Chapter Text
By the time Sam sets the pan of stir-fried chicken and vegetables on the table, everyone has already crowded around the table.
Its not like there’s much room in apartment 33, so, despite Sam offering his bedroom as a place to get away from whatever games and conversation are going on if needed, most days everyone’s already packed into the living room whenever Sam eventually gets around to cooking dinner.
The kids always drift to the kitchen first, when the mouthwatering aroma just starts to permeate the small common space: Joel sitting politely at the table, worrying Fuzzy’s ears in his fingers as he kicks his legs and waits for dinner to be served properly, and Sophie hounding Sam for scraps, and snatching whatever is both unattended and safe to eat. Tonight, that was the small scattering of frozen peas left on the counter when the bag burst—it’s hard to open packaging with one hand.
Then, like clockwork, as Sam clicks the burner off Hellen rises from her typical spot in the corner to gather plates and utensils. She has taken over the sink and cupboards beneath, organizing them to her personal whims.
Sam wasn’t inclined to complain to her before, when she did dishes just to help, but now that dishwashing is an exponentially more difficult task for him, he is more than happy to let her do whatever she wants with his kitchen as thanks for handling the cleanup after meals.
Hellen always does table setting in the same order: Plates, silverware, cups. Every plate is set (counterclockwise) before she returns to the cupboard for the forks, and so on.
Sophie darts underfoot to try and pilfer an extra fork or knife, while Joel squirms uncomfortably, torn between wanting to stop her from taking Mr. Sam’s good silverware, and not wanting to get called a tattletale. Leigh has no such qualms, and loudly announces what Sophie is doing as she cheers the little devil on.
Leigh is always the last at the table, sliding into whatever seat remains just as Sam approaches the table. She barely restrains herself from snatching the pan closer to start taking all the best pieces of chicken, marking only the second time this week she’s done so.
But today she holds still, and the kids get to serve themselves first, with Joel dutifully taking a small portion to give to Sam Junior. Sam serves himself next, knowing Hellen won’t let him be served last, then Leigh gets to take her pick, taking mostly chicken, with a few sad scraps of broccoli that had stuck to the chicken.
As everyone digs in, Hellen quietly grabs the pan from where it sits next to Leigh’s bowl, and serves herself mostly veggies and whatever chicken scraps the others left. Sam shoots her a guilty look, but she holds up a hand when he tries to scoop some meat from his plate onto hers.
Sam… doesn’t know what to think about Hellen. He’s still very intimidated by her in a way none of the others—not Joel with his affliction, or even Leigh with her everything—can still manage, but she seems endlessly polite.
Hellen only speaks when absolutely necessary, and then she’s often blunt, direct, and perhaps a tad too pragmatic, but everything about her body language and actions scream apology, from the hunched way she sits at the table, watching everyone else eat while letting her food grow cold in front of her, to the way she will diligently scrub every tine of every fork after this before she finally retreats to the bathroom to take her mask off and eat.
If Sam had to guess, he’d say Hellen seems very aware of how she comes across, and this is her attempt at… an apology? Or mitigation, perhaps: an attempt to seem a bit less murder-ey.
It only helps somewhat, though, because when he realizes he’s been staring for too long, and Hellen’s steely eyes lock with his, he can’t help but startle backwards and feign incredible interest in the soggy veggies in front of him.
Eventually, the chaotic chatterring at the table changes topics to sleeping arrangements.
They’ve been pretty solid so far, with Joel and Sophie camped on the bedroom floor (Joel built the habit back when it was just him and Sam. Most nights, Joel awakes in the early hours of morning, and crawls into Sam’s bed, trembling and whining softly under his breath for reasons Sam feels would be invasive to ask the poor kid about. Sophie just wanted to sleep where the other kid slept) and the two women out in the living room. Sam doesn’t know entirely what their arrangement is night to night, as Hellen is always awake before him, and he finds Leigh in a different spot every morning.
Apparently, Hellen typically takes the couch, because as Sophie works hard to sell Sam on stealing a mattress or two from a neighbor for her, “and Joel, I guess,” to sleep more comfortably, Leigh’s eyes suddenly light up, and she slams a fist on the table, causing all conversation to abruptly come to a halt as four pairs of eyes snap to her.
If Leigh notices the spike in tension, she doesn’t show it. She only has eyes for Hellen, sharp, manic, unwavering eyes.
“Hellen,” she starts, a dangerous edge to her voice. “I want the couch tonight.” Sam feels his muscles tense slightly in preparation, a sensation he’s all too familiar with given all the fights this past week. They haven’t fought yet, but today was slow and relatively combat-dry; perhaps the excess energy will spill over through this?
Hellen blinks, though process indecipherable, and as the seconds of silence tick by, Leigh grows more and more tense, anticipation gleaming in her wide amber eyes. Leigh chuckles after a beat. At the inherent comedic absurdity of trying to read Hellen, or as an attempt to clear the tension, Sam couldn’t say.
When Hellen finally responds, it’s simple, direct in all the normal Hellen ways, and immediately obvious that it’s not what Leigh wanted to hear: “I bet.”
Leigh lets out a shrill whining growl not unlike the cats who used to fight outside the apartment every night. “You don’t even sleep!” Sam can’t decide whether he finds the tone more accusatory or whiny. “Gimmie the couch!”
Leigh is leaned halfway across the table, clutching a fork so hard her knuckles are white and her hand is trembling, but Hellen seems unaffected. “No.”
The fork drops to the table with a sharp clatter that draws a nervous whimper from Sam Junior under the table as Leigh’s hands shoot up to grasp at her hair. She growls, a little less intimidating and more tantrum-y this time. “Fine! If you want to fight, let’s fight!”
Sam gulps, and shoots a look to the kids. Joel is shuffling nervously in his seat, while Sophie is transfixed. If this does come down to a fight—and it truly may, Leigh is fully standing and visibly irate—where should he take the kids? Probably the bathroom, the door has a lock and he could pretend to just be helping Joel brush his teeth a bit early—
A shrill shriek of wood scraping tile jars Sam from his panicked planning. Smoothly, robotically, Hellen pushes her chair back and stands at her full height, something she often avoids in the apartment.
She has her cleaver in her hand because of course she does, and she holds it not aggressively, but in front of her and visible. The room is silent. Hellen’s face is impassive, but she has risen (literally) to Leigh’s challenge. Sam gulps and turns to Leigh only to be surprised:
Leigh looks significantly less impassioned than she was just mere seconds ago. Her shoulders drop, eyes wide as her neck cranes to follow Hellen’s face as it rises above her eyeline and then just keeps going up. She licks her lips, and takes an unconscious step back.
There’s a tense beat between the two women as they stare at each other. Leigh appears to be melting into herself, while Hellen could’ve been carved from stone. Sam feels torn between relief that Leigh probably won’t keep trying to fight, and intimidated damn-near to tears by the sheer aura radiating from the masked maniac dwarfing the rest of the table.
Finally, Leigh breaks away: “Fine! Okay!” She huffs, collapsing back into her chair. “But I’m getting the couch tomorrow…” despite the threat in her words, her voice is shaky and the words die off at the end. Her face has a slight flush of embarrassment and likely adrenaline from facing the behemoth.
Despite her retreat, Sam feels his respect for the loudmouth strengthen: he would’ve lasted less than half that time. Hell, he would’ve been on the floor, hands up in surrender before Hellen had fully stood up.
Hellen just nods silently and, sensing the tone change, decides dinner is over and begins collecting plates and silverware. Everyone exhales a collective sigh of relief, and Sophie pivots right back to Operation: Mattress Heist.
Joel manages to bounce back quickly as well, chiming in occasionally on Sophie’s pitch, and bounding over to Hellen to help her gather up scraps for Sam Junior, who is scampering between everyone’s legs, chittering with excitement.
As for Leigh, she sits quietly in her chair for a few minutes as people bustle around her, seemingly deep in thought. After the plates have all cleared, she eventualy rises and slinks over to the corner by the bookshelf that she was reading in before dinner, and picks up her book.
Sam keeps an eye on her as he listens to Sophie try and barter with Hellen for her aid in carrying several mattresses, and he notes with a bit of concern that she doesn’t seem to be reading the pages, rather staring blankly through them. Whatever, she’s resilient, she just needs some time to bounce back from that blow to her pride.
He gives her thirty minutes, until the dishes have been washed, and Sophie and Joel wander away to the bedroom to plan which room to steal from, satisfied with how tonight’s dealings have gone.
“Uh,” Sam starts eloquently, loitering by the game cabinet. Leigh takes a second, but eventually glances up at him. “Wanna play more Wizard Tears?” That perks her up, even if it doesn’t quite bring her back up to full. She closes her book with a snap, not bothering to mark a place, and rises.
Sam grabs the disc, and flops onto the couch to insert it. Leigh follows, but hesitates before sitting. Sam glances up and tracks her gaze—her eyes are fixed on the bathroom door, where Hellen is eating on the other side.
Sam’s never seen such a pensive expression on the woman’s face, it’s almost comical if not for how concerning it is to see her so shaken from a simple confrontation.
“Couch is common ground till ten.” Sam says. It doesn’t come across quite as reassuring as he was trying for, but it does get Leigh to look back at him. “A-and,” he continues, trying to keep the momentum. “I don’t think she’s actually mad at you.”
Leigh blinks. “Shes fuckin’ huge dude.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, he just nods in sympathetic understanding, and scoots over a bit. Leigh hesitates a second longer, before dropping next to him with a shaky huff.
The two stare at the title screen for a second, watching a pair of demons stap tridents into a mangy robed figure on the floor.
“I’m glad she’s on our side.” Leigh mutters, almost inaudible. Her eyes are fixed on the screen, fingers picking at a rip in her sweatpants.
“No kidding.” Sam snorts. “We’d be fucked otherwise.”