^^ I got the inspiration to write this after a role play me and MonsterBerry wrote together a while back. It didn't get finished, unfortunately, so I decided to expand on it and keep going because the characters intrigued me so much. Libby Carolina is MonsterBerry's character and I give credit to her awesomeness that I did my best to recreate.
Um, I wasn't sure what to file this under exactly, so just role with it. Hm. What else...Oh warnings for violence, gore, and language!
...
"Elijah, honey, you know the other kids would like you and want to be your friend if you just try talking to them. Or, well, maybe even smiling would work-just try-"His mother made an uncomfortable face, patting his knee from where she crouched in front of him. He flinched back further into the fetal position, hiding his wet face in the crook of his elbow.
"I-I tried." He hiccupped, his small body shaking so hard he had the irrational fear he was going to fall apart-break into tiny pieces and never be put back together again. Maybe it would be best, his mother sounded so disappointed in him.
"I know, baby." She sighed. "Maybe you could just try not starring at them so much? Your teacher told me you were…creeping some of the other children out."
He hadn't meant to, really. The other children were so different than him and he'd wanted so badly to be like them. They made it look so simple to latch onto each other and find new friends when it was a struggle for him to even open his mouth. The teacher didn't even bother calling on him for anything anymore, all he'd do in reply was stare at her until she gave that familiar disappointed sigh and move on to ask someone else. All he was able to do-all he was ever able to do-was stare in awe at his peers as they played amongst one another and imagine himself being one of them.
He was good at that-imagining. And he much preferred it over the overwhelming anxiety of speaking to any of them.
"I'm sorry, mama. I'll t-try harder."
"It's okay, you have plenty of time." He didn't flinch away this time when she reached out to touch him. "You're only nine, but you won't make any friends if something happens like this again. I don't want anyone to make fun of you, so please, Elijah, just tell the teacher next time that you need to use the bathroom. If it's an emergency, he'll let you go."
His face burned hot with shame and he shifted, uncomfortable from where the seat of his pants were drying stiff.
He'd held it as long as he could; he'd tried to wait for class to be dismissed so he wouldn't have to draw attention to himself. It almost hurt having to hold it in, but every time he opened his mouth no sound would come out. Knowing everyone's eyes would be on him the second he raised his hand terrified him into silence. He held it in as long he could before he burst. There was the gross sensation of warmth coating his legs and chair before the trills of mocking laughter started.
It was like drowning-he felt exactly like he was drowning when all at once he was the center of everyone's attention and being surrounded by sounds of disgust and teasing. He was frozen to his chair, soaked in his own humility and wishing to be anywhere else-be anyone else. His teacher coming towards him, hand outstretched and telling him they would call and have one of his parents come pick him up was what finally broke him from his trance.
He took off out of the classroom, voices following him as he ran hard as he could for sanctuary.
His mother found him in an empty classroom an hour later cowering beneath the art supplies in the class's closet.
"Come on, sweet bug, let's get you home." She suddenly said and reached out to pick him up, unconcerned by the mess he'd made of his pants as she cradled him close. He sniffled and buried his face into her neck, breathing in the spicy smell of her perfume and the stronger smell of stale cigarettes as she left the classroom and took the least populated path towards where she'd parked the car. "Everything will get better, just give it time."
…
After years of therapy and routine checkups to check and make sure he didn't actually have a mental disability, it was determined he couldn't be helped and that it was not going to get better with time. His mother was a saint and had put up with him for longer than he thought she would before giving up and letting him do his own thing. Which was nothing.
He had a large family and they all lived comfortably in their equally large home. His grandparents chased the kids around the backyard while his uncles and aunts gossiped into their glasses of sweet tea on the porch. He had three sisters, two older, one younger, and two younger brothers. One was still a toddler when he graduated high school and his had mother liked to watch the other kids play while she bounced his giggling, pudgy body in her lap and listened to his sisters tell her about what they'd done at school.
Every now and again, one of his cousins or nieces would ask if he wanted to play with them, but the answer was always the same. He'd smile softly, blushing and shaking his head as he reached out with trembling hands to smooth their hair back before watching them toddle away. Inside he was screaming- Yes, please!Tell them yes, I want to play! He wanted to freely scoop them up and blow raspberries into their soft tummies and laugh as he chased them, tickling their sides until they squealed with joy when he finally caught them.
But in the end he would avoid eye contact and make his way inside to hide in his room.
…
Elijah spent weeks working up the courage to tell his family he wasn't going to college and that he was going to find an apartment somewhere new. He'd been thinking on it for a while and determined that he simply didn't fit in here and he was an unnecessary burden on everyone in the house.
They took it better than he thought they would-much better. He pushed away the distress their easy acceptance brought and went about packing.
He was gone within the week.
…
"It's just Dean, please." He corrected quietly to his new landlord as he signed the lease to his new apartment. He was pleased when the words came out steady and sure, despite the fact that he'd whispered it. He would work on it.
The older gentlemen just nodded disinterestedly and handed him the key to get in through his front door. "Whatever you say. Rent's due on the first of every month-not a day later or you're gone. Enjoy your stay and keep the noise down." The man, Jim he thought his name was, left him to it, disappearing down the hall.
His new home was dingy and smelled faintly of mold and wet dog, which was odd since pets weren't allowed. The last owner had been kind and left behind a tattered orange couch and a lamp stand missing its shade. It was the ugliest couch he'd ever seen, but it was his and he was glad for it. Luckily, his apartment came installed already with a fridge and an old electric stove, but like hell he was going to use anything until he gave it all a deep clean.
He took a silent moment to send thanks when he found a few cleaning supplies shoved at the back of the cabinet under the sink and set to work.
One of the things found, he was sure wasn't even a species of animal indigenous to this area, or even a discovered species at all and he pondered sending the carcasses to a museum with a grin on his face. The first grin he'd felt free to give in what felt like forever.
Dean felt better after cleaning up. The apartment didn't shine like he wanted it to, it was too old and worn down for that, but it was marginally better and he felt like he wasn't in danger of catching something every time he breathed, now. He'd discovered while cleaning that the couch was the thing giving off the odor of wet dog and he while he felt hesitant to use it, beggars can't be choosers and he didn't even have a bed right now. He really should've said yes when his parents asked if he wanted them to rent him a mover's van, but that hurt had funneled its way back in and he'd turned the offer down.
Him and that ugly couch were about to get better acquainted until he saved up enough for a futon.
Until then, he figured he should find himself a job or two so he could actually pay the man downstairs. He'd been lucky enough to find a place that didn't require him to be employed and put a deposit down before moving in. The man hadn't even asked to do a background check. Then again, by the looks of the building and the neighborhood it was placed in, the landlord was probably used to shady people moving in.
…
Even with his nicest clothes on and his glasses perched on his face, no one seemed to be interested in hiring someone his age who wasn't going to college. It might've been the stuttering or it could've been the no smiling thing, but he was content to say it was that he simply wasn't educated enough for these people. Come on, even Wal-Mart acted like they were too good to hire him, how much of a failure did that make him?
By this point he'd already messed his hair up beyond repair and he knew he was looking rough, so he turned into the next bar he saw. Hopefully they sold burgers or nachos and he could wallow in his food before heading back home. He was steadily running out of money, though and by all that was holy, he would starve before begging his parents for more. Or to take him back.
The bar was fairly decent, despite the low lighting and scruffy, bearded men seated around the bar. He kept his head down and headed straight for a booth in the back, snagging a sticky menu as he passed the counter. 'Bear Cave' was written at the top of the menu and most of the items on it were alcohol. The back, however, did have a small list of appetizers and his stomach gave a low growl of interest.
"What are you pouting for, boy? You feelin' like something strong? Looks like you could use it." A gruff voice asked him, accent thick.
Dean's head snapped up in surprise and he met a man's eyes. He looked to be in his forties, the greying beard making him look slightly untidy. He wore a button-up, striped shirt, the buttons pulled tight over his gut. The shirt was tucked into his worn jeans, and his jeans were tucked into brown boots. A smile crinkled the corners of his mouth and a large cowboy hat sat on top of his head.
"Wh-what?" He asked his voice louder than normal as he tried to speak over his loud heartbeat. Good lord, how had this large man managed to sneak up on him?
"I said ya' looked like you were needin' a drink. What's got ya' so worn down, boy?"
"I-well-"Dammit, he wasn't Elijah anymore, he was Dean, now. He was a different person here. "I'm looking for a job. You wouldn't happen to be hiring, would you?" Where the hell had that come from?
The man's eyes went wide in surprise and mirth. "Oh, now, you were thinkin' yourself to be old enough?"
"I just turned twenty-one two months ago." He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out his wallet, showing the man the date on his license.
"Well. Seems ya' did, indeed. You sure ya' wanna job at a bar so young? We have a lot of no good souls stop by for a drink." It was like the man had stepped right out of an old western movie. But Dean found himself liking his good-natured amusement all the same.
He found his gaze engrossed in the table without his permission as he answered. "I'm sure. Please, I'll work really hard."
And this was how he became a bartender at the 'Bear Cave'.
…
It wasn't the best job on the planet, but he'd been working at the 'Bear Cave' for a little over half a year now and it was familiar.
The cowboy was named Roberto and he was quite pleasant when he was around. He was the owner of the bar, so he was only there half of the time Dean was present. The rest of the time he was left alone to his coworkers. He worked with three others, all male and good friends with each other, teasing and shoving as they grinned at customers and worked their charm for tips.
Dean got some attention from women-and the occasional man- though they usually gave up trying to chat with him eventually. He was glad, that kind of attention made him more nervous than anything. A girl had asked him to homecoming in his sophomore year of high school and he'd had to run to hide in the bathroom before giving into a panic attack.
It never got that bad at the bar, but it was safe to say his customer service was far from perfect. It was a constant issue with his night manager, one of the guys he worked with who was in charge when Roberto had retired for the night.
He was quietly cleaning glasses when an excited tap on the counter in front of him brought his head up. A grinning girl sat there watching him with interested eyes. Her hair was a shock of red that fell around her shoulders like a halo of fire. Green eyes, more of a brighter emerald green than his own mossy green, lit up her face and highlighted her excited smile. Her face was angular and almost delicate, but the rest of her was all muscle. She was tall, almost as tall as him and her waist was curved proportionately to the rest of her body right down to her sandaled feet, her toes a bright, gaudy green and her fingers painted a warm yellow and chipping like she picked at them when she got bored. Her clothes were mix-matched and didn't seem to have one style-her close-fitting pants were red and she wore a dark tee with the jokers face grinning up at him as he asked Dean why he was so serious.
She was bright, outgoing, and-he could already tell-boisterous in everything she did and said. She was the most different, oddest person he'd ever seen and absolutely nothing like him.
And she was absolutely perfect.
"Hi there!" She said loudly to him and he blinked back owlishly from behind his glasses frames. "I'm Libby Carolina, but just call me Libby. None of that Miss shit, if you please. Just Libby. You look like you're having fun, by the way, though you should smile some. You look like you'd have a nice smile. Go on, smile for me! Oohh, or just don't break that glass over the top of my head. So, where's the boss man at?"
He just blinked again, hands frozen on the glass and cleaning rag. You look like you'd have a nice smile. What did he do in this situation? Who said things like that to complete strangers?
Answer her question dumbass.
"Oh! Ah, he's-uh-office." That wasn't even an actual sentence.Try again. "He's in his office." Better. "Come on behind the counter, it's in back." Good job! He deserved to treat himself to Chinese take-out tonight.
"Thank you!" She bounded her way straight up and over the counter instead of going around it and he stumbled back as she landed beside him. "Catch you later, jumpy." And with that she disappeared into the back.
He starred at the spot where she'd gone in shock.
She popped back around half a second later, raising an eyebrow at him. "What's your name?"
"Wh-what?"
"What's your name? Good lord, stop looking at me like that, this isn't mythology. I'm not going to steal or immortal soul or something if I know your true name-just tell me."
"Eli-uh, it's Dean. My name is Dean."
"Yeah, that's totally not suspicious at all that you almost said a different name before that."
"S-sorry, it's Elijah Dean Thomas. I go by Dean, though." Shit.
That blazing smile returned. "Whatever you say, Dean."
And that was how he met his bright star.
…
Libby started working with him shortly after their first meeting. Of course she did, how could anyone tell her no? While he was making drinks and ignoring customers, she was skipping between tables and passing out drinks while she dodged straying hands. Her smile and attitude was unmatched and he could see the same desire in everyone who talked to her-everyone she directed her attention too, even for just an instant. Not the desire for sex-though, yes that was present in their gazes as well. No, what he saw in their desires reflected his own. That was the overpowering desire to know Libby Carolina. The desire to be able to talk freely with her, to be the reason she was laughing.
Dean had felt the need to be someone's friend before, but never like this. She was like a super nova burning its way through his brain and making all the colors brighter.
He knew it was weird and that if he kept starring at her it would freak her out like it had all of the children he'd gone to school with. So, he kept his head down and his attention on fixing drinks.
"Dean-o, we really need to go see that new movie soon. Come on, man, don't make me go by myself." Libby leaned against the bar, raising her eyebrows at him as she dug through the bowl of peanuts and pulled out a cigarette butt. "Well. That's fuckin' gross. Who the hell would do something like that? There's an ashtray right next to-whatever. So, what do you say, amigo?"
"I don't know." He replied quietly, wrinkling his nose as he took the cigarette from her hand and threw it in the trash behind the counter. "I'm not really one for the movie theater. I prefer just watching them at home."
He wasn't good at this. Here was his chance to become her friend and he just kept turning it down. She'd been trying to be his friend since she started working here and all he ever did was shoot her down.
She sent him a look, pointing a sun-colored fingernail at him. "You. I'll convince you one of these days. You just wait."
His lips twitched as he struggled not to smile. "Uh-huh."
"You sound like you doubt me." She stated and narrowed her eyes.
"Doubt you? Never."
She starred at him, suspicious. A customer called out for a beer and her eyebrow twitched. "Damn." She muttered, grabbing the beer he held out for her after he popped the cap off. "To be continued." And then she was flouncing away.
He was still smiling when someone threw themselves down into a barstool in front of him. "What's so funny, kid?" The smile slipped off his face and he looked up. The man was large and well-muscled despite the fact he was slightly overweight. His wife-beater showed off his thick arms decorated with tattoos and his head was completely shaved bald. "Well? Don't just stare at me, get me a damn whiskey." He sneered.
Dean felt his body go completely tense and he woodenly grabbed a bottle of whiskey off the shelf as he pulled out a glass. The man was obviously highly intoxicated already; the rank smell of alcohol was like a miasma around him. But the rules didn't say anything about him being able to cut someone off if they were drunk before they came into the bar. They should really work on that.
He set down a glass of whiskey for the man and went to move further down so he could find something to do without having to look at him when a hand snaked out to grab his wrist. "What the hell is this? Do I look like a light-weight, boy? You trying to cheat me?"
Dean frowned in confusion and looked back to the man's glass. He'd put the regulated amount he was supposed to. What was this guy talking about? Glancing down at the thick-fingered hand gripping him, he looked back to the man. "Let go of me."
The man gripped tighter and Dean hardened his face against a wince. "Don't test me, you little shit. I'll box you around your ears if you talk to me that way."
Where the hell was his night manager? He was probably cooped up inside of the office playing candy crush, good lord.
"Hey! What thefuck do you think you're doing?" Uh-oh.
"Libby, it's fine, I can handle this." If this bastard hurt her, it'd be on him.
At least, that was what he was thinking when Libby Carolina shocked him and everyone else in that bar. One second the man was standing and yanking Dean forward by his arm-the next Libby was smashing her carrying tray over the top of his head. "Larry, get your lazy ass out here and throw this dumb asshole out!" Ah, Larry was the name of his night manager-that's right. He should probably put in the effort to learn everyone's name at some point.
The man groaned and moved like he was going to get back up from his place on the dirty floor. "No you don't, mother fucker." Libby snapped, her sandaled foot coming down hard to rest on the back of his neck, her toes shining an electric blue this week. "You alright, Dean? That looks like it's gonna be a pretty nasty bruise."
"Oh-um-" His wrist was red and the skin was already purpling. He hadn't even noticed. "I'm fine, it's just a bruise." Larry stumbled out of the back, blinking around.
"What the hell happened here?"
And that was the moment he and Libby became friends. He stopped running from it and she stopped letting him and it was like his whole life came together in that moment.
…
Libby was coming over to his house today and he was so damn nervous. He'd agreed to going out with a couple of her old friends from college because she hadn't wanted to go alone, so she was coming over to pick him up. God, what wouldn't he do for this girl? He couldn't name a time when he'd hung out with a group of people-because it'd never happened- and now here he was going out with his current and only friend to socialize with complete strangers. Holy shit, was he insane? He was going to make a complete ass out of himself, he knew it.
He'd been cleaning his house over and over since the end of his shift the night before and his limbs wouldn't stop trembling even as he threw his whole weight into scrubbing old grime from the kitchen floor. He was pretty sure he was close to a caffeine overdose and his apartment still wasn't as clean as he wanted it to be for Libby.
Unfortunately he was out of time. He made his way to his bedroom with a cup of coffee in his hands, draining it before he'd even made it to his dresser.
He was just pulling on his jacket when there was a knock on his door.
"This place is kind of a dump." Libby informed him when he opened the door and he moved aside to let her in. She walked a slow circle around his living room-it was a small circle. Her nose was crinkled up as she ran a critical eye over the tattered orange couch and the old stains in the drab carpet. "No offence. I can tell you've tried to do what you can with the place. That asshole of a Landlord you have downstairs should've done repairs years ago."
He agreed completely. Too bad that asshole didn't care what he or any of the other tenants thought.
"Like your place is any better, Libs, I can't even see your floor with all the clothes covering it." He teased quietly with a small smile. It had taken him a while, but he was getting better at the whole teasing thing.
Libby laughed, giving him a fond look and he felt his stomach lurch with an almost overwhelming sense of accomplishment. He could do this.
This is what Dean was thinking up until the moment he met Libby's friends.
They were grouped together outside of the restaurant they'd picked; the girls giggled behind their hands while the guys hit each other on the shoulders and joked around. Their faces were lit up with happy grins as they laughed together and enjoyed each other's company, because they were all friends. They all knew each other. Dean was the outsider here-the one who didn't belong, who never belonged.
What the hell was he doing here?
"Libby!" A tall man called out excitedly, acknowledging their presence as they walked up to the group, Libby's stride a little (a lot) more confident than his own. "It's been forever! Where the hell have you been?"
"Kevin, what's up?" Libby grinned big, slapping hands and bumping fists as her eyes sparkled like fireflies, the green so bright they were almost gold in the fading light of day. "I actually got a job, mother fucker! College just wasn't my cuppa tea."
"A job." One of the girls giggled, sounding disgusted. Her hair was dyed a deep purple and her makeup was caked on around the eyes, making them look larger. Her lips were a shiny, candy colored pink, like pop rocks and her perfume sent out a miasma of sickeningly sweet sugar.
"Yes, dipshit, a job." Libby rolled her eyes and everyone in the group laughed while the girl's cheeks turned as pink as her lips and eye shadow.
"You're a bitch, Libby!" The girl whined and pouted.
"Only to everyone, Fey." Libby replied with a smirk and the tightness in Dean faded a little. They were friends, everyone was just teasing. The last statement rang untrue with him, though. In all the time he'd known her, Libby had never been anything but amazing and kind to him. Granted, these people probably knew her better. "Everyone, this is Dean, my new best friend from the bar I work at. Dean, this is everyone! Now let's go eat, I'm fucking starving." She reached out with gold, painted nails and wrapped a hand around his wrist, tugging him towards the front door of the restaurant.
A hand on his shoulder stopped them from going further.
"Hold up, Libs, you didn't even let us tell him our names." Fey smiled at Dean and he felt his stomach drop out. Why? Why did people have to make such a big deal out of the whole introduction thing? He would've been fine with no one ever looking in his direction for the rest of the night. Now someone was touching him and it wasn't his family and it wasn't Libby. The girl's nails were acrylic and shimmery purple, the ends cut long and sharp. They were nothing like Libby's brilliant warm glow and he hated them so strongly now from where they gripped his jacket.
He realized he was starting to breathe fast, like he wasn't getting enough oxygen and what little oxygen he felt like he was getting was overpowered by the smell of sugar.
"It doesn't matter." Libby suddenly snapped, yanking Dean out of her grip and pushing him in front of her. "Food. Now." Her lips turned up into a snarl and Fey snorted.
"Fine, fine. You and your food."
It took a long time to stop himself from shaking sporadically, but Libby sat beside him the whole night and didn't make him talk unless he wanted to. She also seemed to have a knack for steering the questions he was asked away from him and changing the topic. He wasn't sure when, if ever, he was going to stop being in awe of everything Libby did.
Fey tried a few times to strike up a conversation, leaning across the table to ask him about his family, schooling, if he had a girlfriend. Libby would intervene the second she heard his breathing become more strained.
This was why he didn't do friends, besides the obvious exception. How could he talk to people-have a normal conversation, if every time someone tried to engage him in simple conversation he was brought to the brink of a panic attack? But Libby understood him seemingly without even trying and brought him relief much easier than any of his therapists had.
Unfortunately, Dean was positive that he needed her far more than she needed him. She was bright and warm and had the world bending over just to win a smile. He hyperventilated into the phone every time he placed an order to his favorite Chinese place.
But as he watched her smiling amongst her friends, the smile lovely and yet not quite as tangible as the ones she gave him when they were hanging out alone, he knew he would keep her as long as her could.
"Thank you for coming with me." She said when they were alone and heading back home. He was exhausted and ready for bed after hours of being around people in a close nit group. "I know it wasn't your thing. Hell, I don't think it was quite my thing either. I now remember why I stopped talking to some of those people." She said this last line with a disgusted nose wrinkle and he felt his lips lift in response.
"It wasn't so bad." He admitted. And it wasn't, really because he did get to spend time with Libby. "Thank you for…"
"Anytime, Dean-o." She winked at him, and that was that.
…
Though it had been a year since they'd met, to Dean it felt like he'd gotten to share only a short time with Libby; like the lifespan of a blowfly-insufficient and leaving him wanting more. Working at the 'Bear Cave' was fun and he left from his shifts smiling more often than not.
Libby was currently invading his home, camped out on his awful sofa with a tub of rainbow sorbet and her feet hiked up under her as she laughed at whatever comedy show she'd put on. "Get your ass over here! You're missing the best part." She cackled and he was helpless to disobey.
He sat down gingerly next to her and snuck his feet up, making sure not to touch her with his socks. His feet weren't terribly smelly, but he wasn't dumb enough to think they smelled like damn roses. Libby gave a boisterous laugh at whatever was being said on the telly then shoved her own feet into his lap. He gave a surprised grunt, her colorful toes digging into his sides and making him squirm away.
"Libby." He sent her a stern look and she raised her eyebrows at him.
"Dean." She said playfully. "You wouldn't be ticklish now would you?"
"No." He had no idea really. He'd never been tickled before. "I don't know."
"You don't know?" Her face did this funny thing before relaxing back into a smile. "Well then, maybe it's time you found out." She leaped across the couch with a warrior's cry fingers outstretched for his waist and he tried to twist out of the line of fire.
Turns out he was, indeed, ticklish. Very much so. She had him choking on breathy gasps of laughter as he struggled, trying to get away and not accidentally hurt her in the process. He knew for a fact that he'd never laughed harder in his life and by Libby's face, she knew it, too. There were tears wetting the corners of his eyes by the time she finally let him up-let him breathe.
She was still giggling as he laid star-fished out on the couch cushions, panting.
"You've really never been tickled before?" She asked, laughter tampering off.
"Can't say that I have."
"That's a damn shame." She poked him once more in the side and he squirmed away. "I've never heard you laugh like that."
"That's because I never have." And he lifted himself up, smiling still as he turned back to the comedian and doing his best to ignore Libby's angry look. He knew it wasn't at him. Her anger was directed at whatever painful past she figured he had. That's what people normally figured when they met him-he knew he acted like an abused child out of a broken home. His family was great, though, always had been. The problem in the family had been him.
…
"What do you mean you have a friend coming over?" His mother asked slowly into the phone, her tone thick with disbelief.
"I mean I can't talk right now, I have a friend coming over and she'll be here soon." He repeated, his face heating up at his mother's tone.
"You have a friend."
"Yes, I do."
"I'll be there tomorrow. I'll bring your father and Emily, they've missed you."
"What?" In all this time since he'd moved away from home, no one had been to visit him, and his mother had called to check on him maybe once every other month. He didn't blame them, he had a big family with lots of siblings and they were busy. And he'd never been very good company. Emily was his younger sister, she'd be nineteen this coming up summer, and while they'd gotten on okay, they'd never been particularly close so that she and his parents wanted to visit-this was just bizarre.
"Your grandparents can watch the rest of the children, it'll be fine. I'll get your father and sister packed up-we could stay in a hotel. Just for a couple days, see how well you've adjusted. What's your new friend's name?"
"Libby." He said without thinking, brain on overload with the onslaught of emotions he felt knowing his parents were coming to check in on him. "And she's not new. We've been friends for over a year now."
"Really?" His mother sounded ready to burst with excitement. "That's great, honey! I can't wait to meet her!"
He didn't have it in him to argue with her. "Okay. I really have to go, mom."
"Oh sweetheart. Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Love ya'."
"I-" Dial tone. She'd hung up before he could answer.
…
"My parents are coming to visit." Dean said quietly in greeting when Libby entered through his front door. Her face scrunched up and she paused to stare at him.
"And…are you okay?"
He shrugged and went to sit on the couch. Libby followed, looking unsure as she sat next to him on the couch. "I think so. They've never come to visit me before, so I guess I'm kind of in shock."
"Why are they bothering to visit now?" She sounded like she was getting angry again on his behalf.
Dean felt his cheeks grow warm. "I, uh, may have told them-my mom, I mean, that I have a friend."
She raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. "So? I don't understand. They're coming because of me?"
"I've never had a friend before."
"What? Like, ever?"
"Never. You're the first."
"But…" She trailed off, mouth opening and closing as she tried to find her train of thought. "Oh. Well, that's…I don't know what to do with that."
"It's a lot of responsibility, I know." He said, trying to smile though he was growing more worried with her lack of expression.
"It is. It really is." She stood up, face slack as she avoided his gaze. "Listen, I've got to think, okay?" He went to stand. "Alone. I need time to think about this to myself. I'll…I'll call you, okay?"
No, no, no. She was gone before he could gather his courage. The front door closing behind her felt like a death sentence.
…
He sat on the couch for the next few hours debating on whether or not he should call his mother back and tell her there was no longer any reason to come see him. Since the beginning of his friendship with Libby, he'd been determined not to mess it up. And now the most unimaginable thing had occurred and he'd chased her away with his neediness.
There was a knock at his door and some irrational thing in him believed screamed it was his mother and the only way to avoid this terrible embarrassment was to go for the window. Instead, he got up to answer it like a normal person, fingers shaking as he went to unlock the door. Libby stood on the other side, her flame-red hair darkened and wet as she looked at him sheepishly.
"Hey." She said and he wasn't sure what to do so he relied on his default setting. Which meant he just stared at her. "Oh, come on, don't do that. I'm sorry I scared you, let me in, okay?" He was helpless but to obey.
"You're awesome." She said once she'd retaken her spot on his dingy couch. He starred at her wordlessly. "What? You are! A little shy- " His eyebrows shot up. "Fine, a lot shy, but getting to know you has been worth it." His face burned and he felt his lips tugging up into a hopeful smile. "Yeah. I'm sorry for taking off, okay? Being your friend isn't a responsibility-it's a privilege and I'll be happy to tell your parents so when they come to visit."
He slapped Libby on the shoulder and she laughed at his embarrassment. "You're the only one who ever tried to get to know me." He said, not wanting pity, but wanting her to know just how important their friendship was to him.
"That's a damn shame." She said seriously.
…
They were both twenty-three years old when the undead descended upon the world and their semi-peaceful life at the 'Bear Cave' came to a screaming, bloody halt.
He was working with one of the other guys-Pete; he'd actually learned his name-when a man stumbled into the bar. At first, Dean assumed the man to be drunk off his ass and he moved out from behind the counter to ask if he wanted a cab. He froze when he noticed the blood soaking his stomach and what looked like raw organs being exposed.
"Sir?" He called out quietly. "Are you okay?" The man was obviously not okay, but the words were out of his mouth before he could rethink them. A hunk of meat hit the floor from where the man was stooped over.
"Is that…his intestines?" Pete asked from where he stood a few tables over, broom in hand as he swept. A low groaning started from the man and Dean took a few steps towards him. The groan started into a deep, wet growl and he stopped. "Shit, man, what the hell's wrong with him?"
The bleeding man went tense at the sound of Pete's loud whisper and his head came up slowly, as if he was suddenly waking up. Pete gasped loudly when they finally got a good look at his face. His mouth was slack with drool and bloody spit and his eyes were filmed over with blood pooling in the corner of one, like tears waiting to spill over. It took a shambling step and then another, gaze locked on Dean's neck.
"Dude! It looks like a zom-"Pete was interrupted when the man gave a loud yell and took off at a dead run towards Dean.
"Shit!" It bowled him over, going down with him as he fell and landing on top. No, no, no! He shoved his palm into a waxy forehead, his free hand holding the things neck as it came at his face with snapping jaws. Flecks of bloody spittle hit his chin and he shoved back against the thing's bulk, wanting it off.
Pete screamed, high pitched and annoying, but luckily, also distractingly as the thing loosened its grip as the sound echoed around them. He shoved hard, foot coming up and planting itself into the gaping maw in the thing's stomach and pushing. It stumbled back, caught off guard by his sudden offense and he threw himself backwards across the floor, putting distance between them before lurching to his feet. The man stumbled, giving an angry, almost desperate yell, its teeth clicking together.
More people flooded in through the door that'd been left wide open, all of them covered in blood and other unknown fluids as they howled lowly, missing appendages and gnawing on their own lips until they bled. Their eyes roved aimlessly in their sockets, milky and seemingly sightless. It didn't seem to matter to them, their noses stuck up in the air and heads twitching. The man Dean had shoved shambled to its feet and the group convulsed with the sound, mouths snapping open to reveal black tongues and bloody gums.
Pete screamed again and the group of gory people all seemed to tremble, snarl, and then lurch with terrible speed in his direction.
"Shit." Dean mumbled, bracing himself as the group of-let's just go ahead and say it-zombies came scrambling towards them with filthy fingers stretched out to grab. He looked around for a weapon-anything- but nothing was close enough.
A fierce yell rang out by the front door and for a fearful moment he thought it was more of the undead here to gobble him up, shove greedy hands into his gut and pick the flesh off of his bones. What met his shocked stare instead was Libby Carolina, covered in blood and wielding a large serrated hunting knife. Her eyes were narrowed and crazed, her fiery hair falling to her face and soaked with carnage while her breathing came out in short gasps of anger. She'd never been more beautiful.
The zombies slowed their pursuit, turning to greet their new arrival with blank gazes and wandering eyes. "Come get some, motherfuckers." Libby caroled, lips slinking up into a smirk. They took the bait, of course they did, and Dean let out an involuntary sound as he watched the crowd of zombies rush his only friend.
She was like a spinning inferno, yelling violently and thrashing, cutting, splitting skulls and separating heads from their bodies. Blood and gore soaked her and the floor, wriggling hunks of meat smacked the floor around her as she sliced through the crowd like a skilled huntress. Spitting curses and cackling, the last creature fell by her hand and she stood in the middle of the slaughter panting.
"Are you okay?" She gasped emerald eyes on Dean, blood spread around her eyes like crude eye shadow. All he could think of was how uncomfortable that was going to be when it dried.
He nodded jerkily, taking in the scene around him and trembling. "Wh-what's happening, Libs?" He stuttered and her fierce expression softened a bit.
"I'm saving your ass from zombies, that's what. Now let's find you a weapon and get the hell outta here."
"What the fuck?" Pete was screaming from a corner, hands in his hair as he starred at them both, mouth gaping. "What the fuck? What the hell?"
"If you're going to be that fucking loud, you can stay here." Libby snapped at him, but he just starred at her with wide, petrified eyes. Libby led Dean into the back, breaking the lock on the manager's door without hesitation. Dean watched on in a semi state of shock as she dug through the office before finally unearthing a small handgun. "Well, I'm not a fan of guns-they run out of ammo at the most inconvenient times. But it'll do for now. We'll find you something better later."
"Libby." He said, reaching out automatically when she passed him the gun, the cold, dead weight of the weapon centering him. "What's going on? Why are there-those things? Zombies?"
"I take it you haven't been watching the news today." He shook his head. "Fights, mauling's have broken out over the city. People starting attacking others and there were reports of other people taking bites out of each other. That kind of sealed the deal for me. I know a fucking zombie outbreak when I hear one. So, I've got the car packed-we're getting out of the city pronto."
"I-yes, of course. You should use the bathroom first though. I'll try to help get some of that out of your hair."
She graciously accepted his offer as long as they were fast.