Notes: First and only song mentioned is No Fkuicgn by Nomeansno. It's loud and vulgar. You have been warned. :3

There was definitely something weird about time here, that much Sam already knew. Their nights were short, but the hours felt so long. She wouldn't have expected to wake up sober after just a few hours, and yet…

Her head hurt, but it wasn't nearly as bad as hangovers in the real world. Her face was pressed into folds of fabric, there were warm arms around her, and something that sounded like…

The jazzy tap on cymbals broke into banging snares and shouted lyrics too fast to interpret. It was so loud. Fuckin' Christ.

Sam groaned, pulling the blanket over her head as someone a few feet away broke down laughing.

And oh right, the fabric she was laying on was a person. Sam wasn't sure how she felt about that at the moment, as the arms tightened around her and the figure whined, "Fra-ank, stahhp."

Ah shit. Right. Legion.

…Oh fuck.

Ohhh. Fuck. Shit. Fuckin'… Oh this was bad.

Sam's face flared hot where it was hidden, suddenly remembering the details of the night before. That was… mortifying. Just a little bit. Oh god, she really had just… just grabbed him, hadn't she? Just fessed right up to her very Problematic attraction. And, worse, he'd taken that as an invitation to… Well, at least that hadn't happened. But fuck, his hand on her neck and his teeth on her ear had quickly cemented themselves in her sensory memory.

The snickering laughter must've belonged to him, over the rapid unintelligible lyrics that blasted from a boombox by the bedside.

At least she'd slept with Susie, and not him. And not, like, slept with Susie. Just slept slept. With Susie. Though now Sam wasn't sure how she felt about that either, now that she wasn't drunk anymore. She would've wanted to get her distance, but hiding her head in the folds of sweatshirt and blankets was the most effective way of blocking out the frenetic noise.

It was over quick. The whole thing must have been less than a minute. Just one violent wake up call.

Could be violent-er. No knives.

Fair. Given her companions? Could've been much violent-er. Or, more violent.

"Up you get, puppy!"

The blankets were ripped up from the bottom and Sam's eyes snapped open at the hand grabbing her ankle, tugging Sam down the bed as she let out an involuntary shriek and clutched at Susie to no avail.

That stupid Entity-gifted strength coming into play. He dragged her down off the foot of the bed and threw her over his shoulder like it was nothing.

Even in long pants and long sleeves, it was too early for this much contact. While asleep, cuddling with Susie was easy, and drunk everything was easier, but once she was sober and aware of herself again, touching regained its gravity. Not to mention how familiar the position was. She kicked at him as much as she could, too reminded of being carried to a hook, jamming her elbows into his back as he carried her down the stairs.

"Frank you fucking piece of shit, let go of me, I swear to fucking Christ, I will rip your goddamn dick off—"

Her words were cut short, whole body going stiff and face reddening at the sting his hand left on her ass.

"Did you just—" He couldn't be… What the fuck. And his shoulders were shaking with barely-hidden laughter. Oh, fuck you, buddy. Sam twisted in his grip, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head back, his grip around her waist digging in as he growled.

"You wanna fight, Sammy? I can fight."

"No, you can't," a voice called irritably. Julie. "We have to get her back to the glade before it closes."

This is fine. So what if there are the other two Legion members and all they've seen is you getting carried around by Frank and lookin' like a thirsty-ass drunk. This is. Fine.

Fuck.

Sam's lips were tight as she yanked at Frank's hair again. "Let me down, asshole." A knee to the chest emphasized her grumbling.

He practically skipped down the last two stairs, tossing her unceremoniously onto the cushions in the conversation pit. Sam resisted the urge to rub her ass where he'd smacked her, instead just glaring at him. He was smirking. As per usual, apparently. The fuckin' dickwad.

"Sounds like someone's cranky. What, can't hold your liquor?"

"Did I throw up? No? Then I can hold it just fine," she snapped. Still, she was blushing uncomfortably. She didn't have a lot of experience drinking. They didn't need to know that. And, by the way: how fucking bizarre was it to be so casually close to these killers? Where the hell was the heartbeat that was supposed to be warning her?

"You're a fun drunk, Sammy. Or you were until you passed out. And here I was thinking you were ready to finally pay up."

Pay up?

Apparently he read her wary confusion. "'Ooh, I'll do anything,'" he mocked, simpering. "'Whatever you want, Frank, just don't put me on the hook, please!'"

He— Oh, how fucking dare—

Sam snatched up one of the pillows, chucking it at him as hard as she could. "Shut the fuck up." He caught it, easily. Fucker. "That was ages ago. And I only said that because I was desperate." He'd practically forced her hand that trial.

"You're still desperate, puppy. Who do you think started this? I'll tell you one thing; I wasn't bringing you back here because you were fighting me off last night. Could've left you for the rest of 'em to have their fun, but I thought you planned to make it worth my while."

Her lip curled. Creep. Such an asshole.

"He's lying," Susie announced, cheerily, from the top of the stairs. "We can't hurt runners outside of the trials. You might have gotten in trouble, but Evan wouldn't have hurt you. Wouldn't have killed you, at least."

Who the fuck was Evan?

"We don't actually know that for sure," Frank argued, looking peeved. That's what he got for talking like a creeper. "Haven't had a survivor come into the glade at night, just got the 'don't let this happen' talk."

Now, that was interesting. So they weren't capable of hurting survivors or weren't allowed? Who could even enforce a rule like that? Did the Entity have some kind of enforcement squad?

That concept brought the very bizarre image of little baby spider-cops to mind, which… was interesting. Sam cleared her throat. And immediately regretted it when the sound drew the attention of all four members of Legion. Which then, of course, made her throat dry again but she couldn't clear it because she'd just cleared it and wow this was awkward okay she should probably say something but what was she supposed to say when they were just staring at her like that how was she supposed to come up with words to speak to fill the dead air left as they just stared and— "So. Uh. I have to get back." That would have to do.

Sam was surprised just how much preparation went into returning her to the clearing. She was loaned one of Susie's hoodies and masks for the walk (and yes, it was hard to see in, she couldn't figure out how the hell the girl did it), and instructed not to speak if anyone that wasn't Legion was within earshot (like she'd need to be reminded, Sam had enough common sense to figure that part out).

Apparently, there was a chance they might run into other killers on the way, and survivors in the killers' forest - while apparently not impossible - was, at the very least, highly frowned upon. There was only a little overlap of paths, and most travel on the paths didn't happen until full daylight, and the clearing didn't… 'open' for killers until after dusk, but there was still a risk.

The terminology of opened and closed was strange to her, but Sam thought she might have a general idea of how it worked. They had a similar fog to the survivors, just at different times. The shared ground had a handy dandy custody schedule. Dawn and dusk were supposedly dead air, with days being survivor time and nights being for killers.

It was funny that they didn't call themselves that. Instead, as Susie had named them, they considered themselves reapers. Harvesters, of a sort. And the survivors were runners. Maybe it was just a nicer way to view oneself instead of accepting the murderer label.

Sam hadn't expected them to be so human.

Or had she? Maybe she had, for Legion themselves. But the way they referred to the other killers, as well. Susie seemed on good terms with most of them, on first-name terms, though Sam rarely knew precisely who she was talking about, so she couldn't tell who wasn't included. It would be nice to have faces for names, but she didn't want to cross a line by asking. Sure, maybe her hosts couldn't kill her, but it was probably better not to push her luck.

It was still mostly dark when they exited the lodge, dim light just starting to creep into the sky. Sam was surprised to find an exit that more closely resembled a weirdly upscale gated community opposed to the industrial-looking exit gates that appeared in trials. Weirder still was the shift from snowy ski lodge to deciduous forest right at the gate. But that should be normal by now: invisible lines of meteorological phenomena. Snow instead of fog, but it was the same idea.

Susie had had to stay back, since Sam was apparently assuming her identity for the walk back to the clearing. So it was just her and Frank and Joey. And awkward silence.

Finally, Frank broke the tension. "Ah, another beautiful sunrise we can't see behind the constant cloud cover. What a lovely grey day. Again."

Sam was watching her feet. "…Haven't actually woken up this early since I got here. At home you couldn't pay me to be up this early."

"You guys don't get summons?" Joey sounded legitimately curious, if politely reserved.

Sam shook her head. "Just for trials. Beyond that, we're on our own. I think most of the survivors are bored as fuck. We teach each other stuff, but there's not much to do. No books, no tv, no music— I'm insanely jealous of your boombox." Even if it had woken her so indelicately. The fact that they had one at all was covetable.

"Ah, yeah. Reception's shit, and kind of creepily tuned, but it gives us a soundtrack."

Reception? "Wait, you guys get radio?" That felt impossible.

"'Radio' is an overstatement." Frank's words were wry. "No DJs, no news— no commercials, even. The music is inconsistent at best, and straight up haunted at worst. Sometimes it's just dead air. Creepy as fuck."

"But sometimes it's music," Joey added. "And we can cut mixes and update tapes and stuff."

"No one to name the songs, though. And a bunch of it is weird stuff. Crackly stuff from the 40s, or weird techno shit. Classics and new stuff and things I've never heard before. And then the screaming."

"Oh yeah, the screaming." The ease with which Joey agreed was off-putting. Like it was just another cringeworthy annoyance rather than something that sounded vaguely terrifying.

"Screaming, skittering… Helps to keep an eye on the hours, but even then you can get surprised."

"…That sounds really fuckin' weird," Sam mumbled. Might take some weighing the options for that one. (Who was she kidding, she'd take the radio anyway, regardless of random screaming.)

"Hey, at least we're not you guys," Joey's laugh was almost sarcastic. "Haven't gotten hunted for sport, so we're doing pretty well here."

She grimaced. Yeah. She'd have more of that in her future. Much more. Theoretically, just endless amounts of it. But, from Legion? Were they… Was she friends with them now or something? Was there some kind of deal to be made, to avoid the hook?

"Okay, puppy; strip."

He had to word it like that, didn't he. Sam gave Frank a flat look as she pulled off Susie's mask when they reached the edge of the clearing. It was fog again, from this side this time. She tugged off the sweatshirt and held out her hand for her own jacket, heavy as it was with full pockets.

The night had been… something else. She wasn't sure what exactly that was, yet. It still felt not quite real. The idea that she could've spent hours with killers and had them not kill her wasn't unwelcome, just unexpected.

She shot an apprehensive look at the fog. "So you guys can't go through it, or what?"

"Nah, we can get into the glade whenever— theoretically," Joey answered. "We don't, because it's really fucking stupid and it would be obvious to runners that we were there, and it's supposed to be their - your - free space during the day. But we could if we wanted."

Sam's eyes flicked to Frank, but he simply held eye contact and made no move to correct his friend. So they didn't know, then? The rest of Legion didn't know he'd been loitering in the clearing like a part-time stalker?

"We can't get to your side, though," Joey assured her. "Can't go through the barrier. Physically won't let us, and mentally feels wrong if we try."

Sam was pretty sure Frank had, though. Or his hand had, at least, when he'd been grabbing her arm the night before. And she'd been able to cross into killer territory, too, despite a similar repulsion. So there must be some kind of exceptions.

Jacket back on, Sam hesitated, looking at the fog line. "So I just… walk in?"

"What, you need some kind of door-to-door service?"

Sam refrained from pointing out that he'd basically done just that by walking her here.

"Don't tell me you're ready to give up on the runners already. One night with Susie did all that?" Frank smirked. "Gotta get her playbook. Dirty girl, never would've expect-" He cut himself off at Sam's backhanded smack at his chest, laughing. "What? She's legal! Past 16 it's her business what—"

She smacked him again. "I'm insulted on her behalf."

His smirk widened. "Why? You're quite the dirty girl yourself, Sammy, don't think—" He caught her hand as she swung a third time, pivoting to wrench it up behind her back, dropping his voice as he spoke in her ear. "—Don't think I don't notice how much you like a little— pain—" His point was emphasized as he pushed at the awkward angle, making Sam grit her teeth.

Their little moment of twisted intimacy was interrupted by Joey, clearing his throat. "As adorable as this is," his tone was flat, "we have limited time."

It took more than one attempt for Sam to escape Frank's hold, and once she did she shot him an irritable glare. There was a big difference between playing with knives and getting stabbed. A big difference. Mostly in regards to bloodshed and (more importantly) lethality. She might - might - admit to some sick thrill having his blade tickling her skin. Shoved between her ribs, however? Not so much.

After just a moment of hesitation, Sam finally gave up and crossed the fog line.

She was practically pushed out from the last couple feet of tree cover, stumbling out onto the green again. And turning back, the trees seemed impenetrable once more.

That's some Narnia shit right there.

For a moment she simply stood, looking at the Deep Forest. She was still a little out of it, to be honest. Hard to believe she'd spent the night shacked up with four killers and had left perfectly intact and unharmed. Well: with Frank's last-minute power play the exception— which Joey had seen, fuck. It wasn't like there was much she could've done differently. Maybe she should've argued more, or something. She'd been a little distracted by his heat at her back and the sheer annoyance that the presumptuousness of his mere existence instilled in her.

And also that maybe he was a tiny bit right.

And wasn't that just infuriating.

Letting out a short breath, Sam looked around. The clearing was empty. The mist was dissipating as the sky got lighter. The path on the survivor side was empty, so she could make her retreat without anyone catching her trespassing.

She was almost to her side of the clearing when she felt the heartbeat and turned on her heel.

No one was in view, but she knew they were there. In that gap of space between the fog barrier and the treeline. Invisible but present.

Sam promptly raised both middle fingers as she walked backwards to her exit.

She might have heard a laugh, but once she crossed the fog line again, it was gone.

Notes: Production has slowed a bit at the mo, but expect every other day for a bit while I catch up.
Also expect some upcoming whump, you have been warned. :3