Disclaimer: I don't own "Cabin in the Woods" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This is a Marty x Dana fic. Figured that since I love the movie I should finally get around to writing something for it. Part II of the "La petite mort" series.
Warnings: PTSD, mild sexual content, transformation, friends to lovers, adult language, canon appropriate violence, blood, drama, romance, angst.
When God is gone, and the Devil takes hold (kick him in the nuts and run)
Long story short, the world didn't end.
Not really.
Philosophically, maybe. According to the lectures he remembered from his professors, there was probably a decent argument to be made that it did. And that this was a new one, inherently changed or whatever. Complete with the outline of massive footprints and Everest's status as the tallest mountain in the world considerably downgraded after the giant with the seventeen heads used the north face as a toothpick.
Or so he'd heard.
But they lived, and apparently so did a lot of other people. Picking up the pieces. Digging out from the rubble. Emerging from bolt-holes and doomsday shelters that'd actually come in handy after all.
And it was fine. Ish.
A lot of people were dead and while that wasn't their fault, they were kind of responsible. He figured he should have felt more guilty about that. But he didn't. He wondered about himself these days. About how he was coping and how this had changed him.
But mostly he wondered about Dana.
Wondered.
Worried.
Watched.
There were a lot of w-related verbs and adjectives there. Either way, he knew he should probably think about getting a new hobby one of these days. Especially after the first full moon and the way the entire experience had left him with a brand new reason to scream himself awake at night.
But he didn't.
Because the thing was, Dana always seemed to be watching him back.
"Marty, why- why are you still here?" Dana asked one morning, picking at an apple core. Looking pale and small under the motel sheets. It was the first day since the full moon she'd been able to stomach breakfast. Their new normal.
The springs of the double bed creaked. His stomach grumbled, hungry. Starving, actually. Food was hard to come by and she needed it more than he did. He swallowed, mouth dry. Wondering if whatever he last ate was that acidic, if it was just heartburn from stress. She cocked her head when his stomach gurgled again, but she didn't call him on it.
"Where else am I going to go?" he joked automatically, like it hadn't been hours since either of them had said a word. "I heard the campus is a new lake or something. They think one of them did a cannonball into the football field. The river started flowing into the crater. I wonder what they'll name it."
Her eyes flashed, annoyed.
She was like that a lot these days.
A bit more animal than he was comfortable with.
At first he thought she was mad at him. Which would make sense considering if he'd just shut up and died, the world would have kept on- going on. Shitty, but whole. But over the past few weeks he realized it was more like she was confused by him. Like she was trying to figure him out. Waiting for something. Watching.
Which was terrifying, really.
He licked his lips, flinching when she uncoiled and leaned against the pillows. She didn't completely transform on the full moon, but it was still painful for her. He didn't know what the scale was for werewolf strength, but she'd spent most of the night tearing chunks out of the drywall and snapping freakishly long teeth at him whenever he remembered to breathe. The chains had been her idea. The abandoned police station and jail cell had been his. They hadn't known what to expect, but they hadn't been willing to take chances.
"I can smell it when you lie, you know," she murmured, voice tight with that same undercurrent of aggression he'd noticed a few days before and after the full moon.
He snorted. Then paused and considered it. Wondering of that was all she smelled. Not having to sneak a whiff of his pits to know how rank they were. Showers were more or less a thing of the past. So were working toilets. And-
Yikes.
The cringe was real.
It was fascinating, really. After pissing himself and falling asleep standing up while Dana stitched the wound on his back, he figured he was beyond the small things like embarrassment and self-consciousness. Good to know the bar could always go lower.
He sighed internally. Anxiety and adrenaline on a hair-trigger as he watched the shadows play across her face. Saying nothing as she nibbled around the apple seeds and started on the fleshy strings around the core. Not wanting to give up a mouthful. Nothing like imminent starvation to put food waste into perspective, he supposed.
There was a metric shit ton of badness in the pile of things they'd silently agreed not to touch. Things like Jules, Kurt and Holden. Things like how he'd made a conscious, selfish choice not to warn her about the werewolf sneaking up behind her as she held that gun on him. That he'd pissed his pants when the Ancients had ripped through from below. That he'd dragged her out even though he couldn't find a pulse and broke one of her ribs when he lost it and punched her back to life. Forcing her to stay. To stay with him. How neither of them were sure if their parents were still alive. Their friends. If they should even try and find out. And yeah, her werewolf stuff was wedged in there somewhere. He'd been afraid to bring it up in case not talking about it was her coping mechanism or something.
Still, he tried his luck anyway. Pathologically curious.
"Can you smell like that all the time...or just close to the full moon?"
She glanced away, off towards the window they'd barricaded - just in case - before looking him right in the eye. Letting him see when they flashed red.
"All the time," she replied, pressing her palm against her chest. "I feel it every minute of every day. The animal parts. I can smell things, I heal faster. I'm stronger now, stronger than you. It's confusing sometimes, the instincts. Even now there's this tug- I don't know how to describe it. I know things...how things should be. How they're wrong. It isn't bad, not really. It's just during the full moon I can't keep it down. I don't think I got whatever they did to the one that bit me. I don't think it was meant to be that way. I think it used to be what I am now...they changed it. Twisted it. Just like everything else down there. It was someone once, before it was just the wolf. Answer the question, Marty."
He didn't say anything for a long moment.
They were used to each other's quiet by now.
Used to the way it took time to get some things out.
There was either too much or static going on inside his head these days. Which made it hard to concentrate on what was immediate - present - physical. Emotions and feelings were hard. He didn't know what he was feeling or how beyond hungry and exhausted. More to the point, he didn't have time to wonder either.
The old him would have probably hiccuped at the smooth transition. Choking on a mouthful of coffee or reefer-smoke, depending on the time of day. But he wasn't who he'd been. That person was gone. Altered. Or replaced completely. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
Her eyes were still red when he answered.
"I don't know. I guess I figured that after everything, we needed to stick together. Get through it somehow."
Her lips curled.
"If guilt is making you stay then-"
Frustration bubbled up like something toxic, like heartburn.
"No," he cut her off, forceful enough that she made a rough sound in her throat. Not a growl but something else. Uncharacteristically quiet like as she watched him closely, fiddling with her hair. Preening. Showing him the arch of her throat as the shirt she was wearing billowed at the neck. "No. Not that."
He shook himself at the weird thought. Watching her body language until it freaked him out too much to stay focused. Because that was the thing. She was still Dana, but she wasn't just Dana. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle. High on danger and excitement and something else he didn't want to own that made the one- okay, three times he'd had enough privacy and energy to jack off more or less hyper-focused.
He was so fucked... so fucked up... he didn't know how to deal with it anymore.
"Then what?" she insisted, combing her fingers through her hair until it hung around her like an auburn fan. Smelling like cheap hotel conditioner and something that was distinctly her. Something he remembered from those close moments in the elevator - clinging to her despite the lake-sludge and blood. "What is this? What are we doing, Marty?"
Not dying?
Fuck.
It took so much energy just to find the basics now. Food. Water. Somewhere safe to sleep. Avoiding the escaped monsters. Steering clear of other survivors when Dana gave him that look and refused to go any closer. Not dying of dysentery or rabies or the common fucking cold because the last Red Cross truck they'd seen had been wrapped around a tree with zombies strapped into the seat belts. Wondering how they were going to deal with the full moon. Then the next. And the one after that.
Hell, just keeping up with her was hard enough. A good seventy-five percent of his day revolved around her and he was pretty sure Dana hated him for it.
He hadn't been kidding about needing a hobby. A hobby meant free time, a commodity anyone would probably kill for right about now. It would have meant things were going back to normal. Or at least starting to.
And to think, he'd thought the idea of society crumbling would be cool.
Teenage Marty was a fucking idiot.
The knot in his stomach curdled. Clenching. Reminding him of the way he'd spilled his guts after disemboweling one of the Buckner brothers with a trowel. Like as soon as his body didn't need to be actively fighting, it'd suddenly caught the stink of punctured organs and fetid blood.
"Surviving. Trying to. I don't know Dana, just-"
He broke off.
He didn't have the answers.
He never had.
He'd only ever known enough to get to where he was now.
Stuck.
'You figured everything.'
'Oh, not at all. But I do know some stuff. As in- it's an elevator. Somebody sent those dead fucks up here to get us. …Now, there's no controls inside, but there's maintenance overrides in there and I think I can get it to go down.'
Fuck.
Once the last of whatever they'd been dosing him with wore off, he'd been staggered by how much he hadn't figured. Everything from the entire good damned reason they were out there. Sure, Curt didn't have that cousin. But the truth was, he and Curt barely fucking knew each other. They'd had one class together in their first year and Curt had invited him like they were old friends. He'd never met Holden, but for some reason he'd been open to getting to know him. Jules hadn't been a lie. He and Jules went way back. Dana too. He'd known her for years. He'd wanted to know her better, but they never seemed to be on the same wave-length.
Fuck.
His eyes screwed shut. Trying to ignore the salt-sting. Knowing she was watching as he scrambled to his feet. Needing to get out. Away. Just away. Sweaty palms swiped down filthy jeans as he tripped on the bedspread and grabbed the baseball bat he'd been using as a weapon.
"I'll try and find us some food. You need to eat. I'll- I'll be back."
Her eyes were still red as she watched him leave.
He didn't end up feeling any better alone. In fact, as he scavenged through a half-collapsed corner store, the section labeled 'fresh' currently molding in humidity-clouded cellophane, he actually felt worse.
He figured that said everything right there.
It was almost dark by the time he got back. Following the outline of giant footsteps that seemed to be leaving green wherever they went. Even right through the concrete and the middle of buildings. Making it look like it had been a hundred years since the end of things and not a few months.
Maybe all the Ancient Ones weren't specifically assholes. Either way, he wasn't desperate enough to try the orange and purple fruit that was growing from a massive tree just outside the hotel.
His heart thumped into his throat when he approached the door and saw it was open a crack. Letting the dusk in and the candle-light out. Wafting the smell of dusty citronella down the breeze-way.
Shit.
He'd closed it when he left, he was sure of it.
He set down the bags and lifted the bat, ready.
But when he peeked inside, adrenaline a second pulse, he nearly fell into the frame. Because Dana was just standing there beside the bed, her back to him. Naked, pale, hair feathered down her back like every half-remembered fantasy he'd ever had. And- and he could see everything.
The soft, dimpled curve of her ass.
The flair of her hips.
The raised, silver scar on her shoulder.
The shape of her breasts in the dim-dark as she stretched and-
His tongue clicked dry in his mouth. Half the reason they were still alive was because she could hear things he couldn't. She could smell things. Sense things. She could even see in the dark. Which meant, she would have heard him coming. She would have caught his scent. Sensed him as he got closer. Footsteps on filthy carpet. The cough he let go of as he crossed the road. The crinkle of the shopping bags when they hit the inside of his knee.
She knew he was watching her.
What was she doing? Why?
He kept staring, lips parted, bat loose in his palm.
Wait. What was he doing?
He blinked and stepped away, skittering an empty soda can.
Through the crack in the door he watched as she didn't flinch.
Shit.
He cleared his throat.
"I'm-uh, I'm back."
She turned her head to look at him with a casual arch. One arm covering the curve of her breast, hiding enough but leaving everything else to the imagination. The shirt on the bed stayed there. She didn't reach for it. She didn't even try.
His lips firmed against the line of his teeth, pressing hard.
He wasn't equipped to deal with this shit.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Maybe not ever.
"I smell instant noodles," she called, like a mercy kill. Setting him free from the suffocating possibilities of the moment - the pressing need to make a decision he wasn't sure he wanted to make. "I'll put the kettle on. I think the generator has enough power to get it hot."
She leaned down and slipped on the shirt, turning around as he edged in cautiously. Not quite able to meet her eyes until something in her face shifted and she flashed him a smile that was familiar and easy. Like how she'd smiled before all this.
"I found some chips too," he offered, dragging the bags inside. Smiling hopefully as the click from the kettle echoed through the room with more than a little triumph. "Sour cream and onion and Cool Ranch. Tonight we eat like kings."
She laughed. And just like that, the strange tension eased away. Letting him breath freely again as he presented the food with a stupid flourish. Happy she seemed happy. Telling her about the strange fruit and the way a thick net of vines had started growing wild over the right side of the motel. Enjoying the reprieve from everything that was complicated and terrible as the bathroom mirror fogged up when the kettle came to at boil.
If he'd been able to see her reflection, he might not have felt the same way considering her smile turned wolfish when his back was turned.
"Wha-what is it?"
It was a few days after that, no where near the full moon, when Dana crawled into bed beside him. The shift in weight was enough to startle a sudden intake of breath. Stretching up to meet the trailing ends of her hair when they tickled across his bare chest.
He'd gone to bed fully clothed.
He blinked awake far too slowly after that.
The darkness was a mirror. Reflecting red eyes as the moonlight got trapped in the curve of her shoulder when she caught his lips in a violent kiss. More animal than human as she kept him flat against the mattress. Rumbling when the only fight he put up was with words and polite hands that he cupped around her forearms – tugging gently.
"Dana?"
His heartbeat stuttered when she shook her head. Bracing her hands on either side of his head as she watched him watch her.
"I know why you stayed," she rasped, nuzzling into his hairline. Licking at the shell of his ear, breath warm and humid as warning bells went off in his head. At odds with his stupid hind brain that was very much enjoying the weight of her on top of him.
"Dana? Are you okay?"
Call him naive, but he never saw the bite coming.
The springs and wood underneath him concaved when sharp teeth sunk into the crease where neck met shoulder. Eyes suddenly too wide for his face as the skin tightened, threatening to pop inside out. Scrabbling at her shoulders with blunt nails as he tried to kick her away but-
He screamed until his voice gave out and worse- somehow came messily all over himself as she rumbled and licked the wound clean. Easing him through it as he spasmed. Body quaking, burning- fevered. Slipping away as she held him close. Telling him she'd be there when he woke up. That it was better this way. That he shouldn't hate her. That he'd understand when it was over as cum cooled on the inside of his jeans. Fading into the dark of his own eyelids as his fingers curled like claws against the blankets. Fighting it for as long as he could as she hummed under her breath, licking the salt from his skin.
Life always had something of a learning curve, but frankly, this shit was ridiculous.
A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. – There will be more to his series.
Reference:
- Part of the title is from the song "Oh Death" by Jen Titus.