#one wrong step

the trail was a trap of hidden dangers, and your footing gave way before you even realised the ground beneath you was unstable.

you tumbled down the slope, rocks and branches tearing at your skin as you landed in a heap at the bottom. pain exploded in your ankle when you tried to stand, forcing you to collapse back into the snow. the cold wind bit at your exposed skin, and the bone deep ache in your ankle told you it was bad, sprained, at best.

alone in the dark, the forest around you seemed alive. every gust of wind or shifting shadow felt like the wendigos closing in. you pressed your back against a boulder, clutching at your injured leg and willing yourself to stay quiet, to stay awake.

you didn’t know how long you’d been lying there when you heard a voice. sam’s voice, cutting through the storm. she was calling your name, frantically. a wave of relief washed over you, but it was quickly swallowed by fear. if you called out, what else might hear you?

still, you couldn’t stay silent. summoning every bit of strength you had left, you forced your voice to work, weakly calling out, “sam!” before the pain and exhaustion dragged you back under.

her flashlight beam barely cutting through the dark. her heart thudded with a rhythm that matched the roar of the elements, her voice hoarse from calling your name over and over. each step she took was slow, the rocky terrain beneath her boots covered with frost.

her breath puffed out in visible clouds, mixing with the freezing air as she trudged forward, she couldn’t stop now. not when she’d found the signs. the torn fabric snagged on a branch, a faint trail of disturbed snow, and, most troubling, the blood smeared on an outcrop of rock.

sam stopped, panting, scanning her surroundings for any sign of movement. “please,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaky. “please be okay.”

her flashlight caught something in the distance. a crumpled form against the jagged rocks, too still to be anything else. sam’s stomach dropped. she broke into a clumsy run, her feet slipping on the uneven terrain, her focus only on you.

she called your name, her voice trembling. she skidded to a stop beside you, dropping to her knees in the snow. her hands hovered over you, hesitant at first, before gently shaking your shoulder.

“hey, come on, it’s me. wake up.”

your eyelids fluttered, and you groaned softly, relief washed over her. your face was pale, streaked with blood and dirt, and your lips were tinged blue from the cold.

“sam…” you croaked, your voice barely audible over the storm. you smile at her, it was small but it was there.

“i’m here,” she said firmly, brushing snow off your jacket. “i’ve got you. what happened?”

“i… slipped,” you murmured, wincing as you shifted. “the ground… just gave out.”

her flashlight beam revealed the truth of your words. the ledge you’d been walking on had crumbled into a jagged drop below. one more step, and you might not have been so lucky. sam’s chest tightened at the thought.

she took in the state of your injuries, your ankle was swollen, and a gash on your forehead had bled enough to streak your face. you were shivering uncontrollably, the cold seeping through your clothes.

“you’re in bad shape, but you’re alive,” she said, her voice a mix of relief and determination. “we need to get out of here.”

you shook your head weakly. “sam, i can’t… i can’t walk.”

her jaw clenched, and she adjusted her gloves, determination hardening her features. “then i’ll carry you.”

“sam, no–”

“stop,” she cut you off, her tone leaving no room for argument. “i’m not leaving you here. so let me do this, okay?”

when you nodded faintly, she wasted no time. looping your arm over her shoulder, she braced you against her side and hoisted you up. a gasp of pain escaped your lips as your injured ankle shifted, but she murmured soothingly, “i know it hurts. just lean on me. i’ve got you.”

the trek back was brutal. every step was a test of will, the rocky, unstable terrain threatening to send both of you tumbling. sam gritted her teeth, her arm wrapped securely around your waist. she muttered encouragements under her breath, more for herself than you.

“almost there,” she said, though the lodge was still far from sight. “you’re doing great. just a little further.”

you clung to her, your breaths shallow and pained, but her presence kept you grounded..

minutes felt like they stretched into hours before the faint glow of the lodge’s lights pierced through the storm. a choked sound escaped sam’s throat. relief, triumph, exhaustion all rolled into one.

“there it is,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “we made it. just a little further.”

by the time you reached the porch, sam was trembling from the effort, but she didn’t let go until she’d eased you onto the couch by the fire inside. the sudden warmth made you gasp, your body shaking as it tried to adjust.

sam knelt beside you, her gloves discarded, her hands surprisingly gentle as she inspected your injuries. “i need to clean this cut,” she said softly, her brow furrowed in concentration. “and that ankle… we’ll need to wrap it.”

you hissed when the antiseptic touched your forehead, and she muttered an apology, her free hand squeezing yours for comfort. she worked quickly. 

when she was done, she sat back on her heels, brushing stray strands of hair from her damp face. her eyes met yours, and for the first time since she’d found you, you saw the fear lingering there.

“you scared the hell out of me,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “i thought i’d lost you.”

you reached for her hand, your grip weak but enough to anchor her. “you didn’t,” you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude. “you saved me, sam. thank you.”

her lips quirked into a soft smile, though her eyes remained serious. “always,” she said, her voice steady.

the warmth of the fire began to seep into your frozen limbs, and though the pain in your ankle still throbbed, you felt more like yourself again. sam stayed by your side, her gaze flicking to the door every time the storm rattled it, her posture tense, as if waiting for something to change.

it didn’t take long. the basement door creaked open, and heavy footsteps echoed up the stairs. mike emerged first, his face grim but relieved, followed by chris, ashley, and emily. the

moment they saw you slumped on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, their conversation trailed off, the weight of the sight sinking in.

“oh my god,” ashley gasped, rushing over, her voice quivering. “what happened?”

“she slipped on the trail,” sam explained. “the ground gave out under her. she’s lucky it wasn’t worse.”

chris lingered on the edge of the room, his eyes quickly scanning over your injuries. “are you– are you okay? i mean, not okay, but–” he stammered, his hands twisting in nervous circles.

she crouched next to you, her calm exterior faltering just enough for you to see the worry behind her eyes. “you should’ve waited for us. you could’ve–”

“em,” you rasped, your voice low but clear enough to get her attention. “i’m fine. sam got me out.”

emily’s lips pressed into a tight line, and she nodded once, stiffly. the unspoken relief was thick in the air, but she didn't show it.

mike lingered a few steps back, arms crossed and brow furrowed, watching you with an unreadable expression. “jesus,” he muttered, full of concern. “you scared the shit out of all of us. what were you even doing out there alone?”

“i wasn’t planning on falling into a death trap, mike,” you managed, forcing a small smile through the pain.

“that’s not funny,” he said, his voice quieter now, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little.

ashley leant over you, adjusting the blanket over your shoulders with a gentle touch. “i can’t believe you were out there in this weather. i’m glad sam found you, but what if she hadn’t? what if–”

“i did,” sam interjected firmly, cutting off ashley’s spiraling thoughts. “and that’s what matters. she’s safe now.”

chris let out a slow breath, visibly relieved, and dropped heavily into a nearby chair. “man, you have no idea how relieved i am right now. i thought we were gonna have to go full on rescue team.”

“not that any of us are equipped for that,” mike muttered, shaking his head, his voice still heavy with concern.

emily shot him a glare before turning her attention back to you. “you’re lucky sam has a hero complex.”

sam snorted, rolling her eyes. “it’s called caring about my friends, em. you should try it sometime.”

“okay, okay,” you cut in, raising a hand weakly. “let’s not turn this into a thing. i’m alive. let’s focus on that.”

the room grew quiet for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire and the relentless wind outside.

mike spoke first, stepping closer and resting his hand on the back of the couch near your head. “for real, though… you okay? like, really okay?” his voice softened, genuine concern now replacing the earlier tension.

you nodded slowly, relieved to be able to answer honestly. “i will be. sam took good care of me.”

ashley gave sam an appreciative glance. “you’re incredible, sam. seriously.”

“yeah,” chris agreed, leaning forward in his chair, eyes focused on sam. “you should’ve let us know, though. we’d have gone with you.”

sam shrugged, brushing off the praise with a modest smile. “didn’t have time to wait. she needed help, and i wasn’t gonna waste a second.”

emily crossed her arms, her expression still tight. “well, next time, you’re waiting. you could’ve gotten hurt too.”

“next time?” you said, a faint laugh escaping your lips despite the exhaustion. “let’s make sure there isn’t a next time, okay?”

the tension broke slightly, and everyone shared a shaky smile or a quiet laugh, relief flooding through the group. as they began discussing how to handle situations like this in the future, you leaned back into the couch, feeling their presence wash over you like a comforting wave. despite everything that had happened, you didn’t feel alone anymore.

sam stayed close, your head resting gently on her shoulder. she didn’t speak, but her steady presence beside you was all the reassurance you needed. you relaxed into her, the warmth of her support melting away the rest of the tension in your body. 

the quiet comfort she offered was more than enough.

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