Sins In Twisters

Chapter 27: The Day After

Feeling like the darkness would never end. Being weightless in a place that wasn't reality as after one's time was up, all you would be is in no place above or below. But just continuous sleep until the end of what it will be.

Lincoln knew he wasn't at that point in life yet. The burning light breaking through the seams of his eyelids told him he was still here on Earth. His brain struggled to start like an engine run completely dry of fuel. It was like his spirit was turning the key, listening to his body try to turn over and plead for it to come on.

Just as it seemed it wouldn't give, it burst to life.

Lincoln had to brace himself on the wheel when a cough drier than Death Valley ripped up his throat. Strong enough to send his stomach clashing upwards as it acted like a battering ram for the subsequent follow-ups to slam one after another; he was sure his inside was on fire.

He reached around the passenger seat, looking for his last jug of water, but found nothing. He reached around the floor behind the seats until his fingers felt the edge of the handle, and he practically twisted around to snatch it. In desperation, he ripped the cape up and held it back, ready for the whole container to dump itself over his face.

A small trickle fell on his tongue, but nothing more followed. He tapped the jug, begging for it to give more of its divine sustenance, but in the seconds following, he knew it was a lost hope. It was barely enough to let him lick his lips. With it run dry, he chucked it into the back. Hearing it bounce off something before it rolled next to the backdoor, Lincoln tried to move from his stiff position. Feeling his back cry out, puffing his chest forward to crack it, he held onto the headrest for his arms to do the same to get them all as far as possible.

Some half-dozen pops echoed through his body, and he dropped back down, feeling slightly better. Rubbing his eyes and adjusting to the light took him a minute. Still feeling sore from last night's events, the reality of the mess that populated his tank made its presence known. Looking around, it was as much of a mess as he remembered it. Like his previous attempt to clean it hadn't existed, supplies and objects were thrown everywhere like a tornado had been inside it.

Sighing, he didn't want to think about it so early….

Now that he was a bit more alert, he wondered what time it was. His body didn't feel utterly drained like it did all of yesterday, and the fact he was still in the same spot he vaguely remembered stopping in meant either no one or thing could wake him up, or he was just left alone. In either case, he felt what Leni would say was "totes better" after a good, hard sleep after a few days.

He tried to check his watch but found it missing. He tried his phone and laptop, both dead. The former made him wince, trying not to dwell on the implications of not being in contact with anyone for most of the day; he was sure Clyde was still panicking or tired himself out.

With three things dead and more on today's growing checklist, Lincoln found the keys stuck halfway in the ignition. Twisting them enough for the dashboard to light up, he was surprised the second he saw what time the radio displayed.

"2:14 Pm,"

Running the numbers on his fingers, he was a bit taken back to realize he had been asleep for the better part of 14 hours. Leaning back, his fingers combed through his hair as the thought that he had been in Nashville all this time, that the events still fresh, well, mostly there but not fresh, were on his mind.

Twenty-four hours ago, he was in the hospital trying not to have an utter mental breakdown. A day before that, he was preparing to embark on the risky mission that had led him almost two thousand miles within a day, saw three twisters, and roamed around the city until his body finally collapsed on itself.

Aside from all the destruction and pain, he weakly chuckled, telling himself that he had accomplished what he set out to do. Every step of the way was like the world trying to stop him, but he kept driving on no matter what stood in his path.

But how could he see it, how much this year could have been so different… This week would have been monumental to him. He would have had nonstop success from Kansas to here, clocking endless miles but seeing so much he missed. He was sure that yesterday would have been a day the whole team, plus some, would have been out here chasing whatever today had been going further east.

Today would have been a day on which, in a short time, his heart would have been one step closer to completing some meaning in its life. Chase today, prepare tomorrow, unite together, and then spend the whole month until Thanksgiving. Reunite with the family with years of stories to tell…

For one, he needed to get out of this truck. His legs were utterly cramped from the lack of space to stretch, and a smell lingered in the air.

Switching the truck back off, he pulled the lock back while pushing on the door, but it barely budged. Pressing his shoulder to the window and legs to the console, with the bit more energy he had gotten back, he lifted it up.

"Note to self; rebuild doors so they're a bit lighter…" he muttered letting it bang against the side. Feeling the moist humid air hit his face, it was refreshing for a moment until he started climbing out and felt just how much cooler it really was. Yesterday still had that heavy mix of tropical air lingering into the night, now it felt like Fall was just hours away. His skin crawled under his soaked clothes despite the thicker layers.

Yesterday still had that heavy mix of tropical air lingering into the night, but now it felt like Fall was just hours away. His skin crawled under his soaked clothes despite the thicker layers.

Muggy and thick, but with a cold taste. Usually, good weather can kick off a storm if the air is a bit drier, but the precept that feels couldn't even be called a trickle. An unstable balance of enjoyable and uncomfortable weather, how lovely…

Sitting down on the edge of the door to try to plan out his day, his stomach rumbled like a collapsing mine, begging for anything to fill the void within. He couldn't deny it; the most he had gotten all day was a little snack and a slushie to hold him over. 14 hours of sleep was fantastic, but the stomach and spirit begged the mind for something more filling. He looked around for options, mulling over what could be closed for service or destroyed. He passed numerous restaurants along the way, questioning whether they had power.

There was a Starbucks just feet away. As much as he wanted that caffeine shot along with a good meal, the fact that he saw the lights on and people milling about inside was enough to convince him.

Not bothering with the door, he teetered side to side, making his way. Ripping the door open with more force than needed, he stepped into a cloud of smell that he deeply inhaled. Feeling the actually warm atmosphere with such a delectable flavor in the air that you could almost bite into it, he felt strong enough that he could just sit in a chair for an hour and feed off it.

Standing in the short line from the counter, he fulfilled the role of a bum who had walked into the place off the streets with whatever change he found. Some people lining up behind, glancing over their shoulders or sitting at tables, trained their eyes towards him. He could feel their gaze, hear the volume of small talk drop, and become more hushed.

Lincoln didn't care. Let them judge all they want. What they thought and said about him had no difference to what he would do later. He stood quietly, ordered, waited, and found a spot near the back corner of the windows.

His 'feast' really only consisted of two large cups of apple juice and three of the same oversized, overpriced breakfast wraps he could pick out. So often before a big chase day, if they weren't snacking on the road, they were chowing down so as not to stop until much later. Like an animal, he tore away at his food, his table manners fighting through, and immediately downed half a cup of apple juice. The steaming flavor on his tongue sparked a battle between chugging it down and wanting to savor it.

It was down two-thirds before he stopped, focusing on his next prey of one of the sandwiches, eyeing him back before tearing into it. The spice, the salt, the juicy bacon to fluffy bread swarmed his mouth like a rave kicking into high gear. After two days of nothing, he couldn't resist moaning from the feeling of such tasty, actual, solid food. The first sandwich disappeared faster than he drank, and he immediately started on his second. Though the taste had briefly subsided, it did little to stop his relentless campaign.

"I guess someone's hungry." He heard someone voice out. Though he didn't want to stop, his momentum slowed with every chew.

Dropping his food to the table, he looked over to see a man roughly in his early 30s sitting across the gap in tables with a tablet in hand and coffee to his lips. Dressed in a pink jacket over a white work shirt disappearing into brown slacks, Lincoln was a little taken aback by how much pink there was with a tie and belt equally matching.

Looking down at his tablet for a moment longer before placing his cup down, Lincoln's blue eyes were almost as sharp as his own, somehow displaying more youth despite a decade gap. Wiping the crumbs from his beard with his hand, Lincoln tried to elicit some semblance of a retort or comeback.

"Yeah, well, if you did what I do, you'd be dying for something considered good food every once in a while."

The man chuckled, "Well, with a parking job like that with something that big after what happened yesterday, it's a bit hard not to notice." Twisting the tablet around, Lincoln took a second to understand what he was seeing when the man scrolled the wall of text up to the top, revealing a news article.

'Storm Chaser to Local Savior; famed storm chaser and photographer Lincoln Loud spotted among the search and rescue efforts during Monday's storms…' below the article continued a few more sentences before a picture of him loading people into the back of Shrieker was seen. You could have passed it off as anyone else loading someone into a strange ambulance in the dark.

But his white hair stuck out like a sore thumb. The angle at which the photo was taken gave anyone with a suitable device and eye the ability to zoom in and see his facial features despite the forest across his chin. Reaching over, he flicked the page up, scrolling past the wall of text with photo reels of the tornadoes and damage all over the city.

Near the bottom, it spoke about him. A brief summary of himself and his career, followed by what he skimmed over as a guesstimation of his day until it connected to the incident with Sam's flight. Another photo had Storm Shrieker sitting at the hospital like it was abandoned, three more of it sitting with other vehicles during a rescue, and another added this morning where the tank now sits. That last photo, in particular, got his attention. It was taken from a distance, like from the front of the store, zoomed in enough to where you could make out details of what was inside.

And there he was, or his silhouette passed out with his head rolled to the side like he had been shot and died right then and there.

"Well, that's nice…" Lincoln muttered as the man took the tablet away. It should probably be fun later…" His earlier thoughts about his team perked up again, and he shook his head at the implications of what that storm would become later.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. I've gone through a lot of crazy things in my youth. I wished I could have hoped for better outcomes. A lot of it tended to go all back to normal in the end or bite me in the butt a couple of times before I dealt with it."

Taking a bite of his second serving, Lincoln mulled on his words until he gulped down, "I don't think running around with the weather would be a fair or balanced comparison."

He shrugged but grinned, showing off a bit of a bucktooth, "Eh, you'd be surprised by how most of my childhood went when I was 10."

"Chaotic family?" He guessed.

"Yep. In many odd ways."

"Relatable. Grew up in a family of 11 siblings."

The man's eyes widened, "That's gotta be chaos." While taking another sip, he remarked, "Here I thought, being an only child in Dimmsdale for years was something of a chaotic life."

"Dimmsdale?" Lincoln caught on to the name. "That's like in northern California? I've heard many crazy stories about that place, like Amity Park and Retroville. What are you doing all the way out here?" he asked, growing curious.

"Meeting with developers for a video game I'm helping with. Only got in yesterday morning before all the weather decided to go crazy." he waved in the air, "But with downtown a wreck right now, I wished I had known ahead of time."

"Wishful thinking in the shadow of hindsight." Lincoln commented as he downed the last of his cup as the man flashed a knowing smile, nodding, "So now that you know me to an extent, you?"

Leaning his head back, the man smiled his buck teeth on full display once more, and reached for a handshake. "Tim, Tim Turner."

It was just a few minutes past 3 pm, but the activity around the TriStar Medical Center was still busier than ever. While not utterly pandemonium as it was this team yesterday, the entire complex was breaching capacity under the strain of so many injured filling the rooms and halls. From those with bruises that would heal in a few days to changes that would last forever, many had their family and friends gathered by their sides every hour of the night and day. Reflecting on how a normal day became such an event that they would look back in the years to come.

For some, their only company was left in a recovery room with either a fan to keep the air moving or the TV on low volume in dim light. They were either trying to keep themselves entertained enough to stay away or having something as background music instead of the sounds of activity outside.

For a few, it was only the sounds of distant traffic from behind the windows to the outside or the bustling hallway.

Sam sat there in her bed, dressed in a light blue hospital that was more like oversized pajamas that made her feel like she was about to break out in a sweat despite the blanket being pushed to her lap and the building's AC at a grade that made it feel a bit colder than needed. She focused on a tray of food brought to her by a nurse a few hours ago for lunch, a small meal that wasn't the typical bland mush, but the lower end of portions wobbled and shook as she poked it with her spoon.

Missing breakfast, she had devoured a good chunk of it after waking up late, but what was left was a small cup of orange jello that didn't taste like jello with little white chunks of some fruit inside it. Every little move she made, taking the edge of the utensil ready to scoop up a chunk only to turn just enough to let it slide away, was what had kept her attention for most of the day.

She didn't like hospitals, not because of past experiences but because, aside from those past events and a few close calls, she never really had been the one to be placed on the bed without remembering what exactly led to her being here in the first place. The sling her right arm sat contained in by her side was enough of a reason for her to see why.

Waking up in a place that wasn't your home without remembering if you ever got home yesterday was something Sam had heard about many times. Accidents that led to people's lives getting changed in ways they didn't imagine would happen. When the doctors explained to her, after a brief and embarrassing hysteria episode, she was told in a nutshell how she got here and what was wrong.

Her right arm being broken in three places didn't help her mood after waking up. She knew that life was about to be a bigger chore than usual until it got back to normal, but the extent of the damage wasn't as severe as initially believed. It'd take time, but at that time, she still had some limited movement in her fingers. Enough to hold a fork awkwardly but not sufficient to get it out from being stuck in a position like she was going for a handshake.

It was a bit depressing, yet when she was told how she got here, it felt like she was being told a serious or elaborate joke or something that her brain didn't think was too. Left alone to her thoughts, she spent the last hours trying to remember what had happened.

She remembered the storm; things were getting bad, and they were calling for more. The whole city was becoming a mess, and her goal after leaving work early was to get home. Traffic was getting bad, and her usual route wasn't possible, so she had to take the long way. The sky became black so quickly, and hearing the sound of a siren so close made her want to get home and hide until it was all gone.

She remembered watching the storm, the creature made of wind and rain tearing apart the place she had come to call home for a few years, destroyed before her very eyes by a monster.

Stuck with hundreds on that highway close to the front of the pack, she had a front-row seat to the show. Nearly being crushed by a falling semi-trailer, watching something big race ahead of them all with flashing lights get closer and closer to the vortex before reversing itself, she gunned it the moment she had watched the storm seemingly die out. Hoping to beat it to the intersection and get out of the way…

She had flown several times in her life but never in a car. She had screamed louder than any cheer at a concert she had ever been part of, yet she might as well have been silent…

The time between feeling her wheels leave the earth and waking up on the wet grass felt unreal. That what had happened couldn't be possible but only in nightmares…

But when she felt like she was sinking, she was saved.

Her jello poking stopped; settling the spoon down, she looked intensely at the orange and white mass, feeling a different image forming.

All the signs pointed to something she didn't expect to be possible. From the voice and eyes she had awakened to, she saw the brief moment of him driving her here and the staff explaining how he brought her and a few others in a tank refusing aid. After he left, there was no word about him for hours until people started talking about a storm chaser going around helping to rescue and ferry people away. Some people coming from the overflowing hospital by Old Hickory were speaking so heavily about a man, but she was too out of her mind to focus on their words.

Now? Now, she was trying to understand what to feel. It wasn't an everyday thought that your life would get thrown upside down, and suddenly, your savior was the little brother to your ex-girlfriend. Someone she hadn't seen in maybe three to four years, but what she could remember, he looked so different.

She could see him in those blue marbles of his, from the first day she met the little dude to the last concert they met, so many little interactions she could think back on, from moments of friendly joy to rather emotional moments that made her scream and cry at times. But, like Luna, he was one of those friends she could turn to for advice or just someone to chat with. Even during some rocky moments with Luna and the band, he was that one little beacon of light that gave not just her a way to see things.

She could name many people who inspired her and drove her to rock on; among those, she'd count as the top ten, and he'd be high among them. As they all grew up, she saw him a bit less and less, the side effect of her life taking her to the road and his… well, also to the road but a different one, watching him go from that goofy boy to a determined teen and see how his adult life had become so far was something she saw her own little brother do and with him somewhere out in the world, she didn't remember the exact last time they have spoken.

Still, now she really wanted to talk again. He was always someone that she felt anyone could relate to. Open themselves up to someone willing to listen and help by words or actions in any way they could. If it wasn't for his art or music talent, she could see him as a motivational speaker or, at the other end, a therapist.

Other than his current… hobby.

But after last night, she had no idea what happened or where he could be now. When she asked for her stuff, the nurse opened the cabinet across from her and saw half of her clean clothes hanging on the rack and a bag with what remained of her cut shirt. Among them was an orange jacket that looked too big for her on a hanger staring back at her from the gap in the door like a ghost that wouldn't go away.

She could almost feel lost in her thoughts until the door to her room popped open. The same nurse that had tended to her before popping in and giving a courteous nod as she took the food tray.

"Not one for jello?" she quipped, taking the tray.

"No, it's just… lots of stuff on my mind."

"Well, hopefully today, some time at home will help," the nurse states, getting Sam's full attention, "You've been discharged. All you need to do is sign the papers on your way out, and you're free to go. There's a prescription waiting for you at the pharmacy on the ground floor to help with your recovery."

Relief coursed through her body, and she was happy she didn't have to spend more time here than needed. She was sure that a doctor would want to have a final look over or chat before she left, talk about what the dos and don'ts were with her arm out of commission. But the reality that her phone was toast from the rain and her car was a junk pile on wheels somewhere quickly bummed her mood.

"Guess I'll be walking home…" she sighed, falling back into her pillow.

"Oh, I don't think so. Your visitor has offered to drive you where you want."

"A visitor?" Sam asked, puzzled. As far as anyone she knew knew anything, she wasn't in the hospital. How anyone could know and be here without her knowing meant it was either someone related who found out or someone she had met.

Before she could dwell, a shadow passed the door with slow, lumbering steps. Like a ghost in his own right, messy white hair appeared first as Sam watched Lincoln step inside the room. A bit cleaned up from whatever he had left in his bags, he still wore the same dirtied jeans and shoes from yesterday. Now, he wore a red jacket over a normal white shirt, with a hand in his pocket and a bag in the other.

Again, her memory from yesterday was fuzzy, but she could see the spark in his eyes from before—a bit brighter, with how he looked tired but relaxed. The beard made it hard to really see exactly what he could possibly be feeling. A neutral look that bordered between nervousness and exhaustion was there but hard to see.

"Lincoln?" she said, not wanting to say it out loud.

With a small smile, he nodded, "Hi, Sam…" he spoke like reuniting with a dying friend.

The nurse quickly excused herself, slipping out with the door behind her as the two watched it swing and heard the lock close. The silence Sam had shared with the room greeted Lincoln in a familiar way, and the hairs on his neck rose like he had felt twice yesterday. Only, at least this time, he knew who was with him wasn't some figment of imagination.

"I… brought breakfast, sorta…" he gestured to the bag, wanting to break the ice immediately. "I don't know what this place gives in terms of 'good food,' but I'd figure something with a bit more mass and flavor would do."

Sam smiled at the gesture. Though not as hungry as before, her stomach rumbled happily at the prospect of a more fulfilling meal. "Thanks, Linc."

That spark shined even brighter for a split moment. "The docs said you were good to go. I'd… figured I would be the one to give you a ride home since your car is kinda…"

She waved it off, "It's fine, Linc. I'm… just happy you were there to get me out." she said, grateful. How she felt about how he had gone the extra mile to pull her out and tend to her wounds until driving her to the hospital, and now this little gesture was piling up fast. She thought of a few ways to try and pay him back. She was practically in his debt for saving her; it was only fair to try to do something in return.

Some ideas popped up but were shot down before they got off the ground. Some seemed possible if she had a time machine to return to a year ago, and others… Sam shook her head lightly. Realizing her ideas were already running away from her into ludicrous territory she didn't need right now.

She needed to get out of bed. Her left leg was starting to feel funny, and trying to adjust it wasn't helping keep it awake. Without the bed rails up or wires hooked into her, she used the freedom to pull the blanket away and swing her legs over.

The second her exposed feet touched the cold floor, a jolt stronger than what coffee wished it could do for her rocketed up her spine. Unable to decide, her body launched forward to stand, but the combination of being in bed for most of the day and being unable to balance between alertness and exhaustion caused a massive head rush to crash into her.

Feeling both wall and floor rapidly approaching, Sam stuck her arms out to try to catch herself but was immediately stopped by a warm presence reaching its arms around her back and latching onto her hands.

"Easy…" Lincoln said, holding her still to recover her bearings.

Though it was a gesture of kindness, the thin fabric of the gown meant she could feel the vast difference in temperature between them. She didn't think she was this cold, but she couldn't believe how warm Lincoln was. Standing mere inches away with the touch of his hand on hers, it was like sitting next to a fire on a winter night that filled the room with that warm blanket. You could sit there for hours, enjoying it in silence and peace.

Though reeling from her rush, as Lincoln slowly got her to sit back on the bed, she looked into his eyes, feeling how much that little boy she remembered had grown up so much. That feeling she remembered being by his side became magnified to the point she felt her body starting to warm up.

As he pulled away, she turned away. Trying to shield the blush on her face from his view, she heard him walking away and a door opening. Turning back to see him at the closest, grabbing her items. Snatching up everything, he paused when going for his jacket.

Staring at it like it was a cursed object, he sucked in a deep breath, ripping it off the hanger and tossing it over his shoulder as he went to plop the items on the bed. "I'll be outside and waiting when you're done."

Understanding, Sam nodded. Digging into the bag for her clothes, Lincoln went to leave the room until, from the corner of his eye, he saw her skeptical look, "What's wrong?"

"I don't have a shirt," she answered, dumping the contents onto the bed to show everything she had. Her 'holy' jeans were replaced with a pair he could assume the staff thought was torn apart; her teal jacket was in a separate bag with the red spot visible with her socks, shoes, and garments on another. Yet missing was her black and purple shirt from before.

He remembered cutting one sleeve apart to tend the wound, though he could believe with how much blood there was, the staff deemed it a loss.

"Maybe the staff will let me walk out with this…" He heard her mutter until she jumped from him, dropping the jacket onto the pile.

"Figure it'd work better for you today than me. Least until you get home." He said, giving her one last smile before swiftly heading for the door.

Sam looked down at the jacket by her side, only looking away after she saw Lincoln disappear entirely. Grabbing the collar, she pulled it over her lap. Flaring it out to see what she had to work with, it was a lot bigger than what she needed. Hammering home the fact that Lincoln had grown a lot bigger than she remembered, she pulled the jacket over her lap. It was a bit dirty on the edges and sleeves but kept that bright orange.

She wondered why he had stopped wearing his orange polos. He was around 15 when he started to change up his look from the past decade. His taste grew as he did, but orange was always in the mix. Now, he looked like he was already past the halfway point of his life, that this was something that could be what anyone could call his youthful connection.

Then, an idea began to form. A way to somehow make it up to the Loud for what he did. It was limited to what her arm restricted, but she could work around it.

Lincoln didn't have much to burn time with outside in a waiting chair except his thoughts and tapping shoes. So much of today, he had already been burned away from what he had planned.

By now, he would have been well into the 11-hour return trip back to Oklahoma. He was probably somewhere in the middle of Arkansas, speeding down I-40. He was well rested and fed, and he had a helluva story to tell the guys as they went through all the footage.

He mused over that thought; all the cameras had been recording nonstop for hours. His main rig had been filming since before he got within the Arthur storm until it died sometime after he passed out. All the mini cameras followed until the memory cards were filled, or the lack of truck power ended them too.

With a dozen cameras almost filming the same thing all over the place, it'd take him two days at best to comb through it all. A lot of it he knew was cut and deleted. Who would want to pay for hours of him just driving? The first two tornadoes he knew would sell pretty well.

That last one…

He didn't have to watch it to know.

It was one of those films where the person recording has no idea if life or death was about to be decided in front of him. He could think of the famous Schultz video as a solid example. It would be enormous; no one had ever seen a car actually be picked up off the ground and stay airborne that high before.

He followed it to the golf course and dragged Sam out of that car all the way to his reckless driving and stopping to help anyone he could to his collapse.

They recorded it all.

From essentially the start to the end. All of the chaos minute by minute with his actions and reaction. Watching him descend further and further into the chaos and darkness…

He'd have to ask Sam about it first. Let her decide what should happen to it. He would do it if she wanted it cut or erased to ensure no one else ever saw it. If she was okay with parts not involving her, he could edit out the camera angles that didn't show the whole scene.

Lincoln looked to his right in time to see the door swing open. Coming to his feet as Sam walked out, she looked a little flustered, given how oversized his jacket was on her, even when zipped up. Her hands barely peeked past the sleeves and the hood tied in close by the strings.

Standing side by side, despite a gap between them, Sam still felt slightly amazed at how big he was. He was a couple of inches taller than her, but he had undoubtedly bulked up over time. With the space inside the coat, it felt like another person could share it.

"Ready?" He asked.

She nodded, holding the bags of food and her remaining clothes as they headed for the desk. The silent walk down the halls was only broken by the sounds around them. There were so many voices of people in hallways getting to and from, the doors to rooms left open enough to hear whispers of family and friends speaking.

Sam focused on reading the signs, looking for where she could sign off and leave. Lincoln kept his gaze and head on a swivel. Like he was in his turret, looking through the windows and trying to see what was happening around him, he kept his thoughts clear for the time. Looking over everyone he passed, he didn't know exactly what he was looking for. He didn't stay long enough to hear what voices said or what faces blurred, only that he was trying to find something.

Sam easily noticed; he wasn't even trying to be subtle. Every few feet they went, he seemed to fall back in vain, trying to peer into rooms.

What was he looking for?

"You okay?"

"Yeah…" he slowly said, looking around more before her, "Just… just trying to get my thoughts together." It was a crap answer, they both knew that. One part was skeptical, the other thinking it was starting to lose it.

The rest of their time was quiet from there. Finding the right desk wasn't as challenging as finding where so many people were coming and going. While Sam spent the time filling out all she could, Lincoln retreated to a shady spot and collapsed into another chair.

He let himself sink until his coat caught on the backrest, his hands folded over his stomach, and his head down like he was about to fall asleep; he felt like he could nap right now. Tired from being tired, he could still feel and hear everything, but if he would let his body just let go…

Heavy footsteps brought him out of it, and he looked up in the direction to see a man dressed like he was stuck in the office overnight, with a stained white shirt and messy hair with a 5 o'clock shadow with bags around his eyes.

He pulled himself up the chair, tucking in his legs so he didn't accidentally trip anyone. Yet when Lincoln looked into his eyes, he quickly got back on his feet and realized he was the man's target.

He had seconds to prepare himself when the man stopped before him, a bit slouched but easily taller than himself. "Are you Lincoln Loud?" he asked with bated breath.

Seeing the fire in his eyes, Lincoln mentally and physically braced himself for whatever could happen next. A few ideas began to build a plan, such as whether he should have to defend himself or make a break for it.

"That depends on the context." He took a slow step back.

Though taking it as confirmation, the man quickly grabbed his arm. "Thank you…" Lincoln couldn't brace in time when he was pulled forward and held in place. "Thank you for saving her…"

He could feel the man crying into his shoulder. Lincoln felt the man's weight bearing down on him despite the height as he didn't let up the waterworks. No words were said as he felt him sob his heart out.

"Thank you…" He kept repeating things when his words weren't slurred. Letting him be there for a time until he realized the awkwardness Lincoln was feeling and retracted from the hug.

"S-sorry. I'm Michael Andreasen." He wiped away some tears. "You… saved my wife. You got her here just after the storm hit."

Lincoln gave a sincere smile, "It's what I do."

"I'm thankful. Really, I am." He choked, "How can I ever repay you?"

With his free hand, Lincoln took it into his firm grip. "You go keep her company. I'm sure she's wondering where you went off to."

Michael was ready to argue something more. That he had to show or do something has a way of thanking the man in front of him, but between their eyes, Lincoln sent him a silent but direct message to his understanding.

Sighing at the reality any counter he had ready wouldn't say the Loud, he accepted his terms. "Again, thank you so much." He patted his shoulder. Trading a look of gratitude for one of understanding before returning to his next destination.

When Michael blended too much into the crowd to keep track of, Lincoln sighed. Feeling his nerves tingling from the odd turn of events, he turned to plop back into the chair until he was greeted by Sam standing there with a look of surprise but happiness.

"What?"

She shook her head as her smile grew. "Nothing. I'm just watching someone get to thank their hero."

He understood what she meant, but he didn't take it fully. After so much, you become so used to expecting a reaction that you become so numb that it's unexpected when it does happen.

As the moment passed, the two made their way to the entrance. Stepping out of the hospital, Sam felt her hair get blown about by the wind through the door, with what had become a steady drizzle coming down on them. She pulled the hood a little closer in case she had to put it up, brushing her hair back down as they walked towards the weirdest vehicle she had ever seen ahead.

Not counting the ungodly amount of metal all over it, but the shape, the lights, the mismatching paint job brushed over with mud sprays and some red tint around the windows. More like something she could picture a swat team using, Lincoln didn't stop to move around or head for the parking lot. Going straight up to what she saw was a door so thick he struggled to open it all the way, heaving it over until it folded over, bouncing off the side.

Leaning against it to check his breath, he looked back to see Sam still a few feet away, slowly approaching with confusion, "I guess we could call this a more formal meeting," he chuckled, "Sam, meet Storm Shrieker. My war horse for the last four years that's got as many scars and miles as I do."

He gently pounded on the back fender, standing a bit taller than before, like he was posing next to his greatest achievement, full of pride. The two had a very odd match. Weathered and aged but with a young spark. Mixed together with incomplete parts that gave a different image from what was meant to be seen, but you could see how others worked together.

Coming to the side, Lincoln offered a hand she gladly took. Trying to grab the railing and pull herself into the cab, Lincoln stood behind, ready to catch her if she lost her grip.

"Careful. A lot of the time, you get used to just throwing yourself up or hoping out."

Without her head pounding like a war drum and on the edge of blacking out, getting Sam into the passenger seat was much easier the second time around as she pulled herself.

"I got it. I got it," she said, a bit annoyed that her arm had made her lose some dignity.

Adjusting much more comfortably in her seat. The jacket was causing a problem keeping her seat from slipping or riding, but it was a vast improvement from yesterday. Reaching over to get the belt, she pulled it across and was greeted by what the inside of the beast looked like. A stark contrast in the daylight wasn't entirely what she expected. Someone combined a standard truck with one of her audio consoles, extra cameras, over-the-top levers, and switches with cables going everywhere.

She flinched as the door slammed shut. Barely rocking the vehicle as Lincoln disappeared around the front, she settled in as he practically jumped into the cab, not bothering with the door.

On second thought, why was everything open? She saw the two smaller doors behind them fully open despite the rain, and a hatch directly above it was opened enough for the light and rain to get through easily. Looking back, the roof dome was empty of equipment, and its hatch faced backward.

"Trying to get a breeze in here?" She remarked as he started the truck.

"Trying to air it out," he stated as they slowly rolled forward. With all the people I had in here yesterday and falling asleep without time to really clean it out, the best I could do is try to organize and touch it up some."

That was relatable. Sam could think back to all the times they threw a party on the tour bus or in a limousine, and the day after they got their minds back into gear, they realized just what kind of mess they were a part of. It was days of remembrance and hangovers, but,

"You… slept on here the whole night?" She asked, unsure if she heard him right.

"14 hours straight." He said, somewhat impressed at himself, "Passed out right in this seat. Best sleep I've had in days."

The way he spoke didn't feel right. Something was off, and she could feel it more than the cold air coming in.

"Where to?" he asked, stopping them just before the intersection out of the lot.

"You remember where the tornado crossed?" He looked over to Sam with

"Just head in that direction. Hopefully, it missed…" she whispered the last part, hoping that the storm was a bit more merciful than anyone could know. Mentally looking back to what 'that direction' was yesterday, Lincoln slowly pulled out onto the road. Barely with his foot on the pedal, trying to remember all he could from his haze of memories.

(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and afterhand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)

So this chapter is a lot of things.

For one, I can officially say the first arch of the story is FINALLY complete. Some 15 chapters more than Intended with the word count two chapter kisses away from 400k by the rough estimates. Though its taken longer to reach this point than hoped, that just the way that this idea is flowing.

As originally, after the idea to change the nightmare sequence from its own chapter was to make it the beginning of this one, but then that changed it to what it was last chapter, it left a big hole that I focused on using as a means for both the present plot and to more easily build up the extent of the situation. In a way, this is somewhat exposition but at the same time helps circle back to what was built out of the original Chapter 5.

For the 'introduction' of Sam into the story, as explained in the context of the chapter itself, she will be playing a small role in the immediate future but current ideas are forming to possibly change that as some people are wanting to see these two have a relationship down the line. For this, its a time that Lincoln can finally relax and be beside someone he's known for years suddenly crossing paths once again. It did eventually help myself is seeing how I'd be able to really build up the romance parts later on, as at this time, Lincoln is still being affected by his split with Ronnie, so this is acting as the first step to really moving on.

And who knows, maybe our white hair boy might get lucky.

(Note: These AN notes are written before, during, and afterhand to convey my thinking. Not based on what's changed, reviews, etc., and is borderline me ranting out loud my way of thinking.)