II. The Sleeping Giant

Chris loved the way Ashley's head felt nestled against his chest.

He loved a plethora of things about her, of course: the way she'd reach out her hand, nose-deep in a book, and hold his when the room was quiet; the velvet touch of her lips, and how they felt melting into his, or grazing his cheek, or peppering his neck; the way the shape of their bodies fit together so well cuddling together in bed; the impish satisfaction on her face whenever she teased him; fuck, even the way Ashley ate made him swoon, because it was so proper and prepared, like she'd studied for years. But something about her blessed head resting right by his heart just… felt fated. Cosmically right.

For her own part, Ashley was equally smitten. She could point to the endless depths of romance in his soul, typically buried beneath his wit but quick to emerge; the snug warmth of his hands on her hips, on her back, touching her face, touching anywhere; his protective streak, and how it made her feel safe when the world no longer made sense; even his analytical side helped balance out her (admittedly) superstitious anxieties on occasion. And yet, almost as two jigsaw pieces falling into place, Ashley found she loved drifting off listening to Chris's heartbeat the most. When she put her ear there, it always seemed ready to burst out his chest. She still couldn't fully believe it—that fast-pumping drum was for her? Her?

On this lazy Saturday afternoon, it certainly was. They might've been watching some fairly exciting action, sure—Chris's pick this week, The Fifth Element—but at this point in the film Milla Jovovich and Bruce Willis were only spending their screentime flirting it up.

Ashley processed that observation once more with particular zeal.

Ohhh.

Ashley lifted her head for a moment to peer up at Chris. Those Alice blue eyes met her own eagerly. She'd never seen a blue hue quite like Chris's before until a recent trip to the library reading up on the Roosevelts, of all things. Teddy's daughter Alice was a debutante painter and fond of azure, especially one of its palest tints, so much so that they literally named the color after her. It was a perfect match, icy-blue with the subtlest hints of green.

She was still too embarrassed to even BEGIN broaching the subject, but Ashley occasionally indulged in imagining having a baby with those same bright eyes.

Damn. Even thinking about thinking about it was enough to fill her belly with butterflies.

"Hey," she smiled.

"Hey," he grinned back.

"Everything okay?" she offered.

"Uh, y-yeah? Why, what's up?"

Mischief played across her playful smirk. "Oh, yaknow, nothing… just sounds like you finished the Boston Marathon in there." To emphasize her point, Ashley softly rapped her knuckles against Chris's ribcage.

"Just did, actually. Just flew in too, so boy are my arms AND legs tir—"

Ashley put a shushing finger to Chris's mouth. "Dddddon't." Then, leaning in closer, she whispered: "Not if you wanna make out later."

A tinge of red flooded into Chris's ears, one of Ashley's favorite reactions. "So wait, you're telling me my shitty classic stand-up ripoffs AREN'T potent aphrodisiacs?" Ashley shook her head fervently. "Bummer. I think I need a refund on an amazing deal of $19.95 (plus shipping and handling) for this set of tapes—"

"TAPES? What year is this, '97?"

"—unless maybe you think I could sell it to Blockbuster? You think they retail like that still? I mean, what, there's that one still goin over in Oregon, right? We hop in my car, you DJ, I do my best Chevy Chase impression, we road-trip it out there like Wally World and hold a low-level employee hostage to open the store after hours, whaddayasay?" This was a common tactic, a shell as it were, for the part of Chris that feared that which he craved most desperately. Ashley was timid in her ways, and Chris his own; neither was adept at pushing too far past them.

But given enough friction, anything could ignite. A couple of months seeing one another, tension rising, trust building, boundaries opening, eventually belts unbuckling…

That was naughty. That was… so deliciously forbidden.

They'd made out before, of course. Ashley liked to think they were pretty darn good at it by this point too. She was no braggart, but she knew from the noises he made he savored the way their mouths fit together, and she itched for his tongue as well. Sometimes they'd touch each other a little, over the clothes, or rub against each other when no one was around. But otherwise? Completely chaste.

Mr. and Mrs. Hartley were not nosy people by nature. In fact, they seemed content most days to simply tend their backyard garden or read quietly in the parlor (something Ashley bonded with them over), perhaps forgetting or just not caring what their son and his new(ish) girlfriend might be getting up to. So far, they hadn't abused this wanton freedom for fear of cosmic cockblock retributions. Chris, in particular, had a wealth of blood-chilling anxiety around the nauseating idea of accidentally exposing himself to one of his parents (if they managed to walk in on an intimate moment).

Yes, so much anxiety, on both their parts. Ashley's years of experience with sneaking in sex equaled exactly zero. (Half points for some lackluster boob-grabs by a boy sophomore year, but she liked to forget about that.) And yet… never once had they ever been interrupted during their Saturday Movie Night. Ashley was empirically certain, she'd been keeping track the past couple of weeks; when the sound was loud, parents cleared out. Simple as that.

Maybe it was time to… explore what that could mean.

"I say you're a GOOFball," she chuckled, "but for some reason, it's kinda cute."

"Just kinda?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's VERY cute." Chris smiled, a little bashful, and Ashley couldn't help but beam. "I mean that. I do. You're so friggin' cute, I could just…"

Chris was hanging harder and harder onto that dangling conversation, falling into her trailing words hook line and sinker. Even he couldn't fumble this when she was setting him up so well. "Just…just what? What would you do to me?"

Let the fun begin. "Well—"

A buzz sounded off from Chris's pocket, cutting through their honeymoon moment like a rusty saw. Phones had a knack for interrupting nice moments like these, Ashley found, but there was no separating a kid like Chris from his tech. True to form, she could feel him shifting about subtly to try and wiggle his phone from its prison. Their bodies were already entwined on the couch. Ashley decided to hug him tighter in a vise of affection and pin that wandering arm down.

Her efforts wouldn't go unnoticed. "Hey uh… whatcha doin?" Chris asked, a hint of amusement playing across his countenance.

"Mmmmmmmnothin," she hummed.

"Mmmmmmmbullshit," was Chris's retort.

"Leave that phone alone and you just might find out what I'm up to, Hartley." To prove her point, Ashley tugged on Chris's belt by the buckle, riiiight above an area she felt certain he would be very keen to pay attention to.

She wasn't wrong. She'd seen blush crawl into his ears before, even his cheeks (how rosy and flushed), but never before had she seen his neck turn that shade of scarlet. It made her feel… wiggly. Feverish. Like honey was dripping down her hips. And what would happen, hm? What would happen, if she just…

"That's… that's not fai…" Chris tried to force out words, but coherence left him once he saw the flickering glint in his girlfriend's eyes as her hand wandered (gentle, meandering) southward. That look. That hungry look. His jaw sat slack. Ashley felt a surge of electricity tingling through her nerves as her fingertips brushed against the growing bulge in his pants. Even through denim, she could feel how warm it was. How… stiff.

She was blushing now too. Normally, she would go back into her OWN shell, cut this off before things got scary and exciting.

But Ashley had survived some heinous shit.

The two of them did. Together.

And for what felt like the first time, Ashley realized she might not be as scared as she thought she was.

Plus, it wasn't that Ashley had never been horny before, that was not a new sensation; it was that, for the very first time, there was a boy she actually liked laying in front of her looking ready to quite literally melt in her hands. Ashley, her entire life, was never "that type of girl." No judgments, just not her vibe, not her type. Not Chris's either, as far as she knew.

And that was why she wanted to be dirty with him only.

When she shifted to sit up he went to follow, but Ashley (surprising both of them) pinned him back down by the chest. His eyes widened into saucers. That made her feel… powerful. Rowdy. She would swear later it was as if someone else was guiding her hands, making her unbuckle his belt with slow but starving intent. She smirked a little, realizing this was maybe the quietest he'd ever been around her (beyond napping); she could practically hear his heart stuck up in his throat, ready to burst out at a moment's notice.

Funny enough, that phone never did stop buzzing, but Chris was perfectly petrified at the present. Whoever was calling would simply have to wait.

The clasp was finally free so she had a clear view of his fly and button. A strange feeling settled in her chest; it took her almost too long to realize it was the resounding thump of her pounding heart echoing loud and proud. That was adrenaline, and she was the one in control. She fumbled, for a few aching seconds, with the metal button of his Levi's until it finally pushed through. The top of his underwear began peeking out.

Chris felt warm and fuzzy and funny and giddy and half-dumb, if he was honest with himself; he didn't dare move, terrified as he was to break the spell unfolding. This was… a thing he'd imagined far more often than he'd admit aloud. It felt like it came out of the blue. Hadn't they been watching a movie mere minutes earlier?

Yes, that was true, but Ashley was pulling down his zipper at a deliberately coy pace, and the sound of its unfurl made his toes curl. With the denim pulled back, the only layer left was his pair of olive green boxer-briefs. Now she could see just how… excited he was, things were becoming very, VERY real.

Part of her was still nervous. This was… their first, after all. She didn't want to do anything too extreme yet. But what real harm could come from just… playing around a little? Having some fun?

Once again surprising everyone involved, Ashley pulled Chris's pants all the way down to his ankles (stopping short of tearing them off) and traced her nails along the inside of his thighs, watching his hips tremble at her touch. Was it nerdy to say she'd… well, researched how to do things like these before? With little experience, after all, a girl with no sisters for sage advice had to learn SOMEhow. Given the fact that Chris appeared mesmerized and braindead, Ashley liked to think her late nights reading hunched over her laptop were finally paying off.

He would vehemently agree.

For a moment, both scanned the door. A walk-in was certainly still possible, and a TERRIBLE position to be in. They could still turn back now, redress, forget about it, go back to watching their movie—

But then their eyes locked. Ashley saw in Chris's eyes for the first time utterly naked, primally raw desire. Chris saw in hers an almost smug sense of satisfaction mingled with an aching yearning.

Lost in sex-brained auto-pilot, Chris watched himself nod. It was almost a pleading gesture. Please.

Ashley nodded back. The pants took work, maneuvering, toiling; these? They were a piece of cake. Just sliding cloth. It was almost a shock, that just one yank was all it took and then… there he was.

He was frozen. What was that look, playing across her face?

Was she…

Was she drooling?

Chris's heart was ready to explode. He was… lava-hot. And ready. And full. He was awake.

She knew.

She knew.

And then her hands began to move, and then she really, truly knew.

\/\/\/

"Oh my GOD, what took you so long? You're on your phone like 24/7 Chris, I figured you would always pick up."

Chris was now a man: out of breath; sweaty; half-dressed; euphoric; ultimately, dazed, and still trying to recover his soul after lightly dying for a minute or two (or five or fifteen or who was counting even really). "I was… busy."

From the other side of the line, Chris could feel Sam mentally deconstructing everything from his response to the telltale panting of someone fresh off some… 'cuddling'. "...Uh huh. Right. Smooth."

Chris spared a breath to scoff. "Jealous, much?"

Sam knew he couldn't see it but rolled her eyes anyway. "That would be envy, aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

Even through the phone, Sam could hear Chris's impish grin. "Nah, I'm dating her."

Some people might be embittered with that kinda gloating, but Sam remembered a Chris who couldn't choke out how he felt to a girl he'd known for years until a near-death experience made it a pre-mortem necessity. Chris deserved to swagger about when it came to Ashley. And what's more, Ashley deserved a boy who went on and on about how lucky he was to be with her.

Sam wondered what that must be like.

"You're lucky Chris. I mean that. Both of you."

"Oh trust me, I know." A pause. Then: "So what's up? You haven't really said what you were callin' about, I just realized."

Ah. There lay the rub. "Yeah…" Sam began. "I guess I just… earlier today, when I had therapy, right? Since today is, y'know, the three-month uh… 'anniversary', we were talking about Mt. Washington and, well…" Sam didn't want to divulge too much without confirmation Chris was on-board for the conversation topic.

Silence from the other side of the call. Sam was almost ready to say his name when Chris remarked coolly, "You sure you really wanna poke your sleeping giant?"

Sam froze. "Wh—why is that familiar? What is that?" That phrase burnt into her brain. She'd… she'd seen it in a dream, hadn't she?

Chris cocked his head. "Don't you remember? That was literally a thing you said."

Sam blinked. Hard. "...I did?"

"Yeah man! That night, when we met up at the cable car. You said it was 'menacing, like a sleeping giant.' Fuckin prophetic, huh?"

Sam sat back in her chair, realizing perhaps she'd blocked out more of the last couple of months than she thought. "Jeez… right, yes, when we were waiting for the cable car. Oof. What I'd say to that girl now, if I could…"

"Hey, trust me, I've thought the same. But you can't live like that, man." A pause, then with a more hushed tone: "You've been thinking about Josh again, haven't you?"

Sam took a braid of her hair and began wringing it about in her free hand, at times almost fighting it like a snake-wrangler. "He's up there Chris. I know it. You know it. I mean, we all just kinda assumed Hannah and Beth were dead, right? And we saw how THAT turned out. We killed those Wendigos Chris, and you know what the Stranger said about the spirits being released. I mean, God, I'd rather we just find a body than find him like that but—"

"—SAM. Please." Chris didn't want to imagine Josh turning into… that.

Ouch. Too far. "Uh, right, right—sorry. My bad. Y'know I just… get a little carried away sometimes. It's Josh, you know? You can't help but get worked up when it comes to him. I can't, at least. Drives me bonkers sometimes. And I can't just sit with that anymore."

"Trust me, I'm with you," affirmed Chris. "But you can't let it take up all your thoughts, y'know? It's like, when you fixate, you're just driving yourself… well…"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Sam wondered how many people wrote off Josh as just that. Crazy. Nuts. Psycho. Like it was the boogeyman. Like he was the boogeyman, and not just a fucked up kid like every other American born past 1990-something. Misdiagnosed, traumatized, grieving… delusional, even.

But something out there might've been turning him into an actual nightmare. Maybe as they spoke.

Fuck.

"Maybe I am crazy, Chris. I mean, fuck, who isn't in therapy among our friend group these days, hm? You think Jess just went back to prancing around like the excitable bunny she used to be? I dunno the last time you talked to her but she is fucked UP from this, Chris. We all are. And maybe it's unhealthy for me to fixate on finding Josh, but I think it's legitimately something I need to do. Something WE need to do. And I mean that with whatever that might mean we find. None of us are ignorant anymore, we know the stakes. I know the stakes."

Silence from Chris. She could feel him turning it over in his head, inspecting all angles, analyzing the data. That was fair. If it weren't pouring from her own mouth, she'd do the same. But what she wouldn't tell him (or anybody else, for that matter) was that she'd already made up her mind, speeding down that freeway after an hour dancing around the truth, to go. Yes, go. Back to the scene of the crime. She would go whether anyone else would or not. She'd ask them all and hope at least some would join the cause, yeah, but at the end of the day, this was a Sam mission and it needed to be done.

For Josh. For her. For all of them.

Finally, Chris spoke up. "So… what, you really wanna go back up there and look for him? Prod the sleeping giant? Like, for real, Sam. Are you really talking about this?"

She didn't hesitate. "I mean it, Chris. Once the semester's over, I'm going back. And I think it would be… cathartic, for all of us, if we did this as a group. I know I would feel safer if I had you guys with me. And-and I know that's definitely a LOT to ask, trust me, but it's… I think it's something that we have to do." (Something she needed to do.)

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. "...Alright, for a MOment, let's just pretend I've said yes. Whether it's just us two or the whole crew… you know walking into this, you're literally walking back into the giant's den and waking him up on purpose, right? We don't get the naive-innocent defense like we did three months ago. You really think you're Ellen Ripley?"

"Fuck the giant. I'll put him back to sleep," declared Sam. She felt like steel.

"Just… maybe don't wake him in the first place," murmured Chris. He felt like wire.

But it was too late. The seed was germinating, growing.

The giant lay sleeping, ready to stir.

/\/\/\

On a wall in a cavern deep beneath the earth, one word had been scrawled in blood and guts upon the rocky canvas. That word, of course, was

S A M

But it no longer stood alone. Now there were drawings and sketches surrounding the word, colored by dried blood and ochre alike. Looking almost prehistoric, one could be forgiven mistaking it for Lascaux. There were butterflies, and flowers, and elk and bears; scenes of waterfalls, abandoned mills, silos and scarecrows.

Human figures. Rarely intact.

But one stood tall and full, crowned with the only flash of yellow to be found in all the beast's markings. She offered the viewer her open hands, and though the artist's articulation remained rather crude, one could not mistake that shape for any other than a heart.

He covered it with a bloody handprint. His long, unfamiliar handprint.

A memory. A regret. A curse.

The Wendigo crawled into a hole and curled up into a ball.

Time to rest.

Time to wait.