A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Grad school finals can bite me. Chapter title is from the Josh Ritter of the same song. Also! Smut ahead. Consider this your warning.

Chapter Twenty-One:

Long Shadows

There was a girl sitting alone in the dark. Across the room was a mirror, reflecting back her pale dress, dark skin, black hair. She didn't want to look at it, but she did, eyes taking stock of what she saw. Her face was impassive, eyes the only thing showing any expression. Those eyes were angry and sad and tired and stubborn and triumphant, all at once.

The reflection spoke. "Will you talk to me?" Not a reflection, then, but a separate, identical girl. They were both young, perhaps no more than twelve.

One of them, the one who hadn't spoken, drew her knees up to her chest, hugging them against her. She was gangly: all knees and elbows and thin, thin limbs. Her body had hit its growth spurt upwards without any of the fat or muscle to fill it out. She propped her chin on her knees and looked out at the dark corners of the room, face staying unnaturally still.

"Hannah, please? Please talk to me." The reflection girl was nearly begging. She tried to make her voice light and teasing with limited success. "Banana? Han Solo? Hanburger with pickles?"

The other girl—Hannah—didn't respond.

The reflection girl stood up and wandered around the room, poking at the walls, the window, the furniture. The fireplace bricks were painted wood, the windowpanes plastic. "You're hiding." She turned to look at Hannah and frowned. "Why are you hiding?"

Still there was no answer.

"Are you ashamed of what you did?" The reflection girl's voice hardened slightly. "You should be. Idiot. Sam was right." Then she shook her head, all anger dissipating. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. Just talk to me, Han, please?" She crouched down in front of Hannah and smoothed one hand over the silent girl's hair.

Slowly, hesitantly, Hannah shook her head.

It was more response than the reflection girl had seen in a long time. She sucked in a breath that she didn't need and cupped her hands around Hannah's face, pulling her head to study her. "Hannah, you hear me? Talk to me. Please? You can hear me. I know you can, you dummy, or you wouldn't have shaken your head."

Hannah flickered and vanished, leaving the reflection girl's hands hanging in the air, empty.

The girl sagged, falling to her hands and knees. She wished she could cry, but that wasn't an option. Finally, she stood, looking once more around the dollhouse, and noting the familiar, beloved details. Then she disappeared as well.

-o-

Melinda tried to stand, shoving her legs off the couch and onto the floor. Was she asleep? Was she dreaming? Perhaps that's why she was able to swallow the groan of pain that threatened as her foot screamed in agony. She stumbled slightly and saw Josh—Josh—reach for her, then hold himself back. She grabbed the walking stick from where it rested and began to awkwardly propel herself towards the small second room.

None of the children stirred. She supposed they were wiped out from their time on the mountain. Melinda realized she knew almost nothing about their time up there. There had been no real chance to ask, not when all of her energy was focused on staying upright and making sure all the kids were headed back down with her. As she headed down the hall, she glanced again at the empty places where two more figures should be and sighed. She hoped this was a dream. It would mean that she didn't have to hunt them down in the morning.

There was a soft noise behind her as Josh followed and her heart clenched painfully. No. That was a lie. She very much hoped this was not a dream.

The second room was tiny, with a small bed and some very basic bedding. And still all the kids had chosen to sleep on the floor. She turned to sit heavily on the edge of the bed, half-expecting that there would be no one there. Josh was staring at her with a strange expression. Moonlight filtered through an open window and the chill air from outside made her shiver. With a casual swat, Josh swung the bedroom door shut.

Melinda had no idea what to say. Truthfully, it was hard to believe that she was here, looking at her son. There was something strange about his face: some kind of injury to his mouth, his eye. She couldn't quite tell in this light, though. She waited, hoping he would say something, but he just looked at her. Finally, she broke the silence. "Josh." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "Josh. You're alive."

"That's debatable."

She drew in a ragged breath. He seemed incredibly tense, every muscle in his body tight to the point of trembling. It was the same look their old dog Chile had when she spotted a rabbit. She couldn't think of what to say that wouldn't make things worse. What was the proper line here? I'm sorry we stopped looking for you, honey. Mommy and Daddy were told you were dead. Fucking hell. "Don't say that, Josh."

He snorted. "Why not? You'll take away my toys?"

"Josh—"

"You keep saying my name." He grinned abruptly, flashing teeth that seemed abnormally sharp. What had happened to him up here? "Josh-Josh-Josh-Josh-Josh. Did you forget me? Have to remind yourself? Makes sense. I'd forget me too. As soon as possible, really. And if I—"

She cut him off. "Josh—"

"See, there you go again. Shouldn't've come here since I already knew the lines for this scene."

"Stop." Her voice was sharper than she intended it to be, but she couldn't suppress the wave of frustration that swept over her. Josh was alive. He was here, talking to her, and still they couldn't talk. When had he stopped being her little boy and turned into this cold stranger. "Just stop, Josh. Please."

He stopped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his vest. She remembered that vest. Melinda took a deep breath, trying to sort through her thoughts. Was it the concussion that was making it so hard to think of something to say? "I'm so glad to see you," she said at last.

Josh snorted, leaning back against the closed door. "Sure, Mom. Whatever you say."

There was the frustration again. "Dammit, Josh. I thought you were dead. Do you know—" She swallowed hard. There were things she couldn't talk about. Not to Bob, not to her friends. Not even to her therapist. "I thought you were dead." He stared out towards the window, then closed his eyes. His lips moved as he muttered something that she couldn't quite hear. "What was that?"

"I said 'I should be.' Fuck."

"Language." The admonition was out of her mouth before she could stop it and it struck her as so ridiculous that she almost laughed. "Fuck is right. The other part isn't. Jesus, Josh. We lost the girls, then this happened, and they told us… I'm so..." Josh paced towards the window and the moonlight caught his face more clearly. The edge of his mouth was pulled back, as if his face had been split. A Glasgow Smile. The injuries, the sharp teeth, the odd, animal-like energy—maybe it was the concussion that made the idea seem plausible, but… "Sam was telling the truth," she whispered.

Her son turned and smiled again. It was only half of his mouth, it seemed, but somehow the unevenness of it made it harder to bear. She fought back the rising tide of nausea and shook her head. "No."

"Yes," he said simply. He bared his teeth. "It's great. Now I look exactly how everyone always thinks of me. Like something out of a fucking creepypasta."

She had no idea what that was, but she could guess. Like Bob's movies. She hated horror. It had always felt too familiar. "What—what does this mean?"

His hoarse laugh seemed to pierce straight through her aching head. "It means your son is a fucking monster, oh mother-mine!" He swept an elaborate bow and gestured to himself. "Just like everyone always said! Come one, come all, to see the freak! Told you I should have died. Joshy should have just let himself go, but he had to go and prove everyone 100% right. Couldn't just give up. Or maybe this was giving up."

It was all too familiar. She'd heard this kind of speech from him before. Melinda shoved herself to her feet again, reaching for him. If she could just hug him, she thought. If she could just show Josh that she didn't give a single shit about what anyone else thought of him—even himself—then maybe he would see…

With a low growl, he backed away from her, his eyes wide and frightened. Then his expression hardened. "Go home, Mom. You don't belong up here. Take them with you. Forget about me."

Her hands closed on empty air. He threw himself through the open window and bounded away, disappearing into the trees.

He was gone.

She tried to take another deep breath, to stay calm, but it was impossible. Ugly sobs ripped their way free of her chest and she couldn't keep her grip on the walking stick pipe. Her torso, her foot thrummed with pain, but she didn't care. It seemed fitting, really. How had she let this happen? How had any of this happened? Josh was alive, but this was worse than death. She was losing her only remaining child to something that she couldn't wrap her mind around, couldn't understand. She'd heard the legends, of course. She'd even talked to that man—Jack Fiddler—back when he'd tried to convince Bob not to build up here, but she'd dismissed him just as Bob had.

This was her fault. If she'd just listened, if she hadn't been so determined that her understanding was the only real one… She remembered seeing Sam's exhausted, bloody face, the strange smile she'd had as she'd told Melinda what had happened. Melinda had shrugged it off as trauma.

All the kids… They had known. They'd come back here, not for closure, but for Josh. For her child. The one she'd abandoned.

When he was four, he had fallen down the stairs. He hadn't cried at first, just looked up at her horrified face with an expression of utter confusion. His palms had been skinned from trying to catch himself and the red, red blood on his tiny, soft palms had been like a physical blow. But she'd patched him up and they'd eaten ice cream and watched one of the old Narnia movies. Just her and Josh, sitting on the floor in the sunlight while Chile shoved her nose into their laps, begging for treats. Her perfect little boy, even with all his quirks.

It was like being punched in the stomach over and over again. She hadn't just abandoned Josh. If he really was turning into some kind of monster, that meant… that meant… "Hannah." The name came out as part of another strangled sob. Oh god.

"Mrs. Washington?" The voice was tentative. She couldn't even lift her head. There was no part of her that didn't hurt. A gentle hand rested on her back, rubbing in small circles. "Was it Josh?"

She nodded as best she could. She needed to pull it together. Fuck. This wasn't how adults handled difficult situations. There wasn't time for her to fall apart. Melinda tried to straighten, to look at the other person in the room, but her vision was blurred with tears. Her eyes stung, but when your entire being ached, one more thing was hardly noticeable.

"I thought so, but I didn't want to interrupt." Matt sat back, his hands dropping onto his knees. He hesitated. "Take as long as you need. I… I think I'm the only one who woke up. Do you… do you want me to go?"

Melinda shook her head, slowly.

He nodded. "Okay. I'll stay."

When the paralyzing grief finally eased slightly, she wasn't sure how long she'd been sitting on the floor. She straightened. Time and her mind were playing tricks on her. It was still dark, so it couldn't have been too long. Her entire body seemed to scream with pain, but she took a deep breath and ignored it.

"Are you okay?" Matt asked quietly.

"No."

"Yeah, sorry. Dumb question."

She rubbed her temples, trying to get herself under control. The room was freezing, the window still open. She took another deep breath, then another. It didn't help. "I need you to tell me everything."

"What do you mean?"

"Everything. I need you to tell me what happened up here. All of it."

"Since we hiked up here—"

Melinda frowned. She didn't want to know any of this. She needed to know all of it. "Before that. Back—back, please." She hated when her words wouldn't obey her. She knew what she wanted to say, but her mind and mouth couldn't seem to string the words together properly. "Beth. Hannah."

The boy's eyes widened. He looked like she'd hit him in the face with a hammer. "I—I'm not sure I'm the best person to—"

"You're the only person," she said sharply, cutting him off. "You were there. And now you're here. So please. Tell me what happened. I promise… I promise to listen this time. Like I should have before. What happened to all of you? What happened to my kids?"

-o-

There was a mirror in this room as well, but with both girls moving, it was clear they're separate. There was no one there to see, but it mattered to both of them all the same. They might have played the occasional mistaken identity prank, but really neither of them ever liked it when people got them confused or thought they were the same. The room was perfectly put together, albeit a bit worn and mildewed. The bright purple accent wall was faded around the edges and there were water stains creeping across the ceiling. Hannah stared blankly down at a music box, sitting closed on her dresser. Her hands hovered over it, but the other girl knew she couldn't open it.

"It sucks, doesn't it? Not being able to touch things?"

The only sign that Hannah heard her is an almost undetectable tilt of her head. It's promising enough that the girl tried again.

"Unless you're really, really angry, right? At least you're better at that than I am. You know me. Too mellow by half." It was a lie. Or at least half a lie. She might have been calmer than her twin, but it didn't mean she didn't feel. If there was a slight edge of bitterness to her voice, it wasn't malicious or directed at Hannah. It was an old wound, one that still stung slightly. Beth the robot, she'd been teased. Beth the tin girl. Heartless Beth. Monk Beth. That was what being calm and reasonable and hyper-focused, coupled with a lack of interest in boys, got you in junior high. They might not have been particularly nasty insults, but it didn't mean they didn't build up to an ache in her chest.

She stepped up next to Hannah, looking down at the box as well. She remembered the inscription well enough without seeing it. That year, Josh had gotten her a leather journal with her initials engraved on it. She wondered where it was now. Probably somewhere in their house in California. Or maybe their parents had cleaned out her room and it was gone entirely.

"You know, if you talked to me, we might be able to figure it out? Make things stop hurting so much?" Beth had no idea if that was possible, but seeing Hannah like this, silent and terrifying… it was too much. "I… I missed you, Han. It was a long year without you."

Hannah's head whipped around to look at her, eyes blazing with rage. "I was here the whole time. You're the one who left," she hissed.

With a crackle like static and a flicker of color, she disappeared again.

"Fuck!" Beth snapped to the empty room. "Fuck."

-o-

Mike tried desperately to think of something to say, some way to keep Sam awake and talking, but nothing seemed appropriate. She nuzzled her face against his chest and made a sleepy noise. Maybe sleep would be the best thing for her right now, but he couldn't shake the terrified thought that she might never wake up again. "So… um… how are your classes this semester?" Great. Smooth. Perfect.

She let out a soft snort of laughter. "Dork."

"Mine suck," he continued, not thinking. "Accounting fundamentals. Business statistics. Marketing. They're so dull I can hardly keep my eyes open."

"Are you trying to keep me awake? Because you might want to reconsider your strategy." Sam waved a lazy hand in the air. "You should put me down."

He shouldered through a door and headed down another hallway, trying to follow any features that were familiar. "Do you really think you can walk right now?" he asked pointedly, glancing down at her.

She laughed again, quietly. If there was anything that was certain to make him paranoid right now, it was her laughing. There was nothing funny about what had just happened and the Sam he knew would never laugh at it. The fact that she hadn't even mentioned Beth again was enough to make his eye twitch. Beth's fucking ghost. Hannah was bad enough, but Beth too? What the fuck was going on up here?

Suddenly Sam jerked in his arms, her head coming up sharply. "Josh?"

Mike's arms tensed automatically. He tried to keep his voice calm. "He's fine. I don't know where he is, but we'll find him, okay? We need to get you better first though. You need to rest."

"I'm trying, but you won't let me." She sounded like a petulant child.

He took the tiny steps two at a time, descending into warm, steamy, Sulphur-scented air. It was just as Jess had described it: a few pools of hot water. It immediately made him feel slightly better. "I'm going to put you down now, okay? Slowly. See if you can stand." Carefully he lowered her, letting her feet drop to the ground.

Sam pushed away from him eagerly, then immediately staggered. He caught her, letting her steady herself on him. Was it his imagination or was she really shaking? He studied her face, noting the clenched jaw, the determined way she was glaring down at her feet, as if they'd betrayed her. "I'm okay."

"Just let me help you."

"I'm fine."

He let go of her, backing up a pace. Swaying slightly, she stood with her legs braced apart, looking for all the world like someone who'd just gotten off a roller coaster and was feeling a bit queasy. Finally she looked up, scanning the room. "Now what?"

"I—" Mike closed his eyes for a moment, reveling in his own shortsightedness. He hadn't really thought about what they'd do once they were here. Fuck. Why couldn't he ever think things through? The prank, the trip up here, looking for Hannah, and now this? Why did his brain just skip the later bits in his planning? "I don't know. I thought… warmth might be good?" he said lamely. "And you said you wanted to wash up, right? Before we were interrupted before?" Heat flooded his cheeks as he remembered what had been interrupted. As if he needed another reminder of things he'd fucked up. Awesome.

Sam smiled. "Warmth is definitely good. Do you think we're safe here?"

He shrugged. "As safe as anywhere else."

"You going to wash up too?"

"Nah. I showered before. One of us should keep watch, right? I'll sit over…" He cast around for a good spot and pointed to a low rock. "I'll sit there. Take as long as you need."

She didn't take very long. He wasn't sure if it's because she was having trouble staying awake and upright or because she couldn't relax in such an exposed space. Personally, he hoped it was the latter reason. Sam was too sensible, he knew, to ever be comfortable in a situation like this—unless there was something very wrong. He kept his eyes averted as she dressed. The warmth of the air seeped into him and for the first time in what felt like days, his shoulders un-knotted slightly. They were all alive. They were all surviving.

Sam's soft touch on his arm made him jump and she smiled. "Little on edge, huh?" She looked tired but more alert than she had before they came down here. He'd take it.

"I was actually just thinking about how well we're doing so far."

Her eyebrows raised. "Well?"

"None of us are dead so far. I'd call it a win."

"That's a low bar. A fair one, though. Now what?"

A loud bang echoed through the room and they both jolted, Mike springing to his feet. He couldn't place where the sound had come from exactly. Deeper in the mine? Or up the stairs? Sam met his worried look with one of her own and shrugged helplessly.

Another bang, followed by a drawn out scraping sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand. "We—we should go."

"I am very glad that didn't happen a few minutes ago," Sam muttered, looking around. "One instance of running through the dark naked is more than enough for me, despite what Bob might think. Safe room?"

"What if it's up the stairs?"

She shook her head. "I think it's coming from the mine. I mean, what other choice do we really have? Do you know how to get there?"

"Well enough. Do you need me to—"

"Do not carry me."

The level of adamant irritation in her voice made him want to hug her. That was the Sam he knew. He raised an arm. "At least use me for support. We can go faster if you do."

Looking for all the world like she wanted to stick her tongue out at him, she took his arm. They made their way up the steps as quickly as they could. Every slight noise in the dark made him twitch. On the way down, he'd been so preoccupied with Sam that he hadn't really registered how fucking creepy the old hotel was. Antique and now decrepit furniture moldered along the walls. Here and there he saw statues and vases on decorative plinths that held what may have once been flowers. It was like walking through history or a movie set. Where was Josh's plan for him? He was sure he and Matt couldn't be the only ones Josh decided to skip.

They managed to reach the safe room without incident, although just thinking that seemed like it would be enough to jinx them. He locked the door quickly, taking great satisfaction in the feel of the bolts sliding into place. The room was plunged into darkness, then almost immediately lit with the pale, greenish glow of the monitors as Sam turned them on. She studied each one, frowning slightly, then let her head drop, her shoulders relaxing.

"Safe?"

"Safer, at least," she said quietly, still leaning heavily on the table. "I—I'm not sure that being in here would keep out…"

"Hannah?" Sam took a step back from the table and dropped to the ground, dragging out one of the spare blankets they'd left behind. She tried to spread it across the floor and Mike crouched to help her, pulling it flat. She wouldn't meet his eyes. He hated it, hated himself for coming back up here and making him follow her. It had been stupid to think that she wouldn't have come after him. "Look, Sam—"

"Don't."

"No, I have to. I'm… I'm sorry. I just thought—Jess told me some stuff about what she saw. She told me how lonely Hannah seemed and how angry she'd been. I guess I thought… I mean, if anyone should pay a price to help Hannah… It should be me." He wanted to take a pill. He wanted to take several. But they were running dangerously low and he tried to fight back the urge. It nagged at him, a little pinch at the back of his mind. Finally he dragged his eyes back to her, braced for the worst.

She was staring at him. "God, you are such a fucking idiot." She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if unsure what to say. Then she leaned across the blanket and cuffed him hard on the upper arm. "Seriously. Every time I think 'man, Mike must finally get it' you go and prove me totally and completely wrong."

"What are you talking about?"

"You. You are ridiculous. You're so wrapped up in your stupid martyrdom that you can't even listen to me!" She sat back on her heels and glared at him. "Let me make this simpler, okay? If you get yourself killed, I will never forgive you. 'It should be me,'" she repeated his earlier words with a scowl. "Mike, if you leave me alone on this fucking mountain, I will find another Ouija board and never let your goddamn ghost have a moment of peace, I swear." Unable to restrain herself, she lunged at him and smacked his shoulder again.

He grabbed her hand instinctively. "Ow! Okay, okay. I get it."

"Do you? Do you really?" Her fierce expression softened and her eyes scanned his face. "Because I mean it, Mike. I really do. I don't know—please don't leave me alone up here. Don't do something stupid that you can't take back. Don't do something that I can't fix. Not another thing I can't fix."

"Sam…" His free hand came up to smooth a strand of still-damp hair back from her face. This close, she smelled like the minerals of the hot springs: an earthy scent that seemed to suit her. He wondered if he was going a little bit mad up here. Maybe it was the mountain. Maybe it made them all a touch crazy. Mike sighed and closed his eyes. "We should eat. Or try to get some sleep or something."

Soft lips brushed against his for the space of a heartbeat. His eyes flew open and he looked down at Sam, bewildered. She smiled sadly. "I'm not hungry. I guess we can try to sleep until daylight. I don't… I don't want to hike back down right now."

He thought off the banging sound, of the way the creature had moved on camera, Hannah's vicious smile. He shuddered and forced a cheeky grin that he was certain Sam saw through instantly. "Yep. It's too chilly out to hike at night right now."

They arranged themselves side-by-side on the thin blanket. The cold of the cement floor seeped up into him quickly, robbing him of any remaining vestige of warmth from the steam in the hot spring. Beside him, he saw Sam shiver and gave in. He rolled to his side and lifted an arm. "Come here. It's cold."

She shifted up against him and he draped his arm carefully across her. With a soft huff of laughter, Sam slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

-o-

Hannah was staring into the shell of a fireplace. This one was not mere painted wood, but was huge and beautiful, artfully crafted from stone. Or at least, it used to be beautiful, before the explosion. Now it was blackened and shattered, part of it blown entirely away. She remembered that, at least in part. She looked towards the remaining parts of the staircase. Sam had stood just there, near that pillar. Or Hannah thought she had. Her memory came in fits and starts. She hated it.

She was alone. Finally. How curious it was, to hear human voices again. To hear her sister's voice, her friends. Where had they gone? She would have to go find Mike and Sam. They were still here somewhere. She could feel it.

"Tag," said her twin, voice soft. "You're it."

Turning slowly, she found Beth watching her, expressionless. Yet for all the lack of emotion in her face, her voice was heavy with sadness. "No."

"Then… maybe you could not run away? I finally—we're finally here. Together. Han, please." Beth's voice was near to begging.

It was hard to focus, hard to think. She should go find Mike. This time, she would make him see. And Sam. Sam. "Sam," she whispered, then focused on Beth again. "This is where they killed me, Beth. This is where I died. I died in fire. You died in ice. Like that poem from Mrs. Arnold's class."

"That's about the end of the world."

"The end of our world. That's close enough for me." Hannah jerked back as Beth lifted a hand. She didn't want to feel her twin not touch her. And she wouldn't be able to; Hannah knew it. She wanted heat. She wanted life. She remembered the sweet warmth of Jessica's hand, her mind—the moment of pure life she felt when she had lunged impulsively through Sam to get to Mike. "I'm cold, Beth."

"I know. Me too."

Hannah stiffened. Naturally Beth would be cold. After all, Hannah had stolen her sweater. She couldn't look at her twin, couldn't take the sight of her impassive face, couldn't bear her sympathetic voice. Anywhere but here. She left.

-o-

The first thing Sam was aware of upon waking was heat. There was a rush of stimuli: strong arms around her, a hand on her stomach, another hand on her thigh, his nose buried in her hair. Some time while they had slept, she had pressed herself back against Mike, letting him curl around her protectively. Despite the hard concrete floor beneath them and the ever-present danger, her sleepy self relaxed into his arms.

She tried to make herself get up, but he was warm against her and before she could think about it, she shifted back against him, trying to wiggle herself deeper into the heat and safety her body and mind desperately wanted. His arms tightened around her. His face nuzzled against her head, nose brushing against her ear. A pang of longing echoed through her and she shuddered, shifting back again.

Mike's breathing hitched as he woke, changing from deep and rhythmic to something unsteady. She heard him suck in a breath. "Sam…?" His voice was only audible due to his mouth hovering near her ear and the puff of his breath sent a shiver through her.

She was tired. She was so tired. She was tired of thinking, of fretting, of being paranoid and on guard every single second. She just wanted to forget for one moment, to relax into something that felt simple and good. Tension had ruled her life for every single moment since… well, since Hannah and Beth had vanished, if she was honest. Was it so terrible to want to let that go for a while? Was she such an awful person if she wanted to find comfort in the arms of someone she could rely on? This moment felt unreal, like something out of a dream.

"Sam?" His voice was unsteady. "Are you awake?"

Sam turned her head to look at him, biting her lip. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His reaction to her small movements was clear as she pressed against him. He propped himself up slightly, looking down at her with an expression she found hard to decipher. She tried to calm down and focus. "Should I—should I stop?"

The hand on her thigh slid upwards, trailing along her side and ghosting along her ribcage. She realized his hand was shaking. "I should say yes," he said finally. "But I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Why I should ask you to stop? Or why I don't want to? "

She rolled her hips again and he groaned, his eyes closing. "So that's a 'no' to stopping then, huh?" She wanted to be cool, to be mischievous and playful, but his fingers tightened on her hip, pulling her hard against him, and all the air seemed to leave her in a rush.

His eyes opened again: fierce and dark with something she was hesitant to name. "Don't tease me." He leaned down, his stubble brushing lightly against her cheek. "Don't tease me, Sam. Please. I need to know…"

The feather-light brush of his lips against her ear set her skin on fire. She was so caught on the way he said her name that it took a moment for her to register the last thing he said. "Know what?"

"Is this real?"

"What is real?" His teeth grazed along the shell of her ear and she moaned. "Mike, please."

She felt his lips curve in a smile. "Please what?"

Oh, that was bullshit. "You can't tease me, either." Sam rolled over to face him, her fingers tracing the angles of his face, the line of his throat. He swallowed and she tracked the movement with her eyes. The collar of his shirt was pulled open and instinctively she leaned in, dropping a light kiss on the exposed edge of his collarbone. His grip tightened again, tugging her flush against him. If there had been any doubt in her mind about his enthusiasm, it was laid to rest. She could feel him, hot and hard and ready. Another wave of need surged through her and she looked up at him, eyes wide. "Fuck," she whispered. "Oh fuck."

He stared at her for a moment, then something seemed to break inside him and he kissed her.

Yes. She wasn't sure if she said it or just thought it. Mike held her possessively, grasping her by the arms like he was worried she would be torn away from him. It felt like she couldn't get close enough. She nipped at his lip, catching it in her teeth. With a soft growl, his hands slid up and under her shirt, sliding along her back. His hands were calloused and rough. She'd never thought of her back as being particularly sensitive, but now she imagined she could feel every ridge and whorl of his fingertips.

Countering, she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, tugging it off his shoulders. It was hard to get the right amount of motion and leverage from her position, so she pushed him back and climbed on top of him. She shoved his t-shirt up, enjoying the view. She couldn't suppress a slight smirk as he twitched under her hands, his breathing labored. "Fuck, Sam," he panted. "You're kind of mean, you know tha—"

Sam bent down and cut him off. She'd caught him mid-word and took full advantage of it, kissing him deeply, sighing into it. His hands were busy, tugging her own shirt up. They broke apart just long enough for him to pull it over her head and fling it to the side before she seized him again. Her body was moving with a rhythm all its own, pulsing and surging against him, savoring the delicious friction that radiated out from all the points where they touched. Fuck. She wanted this, wanted him. It wasn't just sex, just gratification—though it had been long enough to make her want to scream—it was Mike. Sweet, stupid, vulnerable, heroic Mike. Mike, with his idiotic, ill-thought-out plans and noble intentions. Mike, with his dumb expressions and goofy smile and inability to ever, ever shut the fuck up when he should.

She jerked back, gasping, as his hand slipped into her pants. His thumb brushed against the sensitive bundle of nerves and her hips bucked. Sam glared at him in mock indignation. "How dare you."

From his prone position, he shrugged awkwardly and grinned. "You were being mean."

"So you decided to be mean back?"

"Fair's fair, right?" His fingers slid against her and her eyes widened. His eyes darkened further and his smile turned wicked, satisfied. "You have no idea how long…"

She yanked off her sports bra, tossing it after the shirt, then bent to kiss him again. Her nipples grazed against his bare chest and she shuddered. "No more teasing," she murmured against his lips. "Please, Mike."

It was enough for him. He rolled them, pinning her underneath him. Heat radiated from him, fighting the chill she felt from the floor under the blanket. Fire and ice. She wrapped her legs around his waist, rolling her hips, begging him without words for something more. She was ready, eager. God, she wanted.

Two fingers slid inside her and she moaned, a broken, desperate sound to her own ears. It was incredible, but not enough. It wasn't what she needed. "More. Please."

"Say my name again."

She was about to snap, to scold him for teasing her, but when she looked up at him, she only saw honesty and a sweet, fragile hesitation. Her back arched, electricity flooding through her system. Even with so little, she was so close, but it wasn't right yet. It wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't… "Mike? Mike, please. I want you. Now."

Every moment of delay was like torture. She whimpered as he pulled his hand back, but then he was tugging her pants down. Then his were off too and it was just them. This was insane. The rational part of her knew it, but as far as the rest of her was concerned, that rational part could go to hell.

And then he was pressing into her. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip, but he stopped. "Look at me. Look at me, Sam." Her eyes fluttered open again and she was transfixed by his. They bore into her, even as he slid into her inch by inch. Fuck. It had been so long. He let out a slow, shaky breath. Sam tried to do the same, but it just came out as a long, quivering moan and her eyes fell closed again. She felt his cock twitch, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. "Fuck, Sam. Oh fuck. Are you—is it okay?"

"Yes," she breathed, forcing herself to look up at him. The concern on his face almost made her laugh, but she reached up to cup his cheek, thumb smoothing along the skin. "Oh god yes."

Then suddenly, she needed more again. She wrapped her legs around his waist once more, canting her hips up and urging him wordlessly on. With a sigh that sounded like relief, he seemed to give in. His hand slid between them again as he thrust into her, his fingers moving urgently. That same electricity returned, sending shockwaves along her skin and making her twitch and squirm. He let out another strangled groan as her fingers dug into his back, urging him on, deeper, harder. Dimly she was aware she was talking, moaning his name, begging for more.

The pace changed, taking on a new urgency. "Fuck, Sam," he mumbled against her neck. His hand moved more quickly as his rhythm broke down. His free hand gripped her hip, fingers digging into her with enough to bruise. She didn't care. She clung to him, reveling in Mike's short, hard thrusts and the quickly building storm inside her. It was on her before she had time to realize, sending her muscles into spasms. Her thighs clenched around his hips and her back arched. Sam wasn't a screamer; a long, broken moan dragged itself from her throat.

The sound was enough to drive Mike over the edge. He hissed, biting down hard on her shoulder as he strained against her. She could feel him shift and pulse inside her and it sent another stab of fresh pleasure through her tired body as the lingering throb of her own orgasm slowly began to ease.

For a long moment, neither of them moved or spoke. The weight of him should have made her uncomfortable, but it felt welcoming and warm. Slowly Sam slid a hand up to stroke his hair, damp with sweat. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling. "Are you okay?"

He nodded against her. His stubble brushed against her shoulder and she cringed slightly at the abrasive touch. Mike lifted his head and looked down at the angry red mark left by his bite. "Sorry," he said softly, touching it with his fingertips.

"What are you sorry for?"

"Everything." He rolled off her to the side.

Sam flicked his nose. "I thought you agreed to stop that."

"Do you regret this?"

Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. The heat of a few moments ago was fading away. "I'm cold," she mumbled.

She let out a little gasp as he tugged her over to him. His arms closed around her again, warm and secure. "That's not an answer."

"I thought you were supposed to be the super-confident king of campus," she said, craning her head to look up at him. "Are you really worried? You just got laid, bro."

"Don't do that," he said, cringing and closing his eyes. "Don't."

Sam propped herself up on one elbow and poked him in the chest. "I thought—isn't that what you want? Comfort and fun and that's it?" That would be easiest, she told herself. A one-time thing and they could forget about it. Go back to being friends with the tension eased. She wouldn't have to explain it to anyone. She thought of watching him date someone else and her stomach clenched painfully.

"Is that all you wanted?" His voice was soft. "It's not… I'm not…"

She rested her fingers on his lips, silencing him. "Mike. I don't regret this. I'm incredibly grateful this happened. I care about you a lot. I always have. This doesn't have to change anything if you don't want it to. But maybe we should just wait and figure it out later? We don't have to have all the answers now."

His palm cupped her cheek and he kissed her carefully. "You're an incredible person, Sam."

"Nope," she said with a smile, resting her forehead against his. "You're just biased."

"That I am, Miss Giddings. That I am. But I still stand by my assessment." Mike tugged their clothes over them half-hardy and tossed the edges of the blanket across them to make an odd kind of cocoon. He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping himself around her. "Get some sleep, Sam. We'll talk again in the morning."

She knew she should fight it, should get dressed and eat and plan, but his warm skin and steady breath lulled her to sleep before she could pursue the thought process any further.

-o-

Moonlight filtered down into the cavern, reflecting off the snow and turning the world into something unreal. If Beth had really been barefoot, she would have been freezing. She wasn't, obviously, but that still didn't help her fight off the strange phantom of cold she felt. It was always like that: the cold a more constant companion than her own twin. If she'd been religious, she thought, she surely would have lost her faith being stuck here.

Why was she here? Not in the cavern, but on the mountain. Why did she still exist at all? With so many people here and so much suddenly happening, it was easier to focus than it had been before.

She remembered watching Josh and Ashley and Chris playing with that stupid spirit board. She'd had a strange sense of what would happen. Not details, of course, but she knew that something very bad was coming. It had something to do with Josh's secret projects, she knew, and with Hannah. Hannah was strange in those days. She only spoke with others' voices. Now she could put a name to it. She could call that Hannah a wendigo and recognize her for what she was, but at the time she'd only seen her perfectly imperfect twin sister, losing her way and growing lonelier and hungrier by the day. Beth had tried to warn Josh, to stop him from whatever it was he intended to do, but he either hadn't seen her or had just dismissed her.

Now she stepped across the rocks and ice, moving with unerring certainty towards the one spot that called her more than any other. The ramshackle wooden cross was splintered and broken. It was too cold for it to rot, but it wasn't going to last. Her final resting place would be forgotten soon, vanishing like so many others in these mines. She was surprised the place wasn't crawling with ghosts and spirits.

And there, in the shadows, was Hannah.

Beth had known she would be here. It had made sense—perfect, mythology-esque timing—but she wondered if there was something more. Did Hannah want to be found?

"I'm tired of chasing you, Han."

Her twin didn't respond. Silence was worse than any hateful thing she could possibly say. Hannah had always tried to levy the silent treatment as punishment, knowing Beth hated it, but had never been able to keep it up long enough to make it a real threat. Now, though, it seemed that she'd been given new reserves of silence.

"Please, Hannah. Just talk to me. I can't… I can't keep doing this." It was true, too. Beth could feel her strength fading. She needed something, some boost to get her going again. It was the only thing she'd found that would let her take action: strong, overpowering emotion. If Hannah would even just yell at her. They could fight. That could be enough.

Hannah didn't look at her. She didn't look at anything, really, just gazed blankly into the middle distance. "I buried you here. Then I dug you up to take your sweater and reburied you. Then I dug you up again."

It was nauseating to consider, if Beth could still feel nauseous. The memory of nausea was there, at least, reminding her of what she should be feeling. "You did what you had to."

"I did what a monster does. So I became a monster." She smiled, a sickly-sweet smile that didn't touch her face, as if a puppeteer had simply pulled her cheeks back towards her ears. "I would have killed them all, you know."

"I know."

"Even Sam. Even Josh."

Beth raised a hand to stop her. "Not Josh. You didn't kill Josh."

"Oh, but I did. I just took longer to go about it." Hannah's rictus smile caught the moonlight as she wandered towards the bottom of the cliff. "I made sure I wouldn't be alone. But we were both going to die. One way or another. I killed Josh more surely than if I'd snapped his neck.

"That's your problem, Beth. You keep acting like I'm the same as I always was. I'm not. Neither are you. Neither is Josh. So why fight it?" Her head tipped up and she gazed at the barely visible sky above them. "Just let us be the monsters we are. Maybe it's time for you to finally give up on us."

When she left, Beth didn't follow.

-o-

The sun was near to coming up again, but Josh kept running. Despite coming up here year after year with his family, he wasn't sure he'd ever been this far out in the forest. He wanted to get lost, to forget where he was, to be unable to make it back, but when he paused, his senses told him clearly exactly where he'd come from.

He looked to the Northeast and knew, deep in his bones, that if he ran that way, he'd find the lodge.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath, hearing the way the word slurred around his teeth. He didn't want to know that. He didn't want to be able to find them again.

Why had he thought that would be a good idea? He'd been relatively calm before, but with the daylight had come doubt. The thought of his family being here had gnawed at him until he just had to know. Was he right? Was it his mother? Was she okay? Was she staying? Leaving? Taking everyone with her?

Tracking them had been almost laughably easy. They didn't move very fast. Through the trees, he'd watched his mother limping along, surrounded by his friends. Every time she stumbled, Mike would start forward as if he wanted to catch her, but she always recovered. That was Mom, all right. She always recovered. She'd recovered from Hannah and Beth vanishing, after all. He was certain she'd recovered from him disappearing in record time. The Washingtons were hardy folk. They didn't let little things like 'human emotions' get them down.

He had wondered what the other monster was doing. Was it sleeping? Or in that kind of near-rest state that he felt calling to him?

At some point, the wolf had vanished into the trees, heading away from where Josh was watching them. They came upon a little building he'd never seen before and Sam had slipped easily through an unlatched back window to unlock the front door. Had she done that before? She'd become much better at breaking and entering than he remembered her being. As the sun had slowly gone down, he'd watched as they blocked off all the windows.

His blood had begun to sing again, telling him to hunt, to find food. After all, a little voice in the back of his head murmured, there was a veritable bounty of sweet, fresh meat inside the little cabin. They would be easy prey.

Josh had swallowed that thought and gone hunting again. Rabbits, this time. Fast little fuckers but more satisfying to bring down.

And yet the relative peace of the previous night eluded him. The moon was out, huge and bright between clouds, and the world was transformed around him. The little cabin was dark, though he wasn't sure if that was because of the windows being covered or because they were truly lights-out. He wanted to talk to Mom. He wanted to scream at her, to make her cry, to make her see that he was alive and needed help. He wanted… he wanted to rest his head on her knee and let her stroke his hair, like she used to when he was sick. He wanted to hear her call him 'kiddo' and say 'I love you.'

But the best laid plans of mice and men, as they always said. Whoever 'they' were.

He turned to look in the general direction of the little house, guided by that unerring sense of direction that he just couldn't shake. If he went back now—no. He couldn't go back. He hoped she would listen to him and leave, taking everyone with her. He hoped she would stay and fight. He hoped that she would leave but Sam would mutiny and come back to him. He hoped the other wendigo thing would tear him limb from limb and let him finally rest. He hoped… He hoped.