Notes: So this is my first DBD fic. I, uh, haven't actually played the game, but I've watched a heckuva lot of videos and scoured the wiki religiously. (Still deciding to ignore some of that recently released lore, though. You probably know the thing. I'd prefer not to wipe the slate clean.) Chapters will be of varying lengths, and there's no set upload schedule, so… you may do best subscribing so something tells you when the next part goes up. It may start off slow, but I promise there will be fun and flirty violence. And knifeplay! (Eventually.) Also, probably bits and pieces of actual emotional bonding. Anyway, summaries and notes are hard: enjoy the fic!
A heads up: There are a LOT of references to suicide in this fic. If that will be triggering to you, please do not read it. The main character has a lot of suicidal thoughts, and frequently grim or morbid humor. If anything like that will upset you, please click away. If you struggle with self-harm or suicidal thoughts I highly recommend the crisis textline, just text HOME to 741741 (US), 686868 (CA), 85258 (UK), or 086 1800 280 (IE). If you're having suicidal thoughts, I know it can be scary and frustrating and that not all suicidal thoughts are plans. If you do feel like you're tipping into 'plan' territory, or having a particularly bad episode, you can find the US suicide prevention lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 and the CA suicide prevention service at 1-833-456-4566. Stay safe in your reading, y'all. Enjoy your darkfic, but take care of yourself.
Sam woke up in an unfamiliar house. Mostly vacant, rundown, no doors, and windows either open or plastered over. Everything was too empty, too quiet. She couldn't think, couldn't remember anything. Was there blood? The dim light washed everything into unintelligible colors, and there wasn't enough white light to tell, her clothes were too dark, but there were muddy marks down her pale arms, smeared over the lines of her tattoos, and a rough stiffness to the fabric of her collar. She couldn't know, but she felt it. Just like she felt the eerie wrongness of whatever this place was.
There were police lights outside, but no sirens. No voices. She took a few cautious steps toward the open window where the steadily flickering blue and red came from. Sure enough, out on the street, just past the edge of the roof that jutted out below the window frame, was a police car, sitting empty on the abandoned street. It was… weird. Things felt too small. There was an end to the street, which didn't feel right for the suburbs. It felt like a fraction of a neighborhood. There were too many trees and not enough streetlights.
A grating buzz of a distant chainsaw was the first noise to break the disconcerting silence. Not long after, a scream.
Jesus.
This was… this felt…
Sam felt her skin humming, a rush of fear sinking through her until her bones felt full of radio static. What was happening? Where was she and how could she get out? She shuffled herself into the corner to peer out of the window at an angle, studying the street below. Hooks? Why the hell were there random hooks on the road? And— was that a generator? A dead generator sitting in front of the house across the street. None of this made any sense.
Her heart leapt into her throat as she heard the chainsaw again, and spotted movement a couple houses down. A young woman, mostly visible thanks to the electric blue detailing on what looked like a bowling shirt or something, broke into a run. Behind her—
Fucking Christ.
Sam knew not to judge people based on looks. Objectively, she'd been taught that. But this guy was fucked up. Besides, given that he was wielding a chainsaw and charging at the girl who was obviously terrified of him, Sam didn't feel guilty for the judgment. The girl was giving him a run for his money, apparently, but it was hard for Sam to focus on that. She felt disconnected. This couldn't be real.
After running, dodging, winding her way between obstacles, the girl slammed a wooden pallet down between herself and the chainsaw, and the saw bit into it before stuttering to a halt. The man - the thing? - whatever it was, its off hand held a hammer, and both weapons reared back as a heavy foot stomped at the wood until it splintered and broke. It had given the girl a head start, though.
Fuck. Oh no no no, shit fuck oh Jesus.
She was headed for Sam's house.
Well, 'Sam's house.' She certainly didn't own it. It didn't feel like home. It was just a building she was currently existing in. But now the girl was heading this way. She wasn't looking up.
Sam hesitated as the girl jogged toward the house. Were they… Was this someone she should talk to? An ally? But an ally toward what, exactly? She didn't understand it and she didn't like it. And she didn't want to talk.
Once the girl disappeared past the edge of the outer roof, no longer visible, and Sam could hear footsteps downstairs, Sam bit the bullet and made her decision. The window frame was free from any broken glass - like it was made to be stepped in and out of - so Sam silently stepped over it and pressed her back up against the house, crouching.
As soon as she saw the light greyish siding of the house, she felt like an idiot. She was wearing faded black jeans and a black t-shirt. There was no way she'd blend in out here. But the thing with the chainsaw had turned its attention away as a distant explosion sounded. So at least for now her hiding spot seemed acceptable. It wouldn't be for long, she knew that.
The noise from downstairs faded, the girl no longer running, but there was still the quiet noise of feet on stairs, and Sam could sense the body passing by in the hall past the room she'd woken in. Then, from the next window over, there was the noise of metal on metal, and gradually mechanical noises, like—
Like a generator gradually cranking into gear.
Dammit. Generator meant noise. And light. And both of those things were bound to get her seen.
Sam looked around, trying to find a better place to hide.
There was plenty of grass and bushes down on the ground, but— well, there was also some psycho with a chainsaw, so she didn't feel particularly jazzed about that option. What about up?
Sam turned her attention to the house again. The siding didn't look particularly promising. But there was a roof above it. It would be much harder to see up there from the street. And harder to reach. Was there a way onto the roof?
After giving up on the very open window she'd come through, Sam spotted the downspout on the corner of the roof, the brackets holding it to the siding. That was something. And right next to it, the closed window that had been plastered over on the inside. They were too close together, it felt too contrived, but she shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. It was just another set of footholds, perfectly placed at angle.
Casting another nervous glance toward the street, but finding it hard to hear very far with the consistent distraction of engine noises from the generator, Sam threw caution to the wind. She grasped at the window frame with one hand, the downspout in the other, and scrabbled her Docs for purchase, pulling herself up. The effort was more grueling than she'd hoped, and she cursed herself for never actually going to a climbing gym. Her breath came heavy but she sandwiched her lips between her teeth until she tasted blood, unwilling to make a sound. The generator was getting louder, anyway, like there were more things to make noise now. How did generators work? Motors? Pistons?
Fingers gripping onto the edge of the roof, Sam's foot found the perfect hold to haul herself up. There was a loud scrape of metal as she knocked against the downspout, but she made it onto the roof. It wasn't as flat as she'd hoped. But there were some kind of weird flaps of shingle tiles and— maybe a chimney or something? Whatever it was, it would give her a place to brace and offer cover. Sam had won enough games of hide and seek as a kid to know that people rarely looked up, anyway. She was halfway up the pitched roof when her heart lurched into high gear, beating loud in her ears.
The work on the generator faltered, there was a sort of thunk-chime, and then the work noises stopped, even as the generator itself continued to chug along noisily. When Sam risked a glance down, she spotted the edge of a humped shoulder as it disappeared under the roof she'd just climbed up from. The thing with the chainsaw was going into the house. Her heart rate was rising. A cold sweat broke out on her skin, and all she could do was focus on breathing. Tiny tiny steps. Minuscule. As light as she could manage, inching toward cover.
No, this was stupid. She needed to stop moving altogether. Freeze. Pretend she wasn't here. He wouldn't climb up to get her. She'd be fine.
'Fine.' Not going to be fine. This isn't a situation where you end up 'fine,' Sam.
The noise from the generator room was suddenly loud again, the sound of someone running. Great. Well— not great, but it was louder than her. A distraction.
Her heartbeat was so fucking loud. She could hardly think. The noise from the house sorted itself into a narrative. The girl, running. The thing, chasing. Feet on stairs. Momentary revs of a chainsaw, but never fully starting up. No space?
Sam's breath froze in her chest as the scrambling feet got closer, and then she heard the girl vaulting out of the window she'd taken onto the roof. There was a shadow— so the lights were on, the generator fully operational. Midway through her vault, the girl let out a scream of pain, and Sam watched her clutching her side as she ran to the edge of the roof and just… jumped off. That couldn't be healthy.
Then again, it was probably far healthier than sticking around, as the next figure to step over the window ledge and onto the roof was the thing with the chainsaw, pausing to resituate its hold on a now bloodied hammer.
Terror. Pure terror - like a syringe straight to the nervous system - had Sam on a knife's edge. She didn't dare move, scared to make a sound. But maybe she needn't have worried, because the thing had drawn blood. He had an injured target, and as soon as he was done with the brief weapon adjustment he ran right off after her, dropping to the ground as well. Then the chainsaw revved.
Sam felt bad for the girl. She did, really. But there was a lot of relief, as well, to not be the one being chased. Sam wasn't a runner; she was a hider. Which is exactly what she did. As soon as the chainsaw was loudly grinding away, and the thing had taken off across the street to chase the girl, Sam finished her climb and settled herself into a crook on the roof.
For a moment, she paused.
You should help her.
No. No she shouldn't, helping would only get her killed.
They need your help.
They? Who the hell was they? There was one girl, and she was already injured. If Sam hid long enough, the thing would leave. He'd never seen her. She was safe as long as she stayed put.
There was another scream. Her gut was churning, like it was entirely made of unease. She wasn't leaving. Hiding was safe.
Finally, she convinced herself to stop looking over the edge and duck her head down behind the makeshift blind of the roof again. It felt like the perfect hiding spot. All the windows facing this side of the roof from the next door house were plastered over. She was tucked behind shingles that almost matched with the pattern of her faded black denim. She tucked her arms into the sleeves of her t-shirt, shifting it around to put the very distinct wonky smiley and text on her back. She should turn it inside out, get the yellow printing against her skin and just the black on show to help camouflage better, but it would be a lot of movement to make that switch. Also, it still felt weird to consider undressing while hiding on a roof from a killer with a chainsaw.
What the fuck was happening.
Never had she ever considered that those words might—
A shriek pierced the air, but it came from so far away.
There was a feeling like pins on the back of her neck, grabbing her attention, and when she turned her head she had the bizarre experience of seeing something that wasn't there. What was she even looking at? Just an outline, tunneled through her vision like a dark spot in the air, and in it a silhouette.
Help them.
No.
No, she wasn't leaving this spot, this spot was safety. She shouldn't even be looking. Too much movement and she'd be visible. Hide. Just hide.
Her heart had calmed. That had to be good. She could finally try to make sense of what was happening.
Another loud noise, like before: a thunk and chime. Another black spot in her vision, Sam rapidly blinking away the image of an engine— no, a generator. What the hell was with the generators?
Two down. Three to go. Help the—
What the fuck. These thoughts weren't hers. These instincts made no sense. She blocked them out forcefully, eyes shut tight as she jammed her mind onto a different train of thought. Sam tried to think, tried to remember how she'd gotten here.
She'd been mad. And hopeless. She'd been frustrated and angry and desperate and—
Blood in the water. An onslaught of thought. She'd been trying but… failing. And there were no more answers. Everything was too much, and she held the only answer.
Again, her heartbeat spiked, and the memories faded before they could really get their footing. She heard the chainsaw revving. It was far below, on the ground. She was safe on the roof. It was the only safe place, and she wasn't moving. She'd survive this.
The buzzing moved away again.
Survive what?
None of this made any sense. Her brain couldn't compute it. There were so many missing pieces, all she knew was she didn't want to die. Not like this. Not by a madman with a chainsaw.
What the hell, Sam. Make up your mind. You wanted this.
No, she'd wanted death on her own terms. That's—
That had been it, hadn't it? A razor in her hand.
Screams kept interrupting her jumbled thoughts. Another prick at the back of her neck, but she didn't turn to see. A fleeting thought of a hook— the hook she'd seen on the street, or something like it. Is that what she'd seen in that spotty image before? That silhouette. When it had moved, had it been lifted onto a hook?
The frustration was growing. Her whole life was always frustration. Nothing ever made sense. She couldn't handle it, never been able to handle it, it was all too much.
Another thunk, chime.
Three.
Out of five? There was a goal: five generators up and running. But to what end?
You're going to go crazy if you keep trying to make this make sense.
That was fair. It didn't make sense. Stop trying to force it.
Sam shifted onto her back and stared at the sky. Or tried to. Everything was tree boughs and fog. Darkness. She tried to think of a song or a pattern. Crickets chirped. A distant chainsaw buzzed. Screaming, more screaming. A brief explosion.
She closed her eyes, counted her breath, let her head fill with numbers repeating in soothing patterns. Forced her body to relax. Every scream set her back, but it wasn't the time to panic. This wasn't real. This weird five generator goal would be the end of it. She'd wake up.
She always woke up. Even when she didn't want to.
A shockwave thundered from somewhere nearby. Something on the other side of the street. Like a tiny bomb had gone off, making the earth tremble for a moment.
Another chime.
Four.
Closer. She was closer to this being over.
Part of her wanted to get up, to look around, to try to examine where she was, look for another route of escape. She should run. While the thing with the chainsaw was far away, now was the time to run.
Safer here. Safer to stay put. If you run you're visible. Someone will come. They'll forget and leave. Wait it out.
Honestly, she wasn't sure what to trust: gut instinct or her own faulty logic. Neither seemed like a good idea. There were no solutions. But she could be patient, for now. Being patient on her own was possible.
So many screams. Screams, whimpers, panting. Rustling grass and feet on pavement. Chugging generators. Chainsaw. Heartbeat. But here in her little hidey hole she was safe. She was invisible.
God, fear was exhausting. She had to keep reminding herself it wasn't real. Maybe it was new, but it wasn't real. She'd had fucked up dreams before, especially after making an attempt. At least this time she had a little more control over her own actions. She'd wake up. Maybe her parents would know, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe she'd be hospitalized again. The thought bit at the base of her spine, jarring her. That was real fear. It was a relief to feel the kind of fear that hit so low. She'd been carrying all the tension in her neck and shoulders, developing a headache from her tightened jaw. To have that memory stabbing at her sacrum was almost reassuring.
She continued to ignore the pinpricks that told her to look one way or another. Another shockwave.
Then a thunk-chime. A mechanical sounding horn of some sort.
Five. Find the exit.
Exit?
Sam's eyes shot open.
There was an exit.
Her head turned and she blinked the sudden white spots out of her vision, except— not spots. Silhouettes. Not people, but something else. Maybe, like… mailboxes? The shape wasn't instantly recognizable, and it faded quickly. But in her head, something told her: exit.
That was the way out. Her body wanted to run to it. It was like a magnetic draw. But the chainsaw was still revving. Constantly. It was somewhere off to her left. There was another noise to the right, from where one of the silhouettes had been. The thing with the chainsaw moved fast. She wouldn't look - didn't dare look - but she heard it traveling from left to right. The other noise paused. Sam couldn't figure out what she was hearing. Silence for a while. More saw noises, more traveling. Then the noise to the right again.
Exit. Hatch.
There was a sound like cracking rock. Hissing. Something had changed, and time was running out.
Hatch. Where had that thought come from?
The saw was traveling again, but there was another noise, too. Something beckoning, a static interference over too-open air. It was close.
Run.
She couldn't ignore it anymore. Not when this felt like the end.
Sam pulled herself up to crouch behind her blind, finally looking around again. The sight was another disconnect. Another moment of this isn't possible before she reminded herself that none of it was, but that didn't mean it was over. Cracks were forming everywhere, light spilling like lava from fissures in the earth. The world was collapsing. This was the Collapse.
That noise, though. The open echoing calling. It was so close.
She tried to listen for it, her eyes flicking over her surroundings like she could pinpoint whatever something was making the sound. So close. So very close.
She climbed toward the other side of the roof, the noise getting louder as she crested it. There. On the ground, right off to the side of the house, lined up perfectly with the peak of the roof, the line between front and back of the house. God, it was a long drop. She should climb back down, back into the building, take the stairs to the ground floor.
The chainsaw revved. Hair on the back of her neck stood on end as it got closer. Sam didn't have time to look around, but she still did.
It had seen her. It must have, because it was running at her from the other side of the street. There was no time for safety. It didn't matter. This wasn't real. She just had to get out.
No time. She fixed her eyes on the open hatch, her heartbeat getting faster and faster, the killer getting closer.
She jumped.
Notes: Thoughts? Questions? Concerns? Drop a review!