Notes: So. In this chapter we meet Drunk Sam.
Drunk Sam is even more of an idiot than usual.
She'll be sticking around for another two chapters. :3

The conclusion Sam had come to, after a couple days of ruminating on it, was that there was definitely something wrong with her.

This, of course, was nothing new. But wow, it really had to be him of all people? Them, if she counted Susie. Pretty damn fucked if those were the only people who had the OK for contact. He'd fucking killed her friend. Multiple friends. One of them, killed right in front of her in some petty revenge because the asshole was jealous that she spent time with someone else.

I'm not your fucking girlfriend.

That's what Sam should've told him. Should've screamed it in his stupid attractive face.

And even if I were, you'd still have no right to be a dick to my friends.

She should've said something like that. She hadn't. Instead she'd gotten far too distracted by his stupid hands, and his stupid knife, and her stupid stupid body.

Knives? It had to be knives? Sam knew she had a minor kink for liking things rough once she let herself be touched (which was rare; there was a reason most of her physical encounters were dating app hookups: she got it all out at once and cut it off before she could get clingy). But knives? Big yikes.

And yet for some fucking reason. Some inexplicable reason. The restraint, the delicate touch that threatened without harming, it just did something for her. That damned heartbeat, too. The moment in the clearing with Jake only served to exemplify the issue: how easy it was to mistake fear for excitement. Arousal in one way or another.

Fucking Christ.

Maybe she needed to just make other connections, already. Finally really try to build bonds beyond Jake and Zarina (and to a lesser degree, Kate). Or maybe she should try to share real affection with someone. With someone capable of returning it. Who wasn't a psychopath.

Rejection, however, loomed large in her mind.

Don't forget; you're here forever.

Oh joy of joys.

Jake had been giving her the silent treatment for a couple days now, though she hadn't been sacrificed again (yet), so it was unclear if that would hold on through her recovery needs or not. …She really hoped he'd be talking to her again, by then. Or at least willing to accompany her places. She needed someone to kick her ass out of bed long enough to move. Jake was always good at that.

Would rejection be better or worse in a situation like this? On the one hand…

No, it all had the potential to be very very bad. What if a grudge didn't age, either? Fresh forever? Or if she pissed people off enough that they'd sabotage her in trials? Let her get hooked just to get her out of the way?

Alternatively: what if they can't stay mad at you, because they need you?

Oh, a helpful thought, that was rare.

You're all out there fighting together, can't hold a grudge.

Except yeah, they could.

Ugh. She was so fucking indecisive and anxious and… Sam sighed. She knew getting in her head was almost always a bad idea. It was not a happy place.

There was whooping from the Fire. Unusually exuberant, given most trials returned either grimly satisfied or some degree of disappointed. She had no choice but to go investigate.

"That was one hell of a way to make a hundred, man, nicely done!"

By the time she made it into the light, jacket slipped on over her flannel, the group of celebrating survivors was already migrating towards the mess hall.

"What's going on?" Sam directed her question to Min, who was loitering before following the rest.

"Steve made his hundredth escape. All four of us made it out of Glenvale, with a toolbox, two medkits, and some whiskey we stole out of the saloon."

Well shit, yeah, that was a hell of a feat. Sam didn't even attempt to hide how impressed she was.

Min was looking triumphant. "We're gonna celebrate and crack that bottle open. Maybe even try a batch of the cider that's been going for who knows how long. Probably shit, but we can give it a taste and see." After an expectant pause, she added, "Are you coming?"

"Oh." That was certainly one way to get out of her head for a bit. "Um. Yeah, thanks."

It had been a while since she'd been drinking, actually. She wasn't supposed to drink while on medication, and had a serious aversion to vomiting (the Plague had been the absolute worst experience here so far, and Sam tried to block that trial out of her memory). Not to say she hadn't had a few drinks in the past, despite technically not being allowed to drink. That's what crossing the border was for. And older students. And parents. She just didn't make a habit of it.

But hell, something to help her loosen up? To get her to stop this fixation on killers? Maybe to help her move forward with something else? …Alright. She was down.

Turned out, they had a lot more alcohol than Sam had expected.

It wasn't the first time someone had stolen a bottle from the ever-replenished trial grounds, not to mention the various camp projects attempting to make their own. They had a few different hard liquors in old bottles, some potent moonshine, and some mediocre homebrews. The cider needed to be cut with fresh juice to make it palatable, and even then it was just barely.

But it was nice to have a kind of celebratory night. Steve and Min's trial had been the second to last of the night, and the four that were in the last trial joined them as soon as they were back, as well.

Sam had never seen the cabin so full, but there was enough space as long as some people didn't mind standing or (as Kate was doing) sitting on the tables themselves.

Sam had had… a bit. Maybe more than a bit. Someone had mixed up some trial-sourced brandy with some fruit from the orchard and an extra shot of moonshine, and it was apparently her new favorite thing because she was hoarding one of the jars, drinking straight from it. (Most of them were drinking straight from the bottles or jars that they had, just passing them around, with the exception of any camp-made preparations that had bits that needed filtering.)

Sam was also… a little attached. To Kate. Drinking generally made Sam a lot more open to touching, a lot less wary, but here it was amplified. Maybe because they didn't need to eat? Something something metabolism something alcohol something… No clue. But she was open to touching, and less cautious, and she really did like Kate.

Kate is also very most definitely not a killer. She is a good person who doesn't kill people. That's a good person trait. Not killing people.

If there was someone who was the antithesis of whatever Frank was, it was Kate. And she was pretty. He was pretty too, in a different kind of way, but she was, like… soft. And sweet. And kind. And like… a li'l sassy sometimes. Just a bit. A li'l bit o' sass.

And at the moment she was running her hands through Sam's hair, making use of Sam's newly Entity-gifted hair ties, and Sam was way too happy about that.

"You have really soft hair," Kate complimented, requesting a tie and sectioning one half away from the other before starting to braid.

"You have really soft skin." Wait, that was. "I mean hands. I'm not gonna… I'm not like Leatherface." Another sip.

Kate laughed. It was light and melodic and adorable, and it was good that Sam was already blushing from the alcohol, cause that would've triggered it as well. "You're sweet."

"You're sweet. And cute. You're like…" She should stop talking. Take another sip, just stop talking maybe.

"Aw, thanks, hon." The braid got undone, pulled up into a little bun instead.

"Ooh, early noughties teen idol hair, awesome."

Kate laughed again. "I can do that, sure." Sam handed her another of the precious hair elastics.

She was left grinning into her jar of brandy, enjoying the brush of Kate's hands through her hair, and the occasional pressure as her shins hit Sam's back from where she was sitting up on the table. It was all very warm in a very nice way.

By the time Kate tapped her on the shoulder to tell her she was all done, Sam was feeling delightfully tipsy. Or past tipsy. Whatever her level of intoxication: she felt good. Content. And confident.

She set down the mostly-empty jar to squeeze at the twin buns she now had perched on her head (like a true girl of the 21st century), then stood and turned back to Kate. She could totally do this. She could definitely do this, she should be finding someone at camp to be the one she'd touch, and it could totally be Kate.

"You're…" Sam's hands hovered awkwardly over Kate's knees before patting them, awkwardly. "You are a… um…" What was she going to say?

Another charming laugh. Dammit, the girl was just a ray of fucking sunshine.

"I really like you." It came out in a bit of a rush, and again Sam was glad for the alcohol, cause her face felt warm and tingly from the blush.

"Aw, I like you too, Sam. That's so nice of—"

"No, like—" She looked down at her hands, alternating patting one knee and then the other. "I, like… like you. Like… like like." She may not have been the most well-spoken at the moment.

"…Oh. Um…"

Sam's stomach started to sink. She quickly put on a casual air. "No, it's cool! It's… pshh, it's so cool. No pressure or… I just think you're cool, that's all." Backtracking, backtracking…

"Um…"

"Kate!"

Saved by the Bill. (Nah, it was Steve, but wouldn't that have been a good pun? That would have been an excellent pun, she was so good at this.)

"Aaand I'm gonna go now," Sam gave one last awkward pat to Kate's knees. "You just… keep bein' you." She shot an awkward pair of finger guns at an apologetic Kate as Steve brought over the treasured guitar.

Another drink. She could maybe just use another drink. Check the storeroom, grab another jar of whatever the hell she'd been having, that too-sweet grade-A good shit.

Once in the room her fingers wiggled over jar after jar, checking their labels. They weren't given dates, just batch numbers, and the general consensus was 'old ones first' so she went for something towards the bottom.

As she was unscrewing the lid, she heard Kate launch into some Springsteen in the main hall.

Not that there was anything wrong with Springsteen! But… well, Sam might prefer to sit out the 80's sing-along after awkwardly half-confessing feelings to the one who'd be playing them all night.

It's done, though. On the table. Now we move past it.

Her head was a lot more optimistic when she was drinking. At least at the beginning of the drinking. So far, it seemed to be doing great.

Avoiding the main hall at the moment, Sam kept poking around the room again. She always took particular interest in the miscellaneous items that ended up in the clearing. Some of them were useful - bits of rope or chain or oil, things like that - and others were just mysterious. A ring. An amulet. A chess piece.

…Or like the tapes.

Sam watched the door over the lip of the jar as she took a sip and backed up toward the filing cabinet. There had been a whole box of tapes in there. She was almost done with all of the Lost Tapes she'd been given, she'd learned nearly all she had to learn from them, just a few tapes left. But what about these?

The drawer had been left half-open, so no one had come to check since the last time she was in here.

No one would notice. …Right? This was fine. This was just… curiosity. If the Lost Tapes could teach them skills, maybe these could, too. Or give some insight to other things about this world.

And she just really really wanted to listen to them.

Sam reached in at an angle to avoid jarring metal against metal, plucking up a few of the tapes. (What, picking Frank's tape? Totally by chance. Just happened to be on top. Not intentional at all.) One by one she slipped three tapes in total into her oversized jacket pockets, continually shooting glances to the door.

At the last moment, she carefully (or… well, the attempt was careful, she may have knocked against the drawer a bit) pulled the second tape deck out as well. She'd just take her tapes and her player and her booze and go have a little listening party in the woods while everyone else was with Kate.

Fingers fumbling the lid back on, she put the jar in her other pocket, and tucked the player inside her jacket, ready to Not Be Suspicious out the back door of the cabin.

On her way out the door of the storeroom she bumped into someone.

"Sam?"

"Jeff!" She stepped back, wobbling a little, face pink. "I uhhhh. I'm um." She averted her eyes and dropped her voice. "I'm stealing more drinks I'm sorry I'll bring them back. I mean I'll bring…" Her head cocked briefly, working out semantics. "I'll bring back jars. Jar. Singular. I'm not… I'm not going to… I'm not bringing back the booze part…"

"No, I got it." He finally interrupted, but by then she seemed to have both feet firmly in her mouth, like some pervert with a fetish. "You alright?"

"I…" Sam reached out a hand, watching as she hovered without touching his chest, before patting him just once. "I'm drunk. I think. Or will be. I'm probably going to sleep in the woods. I will be back before trials. I might catch a bird. Or a rabbit. Or a something that woodses." Another awkward pat. "…We can't get alcohol poisoneding, right? Do we know that? You've been here long enough to know that."

Jeff held up a hand for her to wait, then disappeared, reappearing with a canteen. "We can't die of it, but you should still hydrate."

Sam nodded. "This is sense. Yep. Got it. Thank you." She took the water. She assumed it was water. It was probably water, cause Jeff didn't seem the type to hydrate with something other than water.

"Have fun, stay safe, sleep well."

"I like you, you're cool."

Sweeter parting words were never spoken.

Notes: So, what do you think of Drunk Sam? What do you think of the PAINFUL cringe that is the universal awkward bi experience? Drop a review, friends.