Notes: This is a long one. More Drunk Sam. xD

Sam went to the orchard. The orchard was her favorite place, it was the place she liked to be, and it offered a little seclusion for her snooping.

She was… She really was quite drunk, wasn't she? How much had she had to drink? She'd started with the whiskey, with everyone else, so a couple swigs of that. And then tried the gin someone found (gross). Then the cider (slightly less gross, but still gross). And then— ohhh, right. A big ol' shot of moonshine with half a jar of moonshine-spiked brandy to wash it down. That might've been what did it. And alcohol definitely hit different here, but she couldn't tell if it was more or less than the real world. Didn't have enough to compare it to.

Her head felt sort of tight and floaty and just a tiny bit spinny.

She pulled the tape deck from under her jacket and settled herself on the ground, picking out one of the tapes from her pocket. Julie. Another Legion member. Did all of them have tapes?

Sam stuck it in the player, rewinding it and pressing play, starting with the volume all the way down and gradually turning it up. Music. Not what she'd expected, actually. She'd thought it would be like the Lost Tapes, some kind of interview or something. But okay. She was definitely happy to listen to music. And it was Joy Division, so, not a bad way to start. Might put her to sleep a bit. But good music.

She sipped at the water canteen, then the brandy, then the water again, and started picking at the hair ties Kate had put in, loosening them absently. If she did fall asleep here with these tapes, that would maybe not be good. Instead, she stood, starting to pace, holding the cassette player by her head.

Pressing fast forward, she skipped ahead a bit to see what other tracks were on the tape. Oh shit, nice. Something in the Way. She had a fuckin' portrait of Cobain tattooed on her leg; she definitely appreciated that one. But again: she was already inclined to lie down and nap. She really wanted to listen to it, though. It was nice to hear real music again, for sure. Full instrumentation that wasn't just Kate's guitar. Music music.

But for real, Kurt was gonna make her pass out. Maybe try a different tape.

Sam crouched over the other two tapes, taking another swig of the brandy and picking the rest of her hair out of its styling. She alternated between the two cassettes, tapping her toe gently. Project Awakening or Frank.

…Oh come on, was there really any question, there?

She still pulled a face. The requisite argument with a person who was not there. But she was seriously curious what would be on his tape. More music? An interview?

Music. Definitely music. An intro to some song, probably. It started out just a repetitive beat. What the hell. Then words, and she had to turn down the volume, holding it to her ear. She couldn't tell the language being shouted over the brief beats of guitar. French? Italian? Once the actual song started in earnest, the riff sounded vaguely familiar, even if the lyrics, now in English, didn't. Who was this?

She pulled it away from her ear at the blast of guitar and drums, but at least it wasn't putting her to sleep. Kinda pumping her up, to be honest. Hard not to tap her foot to it. Fuckin' high energy. Not bad.

She smirked. Of course he was the type to mosh. Of course he was. Calling him a punkass kid was surprisingly apt, given his apparent music taste.

Confirmed when the next track was almost definitely Misfits. Horrorpunk, then. Great.

…Actually it kinda was. It was a bit of a bop, to be frank. Heh. Frank. Sam snorted to herself, head bobbing back and forth to the music.

It really was energizing. A thousand times more invigorating than Julie's. She could definitely see it as a pump-up sort of mix. She tucked the player into her pocket to take another gulp of the brandy, foot still tapping to the driving beat of violent percussion.

It was weird, because - at least from the little she knew about the punk movement - it wasn't exactly about straight up murdering people. Y'know? (Well, some horrorpunk lyrics aside.) Like, usually, there was a positive message under all that hate for the system? And yet: the Legion. Murderers. Just… big ol' murderin' punks. Punkening murderers. Punkermurms. Pokemons. …Maybe she should stop drinking.

Maybe she should tuck in for the night, actually. She was getting kind of dizzy.

Sam took another swig of water, and hesitated, turning down the player. It was good music, though. And it did tempt her to make all the movements that were making her dizzy to begin with.

She could just listen quietly. Try to name the other bands. Test her complete lack of knowledge about classic punk. She'd give herself the walk back to camp to listen, and then it was turning off and returning to the storeroom.

Yes, good, very responsible of you.

Except for stealing it to begin with, but whatever.

She kept the open brandy jar in one hand and the tape deck raised to her ear with the other, bouncing lightly on her feet as she made her way back to the forest path.

—Or not, right, redirect, cause that was someone up ahead and she should really— oh no, and the tape player— that would be the hard part to explain, where could—

Right, the clearing, that was a place, things could just be chucked in there for the time being, this would be fine, just have to step quick quickity quick thataway— ohwow dizzy hokay.

"Sam?"

Just kept getting caught tonight, huh? This was probably some kind of cosmic sign, most likely about waiting until she was 21 to drink (well, would she ever be 21 though? wasn't that the real depressing moral of this story?). What was— right, getting caught. She ducked toward the clearing path, sliding the tape deck to the ground and shoving it past the fog barrier with her foot, wincing as she knocked the volume button and trying to cover the brief loud percussion with a hacking cough.

"Are you okay?"

Sam glanced up, wide-eyed, at her questioner. Ah. Dwight. …Dwight? "'m good is jus'—" Okay. Words. Use clear words, do not slur. "I'm good," she repeated, more clearly. "I've… had a lot to drink." That was true.

"Oh." He laughed awkwardly, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. A lot less confident out of the trials, that was for sure. "Yeah, I, uh… I know the feeling."

"…I stole another jar from the pantry, I'm sorry," she whispered.

Dwight laughed again. "Don't worry about it. I was actually just going to the orchard, needed some— Want me to take that?" He gestured to the still-open jar in her hand.

"Um…" Well, no. "It's just, it's actually really good? I didn't drink a lot at home, but… um…"

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, I'm not a narc."

Oh that was… Sam pulled a face. Oh wow, he was kind of cringe, wasn't he? "I was gonna, um. I was gonna just… maybe sleep out here tonight. Do some uhh forest. Stuff."

That earned her a confused look. "O…kay? I mean, it's not like you're going to get lost or choke or something. There's not really anywhere you can go. Stay out of the fog, be back for trials…"

They just… didn't care? Well, Jake did kind of disappear into the forest a lot. They got disappeared for trials no matter what, it wasn't like they could escape. So maybe he had a point. "Hmkay."

"…Right. Um. Night, Sam."

"Night Dwight." She stifled her snort at that. Rhymes. Oh Jesus she was… she was real drunk. She screwed the cap back on the brandy jar, extra tight, putting it in her pocket. No more of that. Done with that for the next 24 hours (12 hours? 24 hours).

This was maybepossiblyslightly a mistake. Just a bit. Tiny mistake. Don't drink this much. No more straight moonshine especially, that shit is bad news bears.

Noted. Would be noted. Mental note taken, yes.

Water. She should drink water, dilute the alcohol a bit.

Without the music in her ear, she was aware of the sluggish thud of her wonderfully unamplified pulse.

She sat, drinking her water like a responsible adult, waiting. It took seemingly forever before she heard Dwight leave the orchard and head back the way he'd come.

At long last, she scooted back toward the fog line, the whispers muddled in her head. She'd have to return that tape deck. Which meant she needed the tape deck. And the tape. (She kinda wanted to keep the tape, to be honest. Real music was a godsend. If there— well, no god. But… The music was good, that's all.)

Sam's eyes fell to the hard line where the fog didn't cross.

Ah. That. That issue, yes.

Much easier sticking something into the fog than getting it back out.

Now, is horror conditioning easier or harder while drunk?

Had to be easier. She was so very scatterbrained at the moment, it was hard to believe anything could really take purchase there. Even the whispers took too much concentration to focus on, and weren't exactly doing the best job of scaring her.

Okay then. Hand in, grab the tape, hand out. Expect the noises and the flashy pictures and the heartbeat and lullaby and all of that. Expect it. It is expected. Grab the tape deck— Turn it off, that's probably also important. And then take it out.

Cool, yes, she could do that.

Another drink of water before pocketing the canteen. Sobriety would eventually find her one of these days. One of— minutes. She would be sober in minutes or hours or minutes. Not days.

She knelt on the ground by the line, giving herself enough room for her arm to go in without the rest of her following.

Three two one, and Sam held her breath and thrust her hand into the fog, feeling along the ground for the heavy-duty plastic of the tape player. The music was still playing. A different song now, mixed in with the other noises of the fog.

She almost immediately pulled her hand back out, shaking out her arms like she could shake off the onslaught of hammering heartbeat and flickering hallucinations that came with the first touch of the fog. One more try. Sam sat back and kicked the balls of her feet against the ground like she was psyching herself up for a fight.

You got this. Go Sam go. Hand in, grab the tape, hand out.

Yep. Three two one.

This time, she found the hard edge, and her fingers slipped until they found the volume dial and accidentally turned it up before turning it down to off again. That was done. She grabbed at the corner and tugged.

It was stuck.

On what? There wasn't anything in the clearing— well, not this close to the entrance, anyway. All that stuff was further in.

Sam frowned. This time, she reached for the far edge of the—

Foot? Eyes went wide and she stifled a yelp in her other hand, quickly drawing back, but not quick enough. Someone was holding her arm, a grip on her wrist that was too familiar by this point.

"Sammy."

She could hear from outside the fog, but couldn't see into it. Fuckin'… shit.

Maybe just give up on the tape deck. Just— forget it?

Sam yanked her arm back out of the fog and was shocked when the hand holding her wrist came along with it briefly before he tugged her back. A tug of war.

"Are you crossing the line, or not?"

He wasn't loud, but it was much louder than the lullaby. That felt more like an echo way off yonder-ways than the immediacy that was his voice and the killer heartbeat. Could other people hear him? She frowned, and resisted the urge to shush him. She wasn't sure if he could hear, either.

"I'm not going to hurt you, for once."

Sam's eyes narrowed at the fog. On the one hand: the whole 'for once' part felt about right. But, like… why trust him?

He let out a long sigh, index finger stroking along her wrist. "Cross my heart and hope to die, puppy."

Sam couldn't help it: she snorted at that. Any element of hope to die here felt at once very honest and very futile.

Apparently, she wasn't answering fast enough, cause there was a quick tug, lifting her arm, and Sam had to scramble to her feet, stumbling past the fog line.

It wasn't what she had expected.

Or, maybe it was, she wasn't sure what she had expected, really. There wasn't much actual fog, though. She'd thought there would've been, but it wasn't the impenetrable cloud that it had seemed, just a loose mist like most trials had. And when she turned her head, she could see back out the way she'd come. So had he seen her awkwardly kneeling and reaching for the—?

Sam glanced down. Ah. He was stepping on it. That had been the foot that had stopped her taking it, yep.

"Sammy…"

She finally actually looked at him, eyes wide in the knee-jerk what no I'm not drunk I look so sober don't I? face of innocence. "Hm?" He was in that hoodie he'd worn for their one-on-one. The clean one, no blood stains. No mask. Off the clock.

He raised an eyebrow.

Was she not behaving right? What was the appropriate—

Sam scowled. Yes, scowling. This was the appropriate response. There we go. Angy. Gr.

She looked down at the tape player again, trying to kick it out from under his foot. After a couple angry kicks from her, his foot lifted and her next strike sent the thing skidding over the grass further into the clearing. Ah. Shit. Whoops.

Sam went after it, pushing past him determinedly, trying to avoid all the fleeting thoughts buzzing at the outskirts of her mind. When he didn't let go, she just dragged him along, eyes focused on the tape deck, trying not to stumble over her own two feet. Act sober. She could totally be sober right now. Very believable.

She was almost to the tape player when Frank cut his leg in front of hers and kicked it further.

"This izn't soccer. I need that," she grumbled, tripping forward again.

"Are you drunk, puppy?"

"No." Yep. Yes yes. Definitely was. Everything she'd had earlier was really hitting her.

Her hand tugged against his hold, her focus on the ground and on not falling as she moved forward. He'd pushed it pretty far - kind of an impressive kick - all the way toward the rocks and stumps where she'd practiced with the sling.

"You are." He was snickering.

"Am not."

"Are too."

Sam snorted briefly at that, but kept walking. At least, until he tugged her off course and she stumbled.

Frank steered her back against a rock. "Let me see your eyes."

"You can't see shit in this light," she mumbled, dizzy, free hand pushing at his shoulder as she avoided his gaze. It was a little disorienting, the movement. She'd been doing really well just sitting still. These expectations to both move and appear sober were very taxing.

The hand not holding her wrist slipped behind her head, bunching in her hair and tugging her to face him, even as she kept her eyes averted. "Look at me."

Sam scoffed, ignoring the pleasant shiver the tug at her hair had sent ricocheting down her spine. "Pshh. You just want to pull my hair and stare at me. Obsesstive."

"That's not a word, Sam."

"Obssessedive." Shit no, he was right, there was an extra sound in there. Her face was hot, but that could easily be attributed to the alcohol.

"You are seriously wasted, aren't you?"

"Haven't had a drop, jus' water. Just," she corrected herself, fixing her slightly slurred speech as she kept her gaze fixed on his shoulder. So convincing. This… would convince. Yes.

"Jesus." Frank was laughing. The hand in her hair tightened again and Sam whined, tightening her own grip in his sweatshirt. "You guys must get the good shit. We're lucky to get a two-four of Molson in thirty trials and you get, what—"

Sam wriggled as he ducked closer, turning her face away and squirming as he sniffed at her. "Gross."

"—what, are you guys making cocktails or something?"

She chewed her lip, cutting herself off before admitting anything. His closeness was… um… kind of nice? She wasn't pushing him away, though she probably should be.

Truthfully, she might be falling over if she weren't leaned back against the rock with him right there in front of her, and his hand in her hair was kinda doing it for her, putting her in mind of Kate earlier, and that whole disaster—

Sam groaned, pouting, her words coming out a mumble. "…Stupid people being attractive…" And stupid her, being drunk. Drunk Sam was the height of disaster. It was the touching; she was touchy when she was drunk. It had been a while, but now she was distantly remembering that little detail. Drunk Sam had definitely done some things she'd regretted.

The hand on his chest jolted slightly as he shook with quiet laughter. "Attractive, huh?" It was almost a murmur in her ear, and Sam shivered again.

He let go of her wrist and she immediately grabbed another handful of his sweatshirt as well. His head was close enough to knock against hers, breath tickling her neck. The hand in her hair loosened, massaging gently as he ran his other thumb over her cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Sam was blushing furiously. Now she probably should come clean about the drunk. He probably knew the drunk part. She was not so great at hiding that.

"And you call me obsessed," he murmured.

Her hips shifted, chewing on her lip again, still looking away from where his face hovered beside hers.

"Meanwhile here you are, listening to my music, wandering into my turf, calling me attractive— just flirting with death."

She huffed out a soft laugh. "This izn't new."

"Mhm?"

Yeah. She was literally always flirting with death. And death was pretty much always fucking her, lately. Fucking her over, at the very least.

"The puppy coming to play with the wolves? Sounds dangerous to me."

Sam snorted. "Dogs and wolves get along, though." His logic was so flawed. "Like… in nature. Sometimes. They're genetic'ly culpable. Capable— compatible." That was the word. "Make wolf-dogs."

Frank paused. It was only once he'd stopped that Sam realized he'd been stroking the side of her neck. "…Please tell me that's what's on your mind. I can make that happen."

She snickered. "Ew, no."

"'No'? Sammy, you're the one pulling me to you."

Really? Was she?

His point was proven when he drew back and her grip tightened to keep him from moving away.

Oh. Whoops. Ah shit. That was… bad.

"…Dammit." She groaned, head falling forward until she bumped against his chest. "That… umm… fuck."

"Is that an invitation, or-"

"Frank!"

Sam felt him immediately straighten, his hand pressing the back of her head to keep her down in the shadow of his body. Hiding her? What?

"What?" he called back over his shoulder.

"I've asked you before; please consider that this is a public space. If you and Julie wish to be intimate, please keep to your own estate."

"Right. Sorry."

Sorry? Who the hell got him to apologize? The voice wasn't familiar, but Sam wasn't sure she'd recognize much at the moment anyway. And Julie? Were him and Julie a thing, then? But then why was he always, like, this-ing with her?

There was a soft clink of metal on metal in the distance, Frank's head still turned from her.

"What—"

His hand covered her mouth quickly, and Sam frowned, twisting in her awkward position to look up at him. The longer he waited the more impatient she got. She licked his palm, like she would with friends in elementary school that tried to shut her up that way.

He turned back toward her, raising a brow, but still held her head down, out of sight of whoever had called to him.

Sam glared, and poked her tongue between his fingers irritably.

"I appreciate the demonstration, I do," he assured her in a murmur. "Give it a minute."

Demonst— Oh, ew. Sam's face screwed up at his implication. She stopped the licking.

He glanced back over his shoulder, then the hand on the back of her head left to pry one of her hands out of his sweatshirt, squeezing it as he spoke lowly. "Don't talk unless you want the attention of the Trapper, understand?"

Sam rolled her eyes and nodded— neither action helping with the spins.

Frank pulled his hand away from her mouth, wiping it on his sweatshirt and grabbing her other hand, before scooping up the forgotten tape deck and pulling her toward the treeline.

The wrong treeline.

"Where—"

He shot her a glare and Sam closed her mouth with a click of teeth snapping shut. Right, Trapper.

She wanted to roll her eyes again, but the first time was disorientating enough, thanks. Instead, she pulled on his hand with both of hers, tugging him down until her face bumped against his ear, whispering. "Where're we going?"

His opposite hand grabbed her chin to face her forward as he returned the whisper: "Please shut up."

He was still leading her straight toward trees. Was he serious? They gave off such massive don't you dare vibes, and she felt that repulsion, not to mention they were way too close together to let her go through. Sam's feet tripped over themselves, once more grabbing on to his arm to keep from falling.

Hey Sam. Hey. Sam. You're holding his hand. You're holding a killer's hand right now. You're on a date with a killer.

No. That wasn't. Nope. Not accurate.

You wanna kiss him. You do. You wanna touch him cause he's pretty.

Oh no. Drunk Sam, shut up please.

You want touch and all the touchin' him and you and all it.

That didn't even make sense. Those words didn't make sense in that order.

Kiss kiss you kiss. Omnomnom face.

Fuckin' Christ, Drunk Sam was twelve years old. Goddamn moonshine. She closed her eyes, whining as she pressed her face into Frank's shoulder. Why. Did her brain. Do Drunk. Like this. Agh. She kinda just wanted to pass out.

In another couple steps, her eyes snapped open. The heartbeat had stopped.

She glanced around in complete confusion, the sudden motion not helping her dizziness, but there wasn't much explanation for it. Except… weren't the trees closer together? She could've sworn they were, like… real tight. Just treetreetreetree. But there was a path now.

She was tripping over her feet again. There was definitely something to take note of, here.

Frank sighed, like the most put-upon man in the world. "You really are a fuckin' mess, you know that?" His voice was still low, just a murmur.

"Same though," she shot back. "You. Also." Such a witty retort.

He snorted, then pulled up, putting his back to her and tugging her arms over his shoulders. "Hold on."

"What-" She stifled her squeak of alarm into the bunched-up hood of his sweatshirt, holding on tight as he scooped his hands under her thighs, pulling her into a piggyback position.

"Consider it a preview." She could hear the smirk in his voice as he adjusted his hold, pace steadier once she wasn't stumbling over herself. "Fully intend for your legs to be around me all night."

Sam tightened her hold, snickering. "Gross." She was blushing.

You wanna fucc. You wanna fucc the killer. Oohoohoo you wanna fucc 'im.

Shut up. Yes. Or— No. Ehhhh stahp.

Sammy and Frankie, sittin' in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.

That wasn't possible. Not in a tree. Ha: her brain was stupid and didn't know how trees worked. Sucker.

Sam was starting to wonder, though. Brief thoughts of hands and mouths and bare skin. She closed her eyes, ducking her face between her arm and the crook of his neck. Horny and sleepy. Peak Drunk Sam.

She breathed in deep - he didn't smell like blood anymore, just like boy - and sighed out against his neck, tongue peeking out to lick at his earlobe briefly.

His groan vibrated at every point she had contact with him, and she shifted in his hold, squirming at the sensation. "You and me, we're gonna have a lot of fuckin' fun, puppy."

Humming, Sam nibbled at his ear, feeling sleepier. Very sleepy. He was comfy to sleep on, she'd bet. She was betting. Definitely. Sleep material. Mattress. Man-tress. He was a man-tress.

Her breathing evened out, limbs getting heavier and heavier. She fell asleep to pointless repetitive words playing in her head, and the smell of his hoodie and her jacket.

Notes: Because this was so long, it may take a bit for the next one to be posted, but I didn't want to chop this in half. ? Instead, expect a potential delay to day-after-tomorrow for the next chapter, unless I miraculously have another 20-page writing streak pop up. The tracks I had in mind:
Julie's tape: The Eternal - Joy Division, Dick - The Dandy Warhols, Something in the Way - Nirvana, Hurt - Nine Inch Nails (and more, but those are what's in mind atm)
Frank's tape: It's Catching Up - Nomeansno, Die Die My Darling - Misfits, Slaves - Bad Religion, Release the Hostages - NOFX, Nitro (Youth Energy) - The Offspring (and more!) Anyway.
:3 FINALLY, amirite? I just… wanna push their stupid li'l faces together.