Darkest Hour:

An Until Dawn Fanfiction

Synopsis: Mike took ahold of the mask, slipping it off of their face.
'Hannah?'
It's been one year since the disappearances. But just because you survive the mountain, doesn't mean you leave unscathed.

Genre: Drama/Romance

Timeline: Post-Game Events

Survivors: Josh, Sam, Emily, Ashley, Chris, Mike, +Hannah

Pairings: [Josh/Sam][Mike/Hannah]

Rating: T (Cursing, sexuality, adult themes)

Chapter 1:

Unraveling

Josh - The Lodge - 1:00 am

The mask had that new rubber smell that reminded him of walking into a Halloween store. Coincidentally this made sense since he ordered it from an online Halloween vendor. The name given to the mask was "Broken Psycho Clown." It sounded like the biggest oxymoron he'd ever heard so there was no way he could pass it up.

It was hard to breathe in that thing, but it was better than sniffing all the blood that covered him. It was even on his face - who would have thought the pig's blood he poured inside that dummy would fly so goddamn far? And he could feel it gluing itself to the rubber. Maybe the mask was already trying to become a part of him?

Passing a hallway mirror, Josh paused to admire himself. The mask, the overalls, the blood…it was all just so perfect for him that he almost wished it could be more than just a prank. But it was more than just a prank - it was revenge at its finest. He couldn't wait to see everyone's shocked (and horrified) faces when he revealed himself as the boogeyman behind it all.

Maybe then they'd take his grief a little more seriously. They had to.

He turned his head toward the bathroom when he heard the water stop running. Sam was, as he imagined, now fully submerged in steaming hot water. Surely her fine skin was turning from a pale, milky white to a glowing ember that made his eyes and mouth water. He couldn't wait to see her tears when he showed her the video of him being split in two. Then who would feel guilty about breaking their connection?

His boots hitting the floor were like a heavy but dying heart. The closer he got to the bathroom door, the stronger he could smell the blood caked on his face beneath the mask. He grinned in excitement. This was gonna be way too much fun (if there even was such a thing).

As Josh turned the door handle with his thick gloves, he realized that maybe he should have opted for bare-handedness. He would be able to feel things more. Like the steam in the air when he cracked the door open. Taking off the lock prior made it so much easier.

Sam had candles lit everywhere - such a girl. He figured she would use them; that's why he made sure to have plenty on hand for her. It created the perfect atmosphere to scare the shit out of her.

But at that moment, she was in her own little world listening to music. Her eyes were closed as her fingers patted gently at the top of the water. He figured she was imagining creating the music in that fucking gorgeous head of hers.

He stepped closer - didn't Sam have that sensation in her mind that triggered when she was being watched? Because he might as well have jumped in the bath with her at this point—not that that sounded like a bad idea. It sounded too damn perfect actually and he wondered if she would let him join her after he successfully gave her nightmares for the rest of her life.

Her backpack with all her clothes in it was sitting on a chair against the wall. He instantly rethought his course of action. Sure, he could scare her now when she was naked and vulnerable. Or he could give her a fighting chance—a chance to fucking prove herself to her maniacal serial killer wannabe that she was more than just a flawless face and smoking body. Oh GOD the thought of her running around, combating in nothing but a towel…

Josh sniffed in the rubber and blood. He needed to calm himself; he had a job to do.

He grabbed her backpack and pulled his arms through the straps. Now he felt like a broken psycho clown going to school. But whatever. He stepped back toward the door; slamming it behind him to finally get her goddamned attention.

Come find me, Sammy. I'll be waiting.

Mike - The Sanitarium 1:00 am

Mike still couldn't believe he fell for that fucking trap - and now two little piggies would never cry 'wee-wee-wee' all the way home.
He grumbled under his breath as he tried to think of something - anything - other than the searing pain in his poorly wrapped hand.

Jessica.

That's why he was here - in hot pursuit of her killer. He still couldn't believe that, either. She was dead. There was no question about it, she damn well had her jaw ripped off… he could see her fucking molars, for crying out loud. He had to find out who this guy was.

Mike entered the chapel once the strange man had left. Before he would have considered rushing the guy, but after seeing what he did to Jess and losing some fingers he figured rummaging through his stuff would suffice for now.

There was a makeshift living room in the middle of the chapel - extension cords, lighting, an old television. He was surprised that anyone even knew this place existed let alone that someone was full-on living here. He wondered if the Washingtons knew about this place.

Mike heard a rustle and it damn-near gave him a heart attack. Against his better judgement he called out into the darkness.

"Hello?" But there was no answer

He picked up the pace, trying to get an identification to take back to the police but coming up cold. He did, however, find a musty, old army jacket that proved to be much warmer than his white undershirt.

He also found a gun. Jackpot.

Suddenly, behind the bars of a gated alcove, Mike saw something stir. He froze in place, wondering for a moment if it was the strange man he'd been following. He hoped that he wasn't about to get caught snooping around his… he almost thought to call it a 'lair', as though he were some secret supervillain. Mike went to shake the silly thought away but after remembering Jessica's cold, lifeless body, devoid of a jaw and eyes that stared skyward at nothing, he wasn't so sure.

He assumed his mind was just playing tricks on him after everything he'd already been through. And without further movement from the darkened corner, Mike carried on, looking for a way out of this huge chapel.

Then he heard another rustling. He gasped, turning swiftly towards… what was that even? A cell? There was definitely someone in there. Mike lifted his torch to illuminate the small room, nearing the cold, steel bars, his eyes squinting in the darkness to make out shadow that seemed to be following him, watching him.

"Hello?" He asked again. His voice cracked a bit and he regretted the fact that it might have made him seem like he was scared… which he wasn't. At least he didn't want to appear that way. He swallowed as he took another step, jumping at the sound of a bottle getting kicked over by his boot and rolling towards the metal gated door to the room. As he got closer, a body came into view, heavily coated with multiple layers and masked. He jumped at the sight of it, almost falling back, 'Jeee-zus Christ on a stick," he uttered, trying to get his heart back to beating normally. He noticed the figure continuing to peer at him, tilting it's head calmly, eerily.

"Are you… are you trapped in there?"

The figure didn't move for a moment, and then slowly shook its head.

"Great," Mike mumbled, trying not to let fear manifest on his face. "Do you need help?" Another pause from the figure, then another shake of its head. Mike considered moving on, trying to navigate through the rest of the asylum. Whatever it was, it was behind the gate.
That was, until it moved towards the door, sliding it open slowly with a loud, metallic screech.

"O-kay… coming out to join me I see. This is... nice..." Mike took a few steps back, searching the room for the closest exit. Since there was none that was overtly obvious, he stared the figure up and down, wondering silently if he could take them down or not. Regardless of the layers, he could tell that the body beneath it was shorter than him, leaner as well. "Look, flattered, but you're not really my type," Mike said with another step back. The figure stopped, pointing to the bloodied piece of cloth that was haphazardly tied over Mike's missing fingers.

"Bear trap," he croaked, holding his hand up, his breath ragged, "was that your handiwork?"

Mike had no idea why he couldn't just shut up, but he figured it had to do with his nerves. The figure nodded, and he almost thought he could make out the faint sound of a laugh from behind the gas mask. It was exactly like the one he'd found in the dilapidated shed with Jessica only an hour or so ago… back when she was alive and blood still pumped through her veins.

Suddenly and swiftly, the figure turned, moving with more speed than before back to the cell, and Mike exhaled a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, as they hurried back, random supplies in their hands. They nodded towards the old couch in the middle of the room, and Mike got a good look at what was in the figure's hands - gauze, hydrogen peroxide, alcohol. Medical supplies.

Mike's eyes trailed back down to his crudely-wrapped hand, realizing that whoever this was, they were offering to bandage him up properly. There was a trail of blood following him, and he felt woozy when he started to think about how much blood he'd lost. He reluctantly and silently agreed, nearing the couch and having a seat.

The figure followed, sitting beside him and reaching its gloved hands out towards Mike's injured one. He jerked it back, but the figure reached onward, grabbing ahold of his hand far too roughly for knowing he was hurt.

'Ow!" Mike shouted, his cry of pain echoing off the walls of the large chapel. With its free hand, the figure slowly raised its finger toward the area where it's mouth should be, shaking its head silently again. "Well, don't grab at it so hard," he grumbled.

They unwrapped his cloth, and Mike couldn't look at his wound. He bit onto his good fist, waiting for the sting of the alcohol to sear through him. Sure enough, it did, and it was worse than he had even imaged.

"Fuuuuuck! Fuckshitowowow…" he whimpered. Mike writhed his body slightly away from the figure, but keeping his hand still so they could get this done with. After a few more moments of pain so acute that Mike thought he might throw up, the figure began to re-wrap him. His face was white, beads of sweat collecting at his hairline as he tried to stay conscious.

The figure reached down, into a small satchel, bringing out a water bottle and handing it to Mike, along with two white pills. Mike could only assume they were pain pills and he took them immediately. He figured if they were actually cyanide pills, at least he'd be put out of his misery. He was ready and willing to take that chance.

Mike finished off the water bottle with a few huge gulps, listening to the cheap plastic crinkle under the suction. Water dribbled down his chin and on his shirt, and he lazily wiped it away before offering a half-hearted nod in the figure's direction, "thanks."

The figure began collecting the supplies back up, and Mike wondered what to do next.

"Who are you?" he asked, but it didn't faze them at all. "How do I get outta here?" Still, no response. Mike ran his good hand through his hair before abruptly standing.

"Great, well, uh, thanks for your help, I'll be seeing myself out then-"

The figure stood beside him, staring up at his face. Mike stood still, breathless as they brought a gloved hand up to his face. For some reason, Mike couldn't move. He tried to see through the dusty eyes of the mask. When he did, he thought there was something oddly familiar about the eyes staring back at him.

"Who… who are you?" He asked again, his voice barely above a whisper at this point. The figure dropped their hand. When their coat shifted, Mike made out the briefest glimmer of something around their neck. He reached forward but they stepped back, out of his grasp.

No, it couldn't be. There's no way. It had been a whole year.

"Can you, uh… can you take off your mask please?" He asked anxiously, but the figure only turned and walked away from him. Mike hurried after, grabbing their arm as they struggled to break free from his grip.

"Take off your mask," he demanded through gritted teeth, growing more and more impatient. When they didn't do as he ordered, he snapped his good hand out and gripped onto the thin, gold chain around their neck, ripping it right off. The figure gasped from behind the mask, reaching back out for it, but Mike held it high above the two of them. He stared at the dangling heart charm on the gold chain as it spun and spun and spun.

He knew this locket.

The figure shrunk as the shocked look of realization washed over Mike's face.

"Where did you get this?" His voice was barely above a whisper. The figure just shook their head, backing away from him slowly. Mike followed, and there were only a few steps before he had the figure pinned against the crumbling wall. His mouth was dry, his heart thumping in his ribs. As he got closer it was as though the figure had given up the fight. Mike took ahold of the mask, slipping it off of their face.

Those eyes.

Deep, dark irises that matched his own - ones that he had been sure were gone from this world forever. She stared back at him nervously, her eyebrows slanted and low, her face dirty and flushed but still undeniably her.

"Hannah," he mouthed, but the sound never escaping his lips.
She stood a bit taller, her face reconstructing to a more determined expression. She reached up and snatched the locket from his hand, pushing past him and back towards the cell she'd come from. She studied the clasp on the locket - broken.

Figures.

"Hannah, wait, wh-what happened to you? Everyone's been so worri-" Mike began to ramble. She shot him a dirty look as she began to slip her layers off bit by bit; it was almost as though she didn't recognize him. He grew nearer to her, reaching toward her shoulder but she jerked away from him. Mike swallowed, shaking his head.

"Hannah, it's me. Mike." She rolled her eyes, turning back towards him.

"I know who you are, moron," she scoffed, and Mike watched as she began to load a gun with bullets on the table behind them.

"Oh. Well then. Good." Hannah knew that he'd been expecting a much warmer welcome. She turned towards him, seething.

"What, Mike? What did you think would happen? That I'd leap into your arms. 'Oh, at last. My knight in shining armor has arrived to save me from this dark, horrible place," she expressed melodramatically. Mike brushed her hostility off - there were more pressing matters at the time. He tried desperately to get her to meet his gaze, but she simply refused.

"Hannah, everyone is going to be so happy to know you're okay, that you're alive-" Hannah slammed the clip back into the gun with a loud clack before turning the barrel up and pointing it in Mike's face.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't pull this trigger," she commanded, a wildness in her eyes he'd never seen before. She was no longer the sweet, naive girl he once knew, that much was clear. Mike raised his hands in surrender, stammering as he backed away from her slowly.

"Well, I-I mean we tried-" he paused, confusion flashing across his face. "Wait. What?" He finally managed.

"Everyone's going to be happy that I'm okay? My sister is dead," she snapped, gnashing her teeth. Mike felt tears in his eyes when Hannah confirmed what he'd already knew: his best friend was dead.

By some miracle, Hannah was alive.

But Beth was still dead.

"How did she-" he began, but Hannah didn't even let him finish the question before she laid into him some more.

"I have been held here for the last goddamned year with no other option but to wait. Wait for someone to come and find me. Wait for a park ranger to find my clues, discover the truth about what happened to me… and of course-" she began to laugh, but there was really no humor in it, "and of course after months of praying and wishing and hoping... the universe sends me you. Michael Munroe… the one who put me here in the first place so tell me, Michael, why I shouldn't end you for destroying my life." Mike licked his lips, his eyes wide with fear.

"Hannah, I am so sor-"

"Oh save it, Romeo," she growled, dropping the gun from his face. "I don't want your apologies, I want my life back."

"Y-you can! Everyone's back at the lodge, I can take you back there," he assured, reaching up to put his hands on her arms but deciding that probably wasn't the best idea. "We can get you down the mountain and to the hospital, just… let me take you. There's a psycho out there, he was just in here… h-he killed Jess and we gotta get back to the others…He's dangerous, Hannah." Hannah cocked her head to the side, an eerie smile crossing her lips.

"He didn't kill Jess… and he's not dangerous," she assured, her voice strangely calm. "He's the one who keeps the real danger away. He saved me." Mike just stared back at her in confusion. She leaned in slightly and he could see just how much she'd changed in this year. "You have no idea what lives on this mountain. But you're about to find out."

Deep within the belly of the dilapidated building, among the groans and creaks of the aging structure, Mike heard another screech, not unlike the ones he'd encountered in the forest with Jess before they were chased to the cabin. He jumped, but Hannah remained unfazed.

"Shit, what was that?" Mike asked, and Hannah just shook her head.

"Believe me. You don't want to find out."

Another immediate screech reminded Mike it was time to get moving, and he was not leaving without Hannah - not after losing her the first time.

"Look, we don't have time for this. We really need to get out of here and get back to the lodge-" Hannah turned from him, waving a dismissive hand in his general direction.

"We don't go out at night," she replied simply.

"We? Who is we?" he asked, but then realized he really didn't care anymore. There was no way he was staying here until daylight. He rounded her and cut her off from the front grabbing onto her arms and giving her a light shake. "Listen to me. Jess is dead. We need to get back to the lodge and warn the others. Chris and Josh-"

"Josh…" Hannah suddenly whispered, her eyes softening at the mention of her brother's name, turning from anger to worry and concern. "I-is he down there? Is he alright?" Mike wanted to tell her no, that Josh wasn't alright and hadn't been alright since the day she went missing, Instead he uttered a simple,

"H-he's fine. But we need to go. We need to warn the others-"

"The tunnels," Hannah finally said with determination. "We can't go out at night, but we can at least take the tunnels from the sanitorium to the lodge. They're mostly safe-"

"Mostly?" Mike choked. Hannah gave him a half smirk as she shoved her gun into her waistband and pulled a cylinder tank of some kind onto her back.

"Scared?" she taunted.

"No," Mike scoffed.

"Don't worry. I'll protect you," she assured, but Mike had a hard time gauging the sincerity in her voice. "C'mon," she demanded, hauling off past him and into a corridor. Mike held the gun he'd found in his shaking hand and followed after her, just praying she knew what she was doing.

Josh - The Lodge - 1:15 am

He had her right where he wanted her. Who knew getting her to the media room would be so easy? He watched her from the shadows, his hot breath circulating around his mask, making him dizzy with excitement.

Press play.

"Hello, Samantha. Looking for me? I don't think you'll have much luck by looking, Samantha."

God, he loved the way her name sounded from his voice changer. Did she realize her potential killer was so close to her? So close that he knew her very name, could repeat it to her over and over until she would never be able to listen to another person speak her name without going insane?!

Samantha, Samantha, Samantha, Samantha…

"You're only going to see what I want you to see."

Me.

Fucking see me, Samantha! His teeth gritted behind his mask, the grinding, slipping, clacking sound echoing in his hollow cave, his heartbeat racing faster than ever before. This is what she fucking gets, if she didn't want to notice him before, she sure as hell was going to notice him now.

"And I have quite a lot to show you."

"What...what is going on?!" she screamed.

"Open your eyes."

OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES, SAMANTHA!

The way she looked in that towel with his monogram on it, the way her toned legs never once stopped moving in fear she'd freeze up-

From the side, Josh watched the video of her getting out of the tub as well. He growled deep in his throat, a primal hunger lunging up within him. If only she hadn't been so blind, he could have been running his bare fingers up those legs, teasing her, pleasuring her, making her moan, not in fear, though he had to admit, her tiny bursts of terrified shrieks were making his stomach clench in anticipation.

"She's quite beautiful, isn't she?...a beautiful bathing bird." A bird. A bird that kept flying further and further away from him every time he tried to capture her and all I fucking wanted to do was love you, Samantha. "Do you think she has any idea what lies ahead? Do you think these were the last happy moments of this creature's life?"

I could have made you happy. Forever. But yoooouuuu chose toooo fuuuccckkk with meeeee, silly sillyyyy Samanthaaaaaaa

"Why are you showing this to me?" Fear was prominent in her tone now. Her fingers gripped her towel tight, no doubt wondering if she was about to be stripped of that simple layer and exposed for everything that she was.

"Why are you watching?"

He knew it was for the same reason he was watching - because she couldn't help herself. Curiosity killed the pussy-cat!

"Josh!" she screams.

Ahhhhh, the way his name spilled from her lips, such worry, such concern - but was any of it real?

"How does it make you feel?" Tell me, Samantha! Tell me tell me TELL ME!

Screams, saws, struggles…!

"Oh my God, what did you do?!"

His heart pounded wildly. Now she could see with her own eyes what she let go, what she lost, what she could have had. She could've had it all but no, she chose to play him and play him and play him well guess what! I'm playing you now.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds... Nine..."

Be terrified, give up.

"Eight."

Let me see you break down and scream out your anguish.

"Seven."

Show some fucking emotion, Samantha. For once in your goddamn life.

He revealed himself to her. No, she couldn't see what was underneath the mask, but that face didn't matter anymore. This was who he was and she had to see that - she had to see what she was responsible for creating.

"Sam? Sa-aam."

He cracked his neck. This was going to be fun. He was even prepared when she threw that stupid vase at him. He watched her run for her life, his smile stretching his mouth, the dried blood cracking on his face. He swore he never smiled so big in his life.

This was just like the movies. She could run all she wanted - and he would give her that chance. He would walk, take his time. There was no rushing this. He wanted her to always feel the adrenaline he was rewarding her with in this very moment. She would never forget it. He would never forget it.
What a gift he was giving her! That he was giving all of them! An appreciation for life - one they wasted every. single. day.
And she went right down to the basement like he anticipated. He imagined her carefully maneuvering that broken step that he warned her about earlier. Cheat codes, Samantha, cheat codes. Be thankful I love you so goddamn much.

He heard the pitter patter of her feet stop when he reached the basement.

"Sam? Why are you hiding? Saaam? Why prolong the inevitable?" Let's see if he could scare her out. Hell, maybe she'd try to attack him. OH to think of that strong, nimble body jumping on him, the towel slipping to the hard floor. He would gas her instantly, her newly manicured nails trying to dig into him to stop him. It wouldn't work. But of course he'd wrap that towel back around her before he tied her up. He wasn't that much of an asshole.

"Why kid yourself into thinking you can get away? Don't you know I can smell you, Sam?" He clanged the metal to the gas canister over and over. Ting. Ting. Ting. He wondered if her heart synchronized with each cold, hard clink, "I can smell your fear." He breathed in deeply. Blood, sweat, and rubber.

Fear itself.

He turned around. He was tired of waiting for her to show herself. "Gotcha!" And just like a cat in fear, she pounced up and began running again. Theeeerrree we go.
But he knew this basement more than she could ever hope to. He rounded a corner and grabbed her, pulling her against him in a tight, loving embrace. Allll he had to do was place that gas mask over her mouth and-

Sam managed to grab the baseball bat, the one she questioned him about earlier. She smashed it against the side of his head. She had him seeing stars and Sam – that little fucking bird – she managed to escape him once again. But he wasn't mad. Nooooo, far from it. He was still smiling. She was still running.

She's so fucking perfect! Just like he'd known she'd be.

He let her run again. He could tell she was gaining confidence. She was still terrified, but she must have known that she was doing everything right. She was escaping her death. She was saving herself. Something she couldn't do for Beth. Or Hannah. Or him.

Samanthaaaaa.

He saw blinding red when he remembered all the times he practically begged her to save him and she just kept pushing and pushing him further and further away.

NO!

Wrong!

She did so much worse! She would bring him close, only to stab his heart with a dull knife. She played him like a yo-yo. Then she acted so innocent and oblivious like she had no idea what he felt for her. What a tease. No more. He let her get away for the last time. It was time to reel her in.
But during his rage, he lost her. He didn't know how, but she managed to escape where she was supposed to go. She didn't follow the rules!

"Here kitty, kitty. Heeerrre pussy, pussy."

Are you a pussy, Samantha? Brave, strong, confident Samantha? Hiding? That wasn't what heroes did. She wasn't going to come out and fight?

"FUCK!"

He didn't have time for this. If she wanted to hide scared, so be it. He had to get back to Chris and Ashley, those two were probably way past pissing their pants by now. If Samantha was too scared to come out and play, then there was no way she would come out to save Chris and Ashley. She never saved anyone but herself anyway.

Selfish, selfish Sammy…

To Be Continued...