that hard to tell her he was going though. He didn't even text.
Mr. Clegane glanced at her shocked expression from the corner of his eye and reminded Sansa that she was staring right at his grisly scars. She turned her face back towards the windshield as quickly as possible. She saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel.
"What's wrong? There something on my face?" He sounded angrier than she'd ever heard but his voice was barely above a whisper in the quiet car. She never took her eyes off the windshield and felt her stomach drop as they pulled up to another red light.
He was on her as soon as soon as he hit the break, leaning his huge body over the console and into her personal space. Sansa curled in on herself and leaned away as far as she possibly could but could still feel his presence right next to her, feel his eyes on her. This close she could smell the alcohol on his breath and realized he'd found time to drink at some point tonight.
Sansa also realized that though she had bangs for an entire year in middle school, getting into Mr. Clegane's car was the worst decision of her life.
"Look at me," he rasped. His hand grasped her chin, pinching it tightly. He was so angry, he was shaking. Sansa didn't know what she did to offend him so much. People must avoid his face all the time, he should be used to it by now.
There was nothing to do but obey him and look at his horror of a face. The red from the traffic light highlighted the normal side, painting his gaunt cheek and large hooked nose in harsh color. He wasn't bad looking at all, she realized. Plain, truly. Luckily, the light also casted his scars in shadow and she was spared the image of them up close, though she could still see the texture of them and the hint of bone that peaked out near his jaw where the flesh had been seared away. Really the worst of it was how the red glinted in his eyes, how it made him look feral and mad.
He stared at her, saying nothing. The light changed to green on his face and still he didn't move. A horn went off and only then did he turn his disdainful expression away from her and onto the car behind his beat up truck before letting her go and turning back in his seat.
Her chin smarted in light pain from his harsh grip as he hit the gas pedal. Sansa prayed that was the end of it, but the gods were apparently not with her this night.
"I was in a war, you know?"
She hadn't known but somehow she doubted it was the kind of question she was supposed to answer. She remembered the chain around his neck. Dog tags?
"I saw terrible things over there," he continued. "Worse things than you can even imagine in that empty little head of yours." His train of insults never ceased. She wondered if it was the alcohol that made him so awful or if he was really just like this all the time. "Everyone always assumed that's where I got these." She knew he meant his scars. "No, my handsome face was a gift from my brother." He chuckled mirthlessly. "I was in a war, but I preferred that to being in a house with him."
Sansa turned to look at him at that, though he was not looking at her, eyes glued to the road. "It was just after Christmas when I was young, real young. Dad didn't make a lot of money so you got one present and that was it and you didn't complain. I don't even remember what we both got, just that I wanted his more than mine. Now, Gregor is five years older than me, too old for toys by then. Didn't give a shit about whatever action figure he got, just opened it and left it there in the living room. Didn't look at it twice."
Sansa noticed he was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had turned white. "I snuck in that evening to play with it, but there was no fun, too scared of him finding me. And he did. We didn't have the money for heating, so the big fireplace in the living room was always burning in the winter and he didn't say a word, just picked me up and held my face down in the flames. I screamed and screamed, it felt like hours until my father could get him off me. He took me to the hospital and when they asked what happened he said the lamp fell and my sheets caught fire. He told me not to tell anyone what really happened, couldn't put my own family in prison, he said. Didn't matter that I was his family when Gregor burned half my fucking face off.
"The truth of it was that Gregor was only in middle school, but he was big and a fighter. Made good money in street matches that my dad couldn't afford to lose. Not that he used any of that money on me, no surgeries or skin grafts to fix my ruin of a face. I haven't seen him in years, but I still hear stories from time to time about the shit Gregor's done. Terrible things. And he's never been to prison, not once. He always gets off. Not once has he paid for any of it."
Mr. Clegane was breathing hard like he'd just run a race and Sansa realized while he was talking all the fear she felt towards him had gone away. Now she afraid for him. And sad too. She found his hulking shoulder over the console and met his eyes when they flashed to hers in the darkness of the car. "That's not fair at all. Not fair what he did to you and not fair that he got away with it. He's evil."
He was silent for a moment before he burst out laughing, louder than she'd ever heard him and sounding like the snarling of dogs. It was not a kind laugh. "Do you think we live in some storybook, bird girl? Some fairytale where shit like fairness exists or matters. Evil," he mocked. "What would you know about evil? What would you know about anything? Give your pity to someone who wants it."
The fear was back so quick it was like it never went away in the first place. She didn't pity him though. She just wanted to help. Sansa was angry for him but she was angry at him too. There was only so much verbal abuse a girl could take in one car ride. She just wanted to go home.
It seemed he'd had his fill of talking, something Sansa thanked the old gods and the new for, but she couldn't take this sudden quiet. After his revelations, the silence was tenser than it had been before and she could feel it pressing down on her. Her hand drew to the dashboard and she asked as politely as she possibly could, "Would you mind if I turned on the radio?"
"If you touch that radio, I'll break your wrist."
She snatched her hand back as if she had been burned. Ironic.
"And I'll do worse if you tell anyone what I told you." His voice was so low it was practically a growl.
She saw that he was pulling up to her house and was out of the car and slamming the door before he could even fully stop. She didn't wait to see if he left, just barreled up the driveway and tried unlock the door with her shaking hands.
It wasn't until she was inside, the door relocked and her back pressed against it that Sansa realized she hadn't told him thank you. And that she was still holding his jacket.