Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hellen has been having conflicting thoughts as of late. She always has with personalities like Sam’s– strong-spirited, generous, kind, caring, passionate, determined– like Melody, the butcher in the community. Melody doesn’t look approachable, but Hellen never cared about looks in that department, or even understood what “hot” really meant. She knows what it means– she’s not dumb– but she’s never got why people even care to fight over or share a pretty boy or cute lady. 

Hellen’s looks were never the talk of the town before the accursed Visitor came, but now? To be honest, it’s a little flattering the way the cursed check her out, not knowing what’s beneath the mask, and a little disgusted by the way some of the more human ones speak amongst themselves about her possible “functional girl parts.” It makes Hellen glad she’s not been hot her whole life.

But it was only the kind, strong, determined type that ever gets Hellen’s attention when it comes down to it. They always get her feeling so…happy, so calm. They get her addicted to their company, even if they aren’t doing anything particularly good for the world. And no, she’s not into vulnerability, especially in a world where everyone’s inner monster has come to light, but she’ll be damned if she lets that aversion get in the way of what she really wants.

And yes, it takes ahold of her. God, it gets so bad, to the point where her face warms beneath the mask and she can’t think of anything else but to take off the mask and bury her face in their warmth. And it’s gotten bad to the point where it simply happens, even from just talking to them.

As Hellen’s spent more time with Sam– less breathers, less breaks, more time to think, she’s started to relish their talks just as much as their time fighting, started to cherish every thought of his as if it’s a glass of honey whiskey, started to cherish every moment of his time as if it’s hard to come by.

Her aversion to loving touch has begun to fade with him, until the potential reward far outweighs the past risk. And dopey kind eyes make her want to comfort Sam the way she knows all too well; tightened, clingy hugs.

It ends up as a half hug, and shit, what if Sam gets the wrong idea, though she liked him? She tries to pull away, but shit, what if that didn’t help either? Luckily, Sam didn’t seem to take it any way, ending the hug once he’s ready. And yet, Hellen wants that warmth again, already misses it. This is why she doesn’t hug people, damn it! 

But she thought the emotions were growing slower, at a more controlled rate. She’s been handling this part of herself by fucking Melody, so she doesn’t get why she’d feel anything toward Sam, her closest living friend of three and a half years. 

Whatever it is, it’s something to meditate on; to be in deep thought about. It’s lucky that Sam just so happens to be tired this late.

When did things change for them?

She doesn’t get an answer.

Hellen and Sam start sparring, it’s a new endeavor, one which needs emotional delicacy that Hellen can provide. It’s half like training a newbie, half like practicing with a pro. Sam knows all the strategy, and none of the coordination or balance. However, he didn’t even have the ability to use the same stances, no doubt due to the altered anatomy.

Ratom needs to get involved to teach him, and Ratom is all for it. So Sam changes stances, learns new moves, and falls on his ass one too many times that it becomes muscle memory to get out of the way of a “killing blow,” and during one sparring session, Hellen realises this.

Hellen gets her head back in the game as Sam dashes across the room on all-fours. The acceleration, the speed, is unmatched. And for the first time in a long time, excitement blooms across Sam’s face, and Hellen relishes the smile, too. She’d do anything to see it on him more. 

“I’m a speed demon!” Sam smiles wider when he says it a second time. “I wonder how fast I can go?”

“Probably a lot faster than Ratom.” Hellen was sure to offer emotionless tone

Ratom squeaks at Hellen with playful annoyance.

“Seriously?” Sam elaborates, “It’s so easy to do stuff on my all-fours– all-sixes? Whatever.”

He continues. “I think I only need to train how to do stuff standing. But running like this will give me an advantage on the battlefield.

Ratom squeaks and nods his head, demonstrating a chomp on his own arm.

“He doesn’t have teeth like yours.” Hellen answers.

Ratom changes it to a pawing motion.

Sam’s smile stays, though it hasn’t stopped wavering. “But I have claws!”

Hellen nods, then offers a dull-toned response. “I but Leigh would love for you to test those on her.”

Sam hesitates. “You haven’t told her yet…”

Even though Hellen was asked to tell folk so he wouldn’t have to, Leigh was left out of the loop, because of that obsession with “eventually killing Sam,” even though they didn’t even know each other before the apocalypse. Honestly, it’s not a genuine delusion, just an odd rivalry leading to Leigh breaking into homes to fight Sam. He doesn't want that stress right now, and Hellen doesn't either. She's only ever assumed the rule “only close friends,” and Leigh is not that to Sam. She’s confirmed here and now that her assumption was right.

“No, but she’ll get it.” F, it kills her that Sam’s smile is nearly gone, from something she said. Regardless, she stays calm, as always. “Everyone else knows.”

“What’s it gonna be like?” Sam asks, and god, he’s so innocent. Has he really not thought about that until just now?

Hellen just shrugs. “Eh, some assholes may ask about it or pity you, but not your friends. They’ll try to act chill but they’ll be worried.”

It was so different at the beginning: to change, and how people perceived you. It wasn't a pity, it was a fear. A worry. A terror. Now, they’re so much more understanding, but some aren’t as kind; so much harder, in her honest opinion. As soon as someone can work, they do, or they’re shunned. There’s so much that has to be done, to keep people fed and hydrated and their odd shapes clothed in the frankly cold Canadian snow. The only reason why Sam got this much rest was because of his role as a fighter and because Hellen would never let someone force Sam to do anything.

Let. Hellen thinks, given the wording her internal monologue used, that deems Sam fragile, yet she’s never seen him as anything less than a warrior, even though she could bench him easily when they first met. That’s the kind of talk someone uses with someone they love, and God, Hellen loved Sam. Sam’s like family to her, they’ve grown that status over the years as they ate together, fought together, made hard decisions together, got drunk together, bled together, killed together. 

But Hellen doesn’t use this language on anyone else she fought with, talked to, drunk with; No, Sam and Melody have taken the place of people she fights for: what makes her keep going when times get tough. She feels as their protector, even though she sees them as strong.

God, she’s really comparing Sam to someone she sleeps with on the regular.

Well, that answers all the questions she’s been asking herself recently. She is really, really into Sam, and hadn’t even realized until a mediocre sparring session. 

When did it start? No, no off topic questions. She doesn’t need to know that right now. She doesn’t even need to figure out if Sam reciprocates or not. She just needs to get Sam back on his feet, like she’s been doing.

“Yeah.” Sam says for the second time in the past minute. “She probably won’t even care.”

That’s right, this wasn’t even about Hellen.

“Well, let’s get you up to par, and then we can worry about her.

Sam chokes out a laugh, the genuinity unable to make a clear cut through the forced tone. “Yeah.”

He smiles, pure once more, but still hesitates before adding something else. “Thanks Hellen. For everything.”

“Anything for you, Sam.” And for the first time in a while, Hellen feels a phantom smile alight her face beneath the mask.

God, she’s really got it bad.

Sam’s arms wrap around her, and she leans into it.

That's all the confirmation she needs, she supposes. For now, at least