Greetings, lovelies! And welcome to the end result of a very insistent little plot bunny that absolutely would not leave me alone! Without getting too lengthy (in theory, lol), what I'm shooting for here is an AU of sorts with our beloved characters from the Magnificent Seven television series, thrown into the universe of The Walking Dead. To keep things simple (ha!), I won't be including any actual characters from TWD, here, since with the OCs and our seven men, I kind of have my hands full, already. But I've included a brief run-down of the prominent OCs that will be introduced as things proceed, below.
Cyrus Larabee: Father of Chris, Sam, and Sadie
Jeannie Larabee: Late wife of Cyrus, mother to Chris, Sam and Sadie
Sam Larabee: Second child of Cyrus and Jeannie
Sadie Larabee: Youngest daughter of Cyrus and Jeannie
Morgan Wilmington: Buck's younger sister, borrowed with permission from ChiTown4ever
Duane Jones: Member of the crew at Cyrus Larabee's cabin, his right-hand man
Milton Sykes: Another member of the crew, thorn in Sadie's side
Roger Dawes: Third and final member of Cyrus's group at the cabin
That about covers it for now (as the story develops, this list may be updated, but I will inform you accordingly if that is the case!) I truly do thank all of you for taking the time to give this little idea of mine a shot, and I hope at least some find it to be worth the read!
~FireAndBlood1415
…
(Larabee Ranch, Denver, CO)
"Should try to get some sleep."
"You first."
"Ain't tired."
The snort that escapes is something Sam cannot seem to stop, even if she is not entirely capable of turning to look her newfound companion in the eye. Not that she could see him fully anyway, with the only available light coming from a few flickering candles just inside the door leading out to the porch.
Stars and moon obscured by clouds, the night is almost utterly dark. Quiet. Eerily so. It might have been beautiful, if the reality behind it wasn't so intent upon hiding in the shadows.
Sam can feel her jaw tightening as she contemplates that reality. As she feels the gentle brush of an arm moving against her own, before the contact is lost just as quickly.
The world had changed. Tilted on its axis, where nothing that used to make sense remains.
She never meant to stay this long. The plan had always been to get home. Get her things. Morgan's things. Make sure their brothers knew they were together. Play the game of running off on some half-cocked road trip together, rather than admitting what they were truly running from. And then leave.
But then, Chris had been shot. Comatose. Near death. He is still in the hospital. A hospital that is likely overrun. And leaving?
Leaving is no longer an option.
Fingers tightening around her arms where she holds them firm across her chest, Sam suppresses a wince as her fingernails scrape against bare skin. Her ears strain for any hint of someone, living or dead, approaching from the darkness, but Sam hears nothing. Absolutely nothing.
It's slowly driving her crazy. The silence. No power. No phone. Any and all means of communication just—gone. Six weeks, and nothing. No change. Even the radio broadcasts urging people to stay home, avoiding major cities and roadways until the outbreak, or whatever the hell it is, was contained were no more.
Something is causing the dead to come back to life. To roam the streets, hungry for anything they can latch on to. Anything they can latch on to, and turn into still more of—them. And even though Sam thought it was all just some sick attempt at a joke to incite panic at the start, now that she's seen it with her own eyes?
She wishes more than anything that it could all just be a dream.
Wanting more than anything to divert her thoughts, despite knowing she really cannot succeed, Sam allows her eyes to slip closed. Tries for a steadying breath, until the effort stalls with a choked sound coming from somewhere inside her chest. Her brow furrows, and she tries again, only to achieve the same result.
The warmth of a calloused palm registers against the skin of her arm, and Sam recoils instantly, eyes snapping open, while her lungs finally manage to drag in a singular gasp of air. She reminds herself the face she is staring at is familiar. It does not belong to the man she and Morgan buried behind her father's cabin. It does not belong to the husband and wife she used to call neighbor, before a visit to check on them had nearly cost her her life.
Her mind screams at her that the man eyeing her warily, with hands held out to show no ill will, is Vin. Vin Tanner. Her brother's colleague. A friend. But all Sam can hear—all she can see—is the face of Agatha McCreadie, mouth opened in a snarl as the corpse that once belonged to the elderly woman she'd always considered a friend tried to snap grinding teeth against the skin of her neck…
"Hey—hey, easy. You're here, Sam. You're home."
"I can't—"
"You're home," Vin repeats, risking a step closer to Sam, in time to see the flicker of true horror behind her eyes before she has the time to stow it away, "Nothin's gonna touch you here."
"You don't know that."
"Dead are in the city. Reckon it'll be a while 'til they come lookin' out here."
"And we shouldn't be here when they do," Sam counters, eyes dropping to where Vin's hand is once again inching towards her arm, while her body instinctively seems to shy away, "Morgan and I shouldn't—"
"You two ever plannin' on tellin' me why you think you can't stay?"
Dread coils in Sam's gut in response to the inquiry, rendering her capable of nothing more than shaking her head, her fingernails once again digging into bare skin whether she wants them to or not. Again, the images of a man's body flash behind her eyes, and bile burns at the back of her throat.
It takes every last ounce of strength she possesses to hold her tongue, but she does. Her lips thin into a line, and her jaw winds tightly enough to crack, but no confession escapes. It can't.
She and Morgan had promised. No one could know what they had done. It was safer that way, if anyone came asking questions.
But just a look at Vin's expression shows that he isn't entirely ready to let the matter go. And Sam knows that leaves her with only one choice at hand.
Taking control of the conversation herself.
"Chris is in the city too."
"I know."
"Then you'll let me come with you when you go."
"Like hell I will," Vin protests, already anticipating Sam's impending remark, and moving to cut her off before she can put it to words, "Need someone 'round here capable of handlin' a gun."
"Morgan can shoot just as well as I can. You know that."
"Yeah, an' then there's safety in numbers."
"Says the man intent on goin' into Denver by himself."
"Sam—"
"Don't," Sam mutters, turning away from Vin, and allowing her gaze to roam the land extending beyond the porch, to the treeline at the edge of the path leading down to the barn, "Just—just don't."
"Don't what? Try to protect you? Morgan? Your sister?"
"Stop—"
"Because I ain't plannin' on stoppin' that any time soon."
"We aren't your responsibility, Vin! We never were!"
The exclamation comes out before Sam can even attempt to stop it, and Sam can see the pain that flashes in Vin's expression whether she truly wishes to or not, and she hates it. She hates the knife of guilt that digs beneath her skin in response.
She knows he is only trying to help. That he blames himself for what happened to Chris, and this is only one of his ways to try and make amends. But even then she cannot bring herself to take the words back. Not when every bone in her body all but screams at her to move.
And Vin is prohibiting her from doing exactly that.
"I'm not takin' you into the city, Sam. Need to get in an' out fast."
"I'm not fast?"
"That ain't what I mean, an' you know it," Vin sighs, watching as a muscle in Sam's jaw tightens, while her gaze returns to a point in the distance that he cannot quite define, "Sadie needs you. You, and Morgan."
"I'm not the one she needs."
Aware of the weight of Vin's gaze on her, Sam turns to face him once again, her own expression holding a challenge that all but dares him to disagree. Even not knowing the truth, he would have to be blind not to notice how, every time she tried to help her sister, she only seemed to make things worse.
Sam can recall the joke she often shared with Chris. That their younger sister was the best of them. Always had been, and always would be. But now, Sadie barely spoke. Barely ate. She existed as a shell of her former self, and nothing Sam or Morgan did made any difference at all.
Sadie needs Chris. And Sam knows that allowing for his continued absence, willingly or not, is just one of the myriad of ways she is failing her sister at every turn.
"You're doin' the best you can, Sam," Vin says, once again pulling Sam from her own inner musings, and prompting yet another snort of open disbelief not long after, "We all are."
"Gonna go check the horses. Tell Morgan I'll sit with Sadie once I'm back."
When Sam sets off before he can say a word on the matter one way or another, Vin is left with little choice but to remain on the porch to watch her go, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth because he knows nothing he says or does right now will stand a chance at bringing her back. He wishes there was something that would convince her to come clean. To tell him what the hell had driven her and Morgan back to the ranch with a dead-eyed Sadie, with all three refusing to say a word about it.
He'd tried. Hell, Chris had tried, before the day he and Vin had driven off to the precinct, only for one of them to make the journey back on their own. Vin can still remember the heated arguments Sam had thrown at her brother while Morgan remained planted firmly between Chris, and Sadie's closed bedroom door.
After that, there just hadn't been time. There hadn't been room to even think about forcing Sam and Morgan to sit down and talk to him, when it was apparent that both of them—all of them—were far too worried about Chris. And then the world had fallen apart. Infrastructure had dissolved, and the dead roamed the streets threatening anyone foolish enough to cross their path.
Sam is no longer visible, having already disappeared in the darkness leading to the barn, and that reality coupled with the direction of his own thoughts serve as enough to steel Vin's resolve to get into Denver sooner rather than later. To get Chris out if he can, or at worst, find out if what they've all been dreading is actually true.
Get in. Get Chris. Get back to the ranch, and then make a plan for where they are going to go next. That is all that matters.
And as much as he might hate leaving other matters to the side, Vin knows anything else will simply have to wait.
…