● The people in this fucked up place were crazy. It’s why he kept to himself. No need to talk with crazies and get what they have.

● He just so happened to bump into you. Literally. It was exactly like a scene from a movie. You, carrying a basket and dropping it, fruit flying everywhere, him bending down to help you gather everything again. You had been flustered, apologised and whatever rude shit he was going to say died at that.

● Seeing you again wasn’t weird. The place was small and the group even smaller. That you sought him out was the weird part. You thanked him for helping out the other day. Again, he couldn’t fully bring himself to tell you to fuck off. It sounded like you’d leave him be after this anyway.

● But he’d been wrong. You waved at him in passing, smiling way too fucking bright. You sometimes left him food as if he was some fucking stray cat. It’s not like he never showed his face anywhere. He still had to eat. The lady at the diner never let him take the food outside, forcing him to sit with the whackjobs of this town.

● And you. Not that he sat with you, but he could hear you. People were drawn in by your encouragement. Others despised it. He wasn’t sure where he himself sat. Sometimes he’d roll his eyes at your words, but he still listened attentively.

● It was inevitable that you’d sit with him at some point. Obviously, it had to be after everything went to fucking shit. Looking for a new victim to give a pep talk to maybe. He didn’t send you away, back to your little fanclub of starved dogs begging for scraps of compassion. He didn’t talk much either. Finally left when you began to talk about the dreams you hoped would be fulfilled one day. His stitches pulled.

● He wound up watching you more often. Let you sit around him without complaining much. Someone noticed he’d been staring. Marielle, who got a way too cheeky look in her fucking eyes. He rolled his own and walked away the second she started to make stupid comments. Mainly about his reddening ears.

● So maybe he did seek you out sometimes. Watched you be a good, little samaritan with pretty much anyone who stumbled on your path. He didn’t like some of the people who took advantage of that. That’s why he stood in perfect view of those fuckers whenever they asked for more than they should.

● They learned their lesson quickly under his heavy glaring.

● Guess he should've realised you’d notice it too. Nagging him first, then… thanking him for looking out for you. His face twitched, something hot bubbling under his skin. “Yeah, whatever. No problem.”

● You invited him over. Marielle saw him overturn what little clothes he had, but instead of being a bitch about it, much, she helped him. His hands were shoved in his pockets, heart racing when he went to the house you shared by others, which meant you’d likely take him to your room.

● And you did. Invited him to sit on your bed and shit. You two only really talked in the end.

● Admittedly, he was hoping for something more, but he kinda liked this as well. It felt nice having you lean against him. Talking about random shit. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about his own past.

● It was a slow process, opening up to you. Letting you touch his face. The scar. You didn’t find it ugly like he did. He didn’t know how to feel about that, but it was better than being considered an ugly piece of shit.

● He wound up sleeping at your place more often. Not always sharing a bed, not always remaining there for long in the mornings, but he stayed closer. Got closer throughout the day too, keeping those creeps away from you.

● But when you tried to kiss him, he pushed you away. Went back to the clinic to sleep there. And when Marielle found out what happened, her disappointment only pissed him off. The glares he received from people on the streets, the way you avoided him… It had him rub his head aggressively. Seek you out and...

● You fucking cried. He swallowed down his temper, his guilt, his... fear. Apologised. Or tried to. It sounded flakey. You deserved better. So much better.

● But you were too kind. You accepted him back in your life. And because of that, he dug his grave only deeper. He didn't want to leave again. And the second time you tried to kiss him, he didn’t fight back. Not against you. He only fought himself and the rapid beat of his heart.

● People still glared at him. Warned you against being with him. He didn't really blame them even if it pissed him right the fuck off.

● He had little to offer. In this place even less. He tried anyway.

● The first time he kissed you was maybe a few weeks since you were officially together. The kid, Julie teased him relentlessly about how he of all people managed to get with someone so sweet.

● That was the truth, wasn’t it? He was a piece of shit according to everyone and their mother. You were the opposite. Too nice. Somehow, it fit. You helped trim some of his edges, and he brought a little scare factor to anyone willing to mess with you.

● He ignored anyone calling him a softie for calming down a little ever since you both got together. For helping you out with all your tasks and doing the heavy lifting when necessary.

● To think that this shithole would have someone like you waiting for him. It was the biggest form of torture this place could give him.

It was supposed to be a short trip.

I was simply visiting some family a couple states away for the week.

Nothing special.

Routine, even.

Rubbing my eyes, I grab my luggage and make my way towards the bus. Taking the bus wasn't my first choice but my car was in the shop and I can't afford airfare so here we are.

The station buzzes with early morning exhaustion.

People clutch coffee cups like lifelines.

A baby cries somewhere behind me.

Someone is loudly arguing with customer service.

Normal.

Painfully normal.

The kind of normal you never appreciate until it's gone.

At the time, I was mostly annoyed.

Annoyed at the bus.

Annoyed at my car.

Annoyed that I had to spend eight hours trapped with strangers instead of driving myself.

I shift my duffel bag higher onto my shoulder and join the line.

The closer I get to the bus, the more I debate turning around.

Not because I don't want to see my family.

I just don't particularly enjoy spending time with them.

Family gatherings always felt less like reunions and more like obligations.

Show up.

Smile.

Answer the same questions.

Pretend you're doing better than you actually are.

Then leave.

Go back to my cozy apartment and hide away from my problems.

Just one week, I tell myself. One week and then I can get back to normal.

The driver scans my ticket and waves me aboard.

I step onto the bus.

Scanning the bus, I notice how full it is. Its like when you board a plane to an obscure destination and realize how many people are headed there as well. Small world.

Making my way through the aisle, I plan my eight hour trip.

Music and sleep. I look forward to it.

Maybe a book if I'm feeling ambitious. Anything to make the trip go by faster.

I move down the aisle, searching for my seat.

Then I see him.

I stop so abruptly the person behind me nearly walks into my back.

No.

Absolutely not.

Three rows from the back, stretched out like he owns the damn bus, sits Randall.

His headphones are on. One arm is thrown over the empty seat beside him. His cocky demeanor already pisses me off.

And somehow, despite not even looking at me yet, he already looks irritating.

I stare. He stares out the window. Completely unaware that my day has just been ruined. There goes my peaceful trip.

Of all the buses.

Of all the routes.

Of all the people on the planet.

It had to be Randall.

I briefly consider getting off.

Not because I'm afraid of him.

That would be ridiculous.

I just don't think society needs to witness eight straight hours of whatever conversation we're inevitably going to have.

As if sensing my irritation through sheer force of will, Randall glances up.

Our eyes meet. His expression immediately darkens.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

I clutch my ticket tighter.

"Funny. I was about to say the same thing."

He drops his head back against the seat.

"Great."

"Great."

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then Randall points toward the front of the bus.

"Pretty sure there are other seats."

I smile.

Not a nice smile.

"Pretty sure there aren't enough."

His eyes narrow. Mine do too.

The poor woman sitting across the aisle looks between us like she's witnessing a divorced couple at a custody hearing.

And honestly?

Fair.

I continue down the aisle and find my seat.

Then I stop.

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

I look at my ticket.

Then the seat.

Then my ticket again.

"Fuck," mumbling under my breath. What the hell did I do to deserve this?

Randall notices immediately.

His expression somehow manages to get worse.

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was."

Of course. Of course my assigned seat is directly across from him.

Because apparently I did something horrible in a past life.

I throw my bag into the seat harder than necessary and sit down.

The bus continues filling around us.

For a few glorious seconds, neither of us speaks.

Then-

"Thought you'd be driving."

I close my eyes.

I don't even look at him.

"My car's in the shop."

"Huh."

The sound irritates me more than it should.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

Randall shrugs.

"You just seem like the type that'd rather drive eight hours alone than sit near people."

I turn toward him.

"I would."

"Yeah."

The agreement somehow annoys me even more.

I cross my arms.

"Why are you even here?"

He looks out the window.

"Taking the bus."

"Oh, thank God. Here I thought maybe you were training for a marathon."

That earns a glare.

Good.

At least I'm not suffering alone.

The driver begins her announcements. Neither of us listens.

Randall pulls his headphones over his ears.

I immediately feel relief.

Finally.

Silence.

I settle into my seat and pull out my phone.

Then I notice it.

His music is so loud I can hear it through the headphones.

I stare at him.

He stares out the window.

I stare harder.

Finally he turns.

"What?"

"Turn it down."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because now I don't want to."

I hate him. I genuinely hate him.

Three rows ahead, an older man glances back at us before deciding he wants absolutely no part in whatever this is.

Smart man.

The bus lurches forward.

The station slowly disappears behind us.

And just like that, we are trapped together for the next eight hours.

Wonderful.

Just wonderful.

A couple hours pass.

Most of the bus has settled into that strange travel silence.

Some people are sleeping.

Others stare out the windows.

I try reading.

Try being the important word.

The bus hits a pothole.

My book slips from my lap and lands in the aisle. Naturally.

It slides directly beneath Randall's seat.

Of course it does.

I stare at it.

The book stares back.

Randall notices.

Unfortunately.

A grin immediately appears.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Whatever you're thinking."

"I wasn't thinking anything."

"Liar."

He leans down, picks up the book, and flips it over.

His eyebrows rise.

"Oh."

My stomach sinks.

Give it back.

Immediately.

Instead, he reads the title.

Out loud.

Loud enough for me to hear.

Loud enough for me to know he's doing it on purpose.

"Oh my God."

"Give it back."

"You're reading this?"

"It's a book."

"It's embarrassing."

I hold my hand out.

"Randall."

He finally hands it over.

Still looking amused.

I shove it back into my bag.

"You're annoying."

"You've mentioned."

"Several times."

"At least you're consistent."

I roll my eyes and turn toward the window.

A few seconds pass.

Then my silence is interrupted, again.

"You know that ending sucks, right?"

My head snaps around.

"You read it?"

"Unfortunately."

I stare at him.

For some reason, that bothers me more than him making fun of it.

Then he shrugs.

"I got bored once."

I hate that answer.

I hate him.

Closing my eyes, I rest my head against my seat. Just a few more hours, I think to myself. A few more hours and I'm free from this torment.

--

Just when I thought it was everything was becoming silent again.

There it was, the tree.

A tree in the goddamn middle of the road.

The bus slows to a stop.

For a second, nobody says anything.

We all just stare.

The thing is massive.

Its roots are torn from the earth, dirt and splintered wood scattered across the road.

There's no squeezing around it.

No driving over it.

Nothing.

The driver lets out a long sigh.

"Well."

A collective groan moves through the bus.

Someone curses from the back.

A woman near the front asks if there's another route.

The driver is already reaching for her radio.

I sink back into my seat.

Fantastic.

At this rate I'll see my family sometime next year.

Across from me, Randall leans forward and looks out the window.

"You've got to be kidding me."

His voice is low but annoyed enough for me to hear.

I glance at him.

"Wow."

"What?"

"I didn't realize nature personally hated you."

Randall shoots me a look.

"Shut up."

I smile.

A little.

"Having a rough day?"

"My day was fine until I got on this bus."

I laugh.

"Glad we're blaming the bus."

The driver stands and addresses everyone.

"Looks like we're going to have to turn around and find another route."

Another round of complaints follows.

Randall throws his head back against the seat.

"A detour."

The word comes out like a personal insult.

"It's not the end of the world."

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

Randall immediately sits up.

"Oh, now you care?"

I blink.

"What?"

"You've spent the entire trip acting like you'd rather be anywhere else."

"I would."

"Exactly."

I stare at him.

He stares back.

Neither of us entirely sure how we got into another argument.

The poor woman across the aisle looks exhausted.

Honestly, same.

The bus finishes the turn and starts back down the road.

People settle in again.

Conversations resume.

Phones come back out.

Life continues.

Except now a strange feeling sits in my stomach.

Not fear.

Not yet.

Just a sense that something is wrong.

I glance out the window one last time.

The fallen tree is already disappearing behind us.

For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that it wasn't supposed to let us pass.

The thought makes no sense.

It's a tree.

Just a tree.

Yet the knot in my stomach only grows tighter.

I rub my palms against my jeans.

The motion doesn't help.

Neither does looking out the window.

The woods blur past.

Endless.

Unmoving.

Wrong.

I find myself checking the road behind us again.

Then checking it again.

And again.

As if I'm expecting to see something.

As if I'm waiting for something.

My knee begins bouncing.

The familiar feeling settles into my chest.

Panic.

Not yet. But close.

Close enough that I recognize it immediately.

God, I should've taken my meds with me.

It's been months since my last panic attack.

Months.

Now the warning signs are creeping in one by one.

The bouncing knee.

The tightness in my chest.

The feeling that I need to get up and move before I crawl out of my own skin.

I swallow hard.

Not here.

Please not here.

Outside, the road stretches endlessly ahead of us.

And the knot in my stomach tightens.

I force myself to look away from the window.

This is ridiculous.

I'm sitting on a bus.

That's it.

Nothing is wrong.

Nothing is happening.

I close my eyes and focus on my breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slowly, the feeling begins to settle.

Not disappear.

Just retreat enough that I can think again.

Around me, the bus continues on as normal.

Someone is snoring near the front.

A couple quietly argue a few rows back.

The driver hums along to a song playing through the radio.

Normal.

Everything is normal.

I cling to that thought.

Across the aisle, Randall glances over again.

Only for a second.

Then another.

His headphones hang loosely around his neck now.

His gaze drifts toward the rear window.

Toward the road disappearing behind us.

Then back to me.

His expression tightens slightly.

Like he's trying to solve a puzzle. Like he's wondering if he missed something.

Eventually he shakes his head and looks away.

Whatever. Not his problem.

The bus rounds a bend in the road.

A few people sit up straighter.

The driver slows slightly.

Ahead, buildings begin appearing between the trees.

Small at first.

Barely visible.

Then more. And more.

A town. Finally.

A collective sigh of relief moves through the bus.

Even I feel some of the tension leave my shoulders.

A town meant people.

Gas stations. Food. Directions.

Normal things.

"No, no, no, no," a young man mumbles a few seats behind me.

People exchange confused looks.

The man suddenly shoots to his feet.

His breathing becomes ragged.

Panicked.

Almost desperate.

"Stop the bus," he exclaims.

His chest heaves quickly, trying to get any ounce of air in.

"Bro, it's fine, we just took a little detour," someone behind me assures him.

This does nothing to calm him.

"We have to turn around. We can't be here. Please," his voice comes out desperate.

My heart picks up as I watch the young man come nearer to us.

He looks terrified.

Not nervous. Not upset.

Terrified.

The kind of fear that makes your body forget how to breathe.

"We have to leave right now!"

The desperation in his voice sends a chill down my spine.

Across from me, Randall pulls one of his headphones off.

Clearly annoyed. Clearly done with whatever this is becoming.

"We have to leave."

Nobody moves. Nobody knows what to do.

The driver is focused on the road.

The passengers are frozen.

The young man looks seconds away from completely losing it.

With an irritated sigh, Randall stands.

Immediately, I know this is going to end badly.

"Sit the fuck down, man."

The young man barely seems to hear him.

"We can't be here."

"Yeah, okay."

Randall steps into the aisle.

"Sit down."

The young man's eyes are wild now.

"No."

"We have to turn around."

Randall runs a hand down his face.

"You don't understand."

The young man takes another step backward.

Randall takes one forward.

"No, I understand."

His voice drips with impatience.

Randall reaches for him.

Not violently.

Just enough to stop him from stumbling farther down the aisle.

"Relax."

The young man jerks against his grip.

"No!"

A few passengers stand.

Someone tells Randall to let him go.

Someone else tells the young man to calm down.

The entire bus erupts into noise.

"We can't be here!" the young man shouts.

Randall tightens his grip on his shoulders.

"Take a breath."

Randall sounds thoroughly unimpressed.

The young man's breathing suddenly hitches.

His face turns an alarming shade of green.

I notice it immediately.

Unfortunately, Randall doesn't.

"Randall, wait"

Too late.

The young man lurches forward.

And throws up. Directly onto him.

The entire bus falls silent.

For one glorious second, nobody moves.

Nobody breathes.

Randall stands frozen.

Covered.

The young man immediately looks horrified.

"What the fuck."

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts.

Do not laugh.

Do not laugh.

A strangled sound escapes from somewhere behind me.

Someone else is losing the battle.

Randall slowly looks down at his shirt. Then at the young man. Then back at his shirt.

His expression somehow manages to become even angrier.

A small sound escapes me.

A snort.

God. No.

I immediately cough to cover it.

Unfortunately, it only makes it worse.

A laugh slips out.

Tiny. Barely audible.

But in the sudden silence of the bus, it might as well have been a scream.

Randall's head turns slowly.

Very slowly.

Our eyes meet.

My stomach drops.

Oops.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Hard.

Trying desperately to look sympathetic. Trying desperately not to laugh again. It doesn't work.

The corner of my mouth twitches.

Randall points at me.

Actually points.

"Don't."

That only makes it harder.

"I didn't say anything."

"You laughed."

"I absolutely did not."

"You did."

His shirt is still covered in vomit.

That fact does not help my self-control. A second laugh escapes before I can stop it.

Randall looks toward the ceiling like he's asking for strength.

"Stop the goddamn bus," Randall shouts to the driver.

The bus finally comes to a stop.

Rain pounds against the windows.

People begin filing out of the bus, eager to stretch their legs after hours on the road.

I stay seated.

Mostly because I don't trust myself.

The second I look at Randall again, I'm going to lose it.

Unfortunately, the universe hates me.

Randall stands before me.

Still wearing the same shirt.

The poor guy looks absolutely miserable.

Good.

He notices me looking. Immediately.

"Don't."

My smile grows.

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"Maybe a little."

"A little?"

I lose the battle.

A laugh escapes.

Gone almost immediately.

Randall closes his eyes.

The expression on his face suggests he's considering throwing me out of the emergency exit.

"You know," I say, standing and grabbing my own bag, "most people would change shirts."

"Most people didn't get vomited on."

"Fair."

He points at me.

Again.

"I mean it."

The warning only makes my shoulders shake harder.

The bus doors finally open.

Cold rain rushes inside.

Everyone immediately starts complaining.

One by one, passengers step out into the downpour.

I follow behind them.

The rain hits instantly.

Within seconds my hair sticks to my face.

Fantastic.

Ahead of me, Randall mutters several things that would probably make a priest faint.

For the first time all day, I almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

--

"I just need everyone to stay here while I clean up the bus," the driver tells all of us.

The rain let up and now I'm left with soggy clothes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see two men come running over. One of them seems to have a makeshift sling holding one of his arms.

The young man with the sling rushes to the driver and tries to catch his breath.

"Listen there is gonna be a bunch of people on their way down. Um, and there gonna help you guys out," the young man tells the driver., "So we'll get the diner unlocked and get you guys sorted out."

Unimpressed, the driver replies.

"Okay, well this isn't a pit stop, okay? So unless you have a mop, I'm good."

The young man has a defeated look on his face. Weird.

Before anyone can say anything else, movement catches my eye.

Someone is running toward us.

Fast.

A girl, probably a teenager.

"Ellis!"

She's soaked from the rain and breathing hard.

Terrified.

"Please!" she shouts.

Every head turns.

"It's my mom, she's trapped."

The panic in her voice immediately silences the crowd.

The young man, that I can assume is named Ellis, speaks.

"Wait? What?"

"She was digging in the basement, my dad's inside. She needs help, please," she pleads with Ellis.

The other man accompanying Ellis speaks up.

"Stay with the bus, okay? I got this."

He turns his attention to all of us.

"Hey, people! We got a little situation on our hands. Listen up. There's a woman trapped in the basement of that house over there. Her husband is inside. We could use some help."

Silence.

"Yeah, alright."

Immediately, I recognize the voice. Randall.

Another boy volunteers.

The elderly woman even tries to volunteer.

The bus driver shakes her head.

"I need everyone to stay by the bus."

Randall scoffs.

"Well, there's a woman trapped in there."

"Then let emergency services handle it," the bus driver replies.

"Oh, you're a peach," Randalls states. Sarcasm drips through his tone.

Typical.

Before anyone can reply, a van begins pulling up.

"Look you guys go, we can figure it out here," Ellis says, trying to keep the peace.

The man and the volunteers begins walking towards the house.

"Randall"

The word leaves my mouth before I can stop it.

He glances back.

For a second, I forget what I was even going to say.

Don't go? Be careful?

Neither makes any sense.

It's Randall.

He can do whatever he wants.

A corner of his mouth twitches. Not quite a smile.

More like he already knows I don't have anything useful to add.

Then he gives a small nod. Like he's reassuring me.

The gesture catches me off guard.

Before I can figure out why, he turns away and continues after the others.

I watch him disappear around the corner of the building.

Something uncomfortable settles in my chest.

I immediately ignore it.

Not my problem. Not my business.

If Randall wants to go play hero for strangers, that's on him.

A young man walks up to us with a few people form the van. He seems to be some kind of deputy.

"Folks, sorry about the inconvenience here. Let's get you all inside, huh? Get some tea brewing. Get you all warmed up."

He opens up the diner doors and ushers us all inside.

My eyes drift back toward the street.

Toward the house. Toward where Randall disappeared.

The knot in my stomach tightens.

Annoying.

Very annoying.

--

I went in the diner for a few minutes but decided it was a bit too crowded for my liking.

Sitting on the steps of the diner, I see the young man who freaked out on the bus with a young woman who seemed to be some type of nurse.

'Let's go slow, okay? We can go inside and get some water."

The young man and woman slowly start walking towards the diner.

"You okay?"

The young man starts stuttering and he begins to fall to the ground.

He's seizing.

Rushing to my feet, I quickly make my way to them.

"We need some help!" The young woman shouts out.

The young deputy and teenage girl come bursting out of the diner.

"We need to get him on his side," The young woman directs us.

"One, two, three."

We all help the young woman push the man onto his side.

"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," I find myself speaking.

As much as I am reassuring the young man, I think I reassuring myself.

Suddenly, a low grumbling sounds in the distance.

Like something crumbling.

The deputy and young girl shoot up, leaving me and the other woman holding onto the seizing man.

Turning my head, I see the house that they ran into slowly crumbling.

My heart drops.

Randall.

That fucking idiot is getting himself killed.

"No, no, no." I begin mumbling under my breath.

Someone shouts.

People start running.

The house groans. Then collapses.

The sound is deafening.

Dust erupts into the air.

Wood. Concrete. Glass.

Everything comes crashing down at once.

For a moment, the entire town seems to freeze.

My chest tightens so hard it hurts.

I can't breathe.

Can't think.

The image plays over and over in my head.

Randall walking toward the house.

Randall disappearing inside.

Randall—

My feet are moving before I realize it.

I forget about helping the young man. As if somehow I can do something. As if somehow I can help.

The house is gone. Completely gone. A pile of rubble.

My pulse pounds in my ears.

A sick feeling twists through my stomach.

Not panic. Not exactly.

Just something ugly.

Something cold.

Because all I can think is-

He was in there.

That fucking idiot was in there.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

hi! i decided to write a chapter of my potential randall fic, let me know what you think :)

-nora

𝐾𝐸𝑁𝑁𝑌

・After Tabitha had dug that large hole, the house had collapsed.

・Then a bus came into town and on it were a number of people who Donna, Kenny and yourself had to lead.

・Nightfall was soon upon the town and everyone was hurried into the diner.

・Kenny was trying to keep Julie calm, while you and Donna were keeping everyone else in check. Especially the loud-mouth one, Randall.

・Everyone could hear the monster's screams, high-pitched and horrid.

・And no one could fall asleep.

・With the moon high above, Randall had had enough of this and grabbed Kenny.

・He pointed the gun to your husband's head and walked backward toward the door.

・You could hardly breathe, you couldn't live without him.

"Don't hurt him, take me instead. Please-" you asked Randall.

"The fuck-" he pointed the gun at you anyway, and grabbed your arm. "Fine," was all he said.

"What the fuck are you doing," Kenny asked you, he stood where you once had. And another monsterous screech came from outside.

"C'mon, we're going out there," was all Randall said before Kenny leapt on him.

・A shot rang through the air and everyone ducked.

・The pair wrestled for the gun, and it slid across the floor and Donna picked it up.

"Now that's enough-" she growled, and aimed the gun at Randall. He noticed and stood up.

"Fucking fine," he put his hands up and did as Donna said.

・You ran to Kenny and helped him up, wiping away the blood from his lip and kissing him.

"Don't volunteer to be held hostage, ever again. Okay?" He said to you, holding your hand.

"Whenever you're in trouble, I'm going to help you - or at least try," you said with a sad smile.

"That's my job," Kenny said and tucked the hair behind your ear. He kissed your cheek and rested his forehead against yours.

𝐽𝐴𝐷𝐸

・The monsters had let the animals out. The only source of food for everyone.

・Boyd was already out there, doing his best to guide them to safety.

・You were with Jade in the bar, and without a word, you jumped up and flew out of the bar.

・Jade was stunned, "what are you doing! Stay here, I'll go!"

・But he was too late, you had already started guiding a cow, even though the monsters had started to appear.

・Pale and creepy, they took their time walking toward you and the others.

・Mrs Liu was on the other side of the cow, helping you guide it toward the stable.

・Jade had come outside as well, trying to get you to swap with him, "just take the goats, I'll move the freaking cow-"

・You rolled your eyes, but saw movement behind Mrs Liu. One of the monsters had changed form and was about to catch up, when you grabbed her arm and pulled her backward.

・She was slightly scratched, but the cow took the brunt of the attack.

・Jade was shocked, but he grabbed both you and Mrs Liu and told you to go inside: "just stay there, for the love of god, please just listen to me."

・You didn't want to, but Mrs Liu was still injured, so you went inside and helped clean her up.

・You didn't see Jade until morning.

"What were you thinking?" He shouted, arms in the air, head shaking.

"I was helping!" You shouted right back at him.

"You could have died-" He said with a huff. Trying not to seem vulnerable.

"Well, I'm sorry," you said, going up to him and touching his arm.

"I can't lose you, I-I can't."

・His head hung down and you held both his cheeks. "I love you," you whispered and kissed him.

𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐴𝐿𝐿

・Acosta was having a breakdown, as she drove through town.

・She sped around and around, driving faster each time the car came back into town.

・You had seen her leave the clinic in the ambulance she came in on. With Kristi in the front seat.

・You went back inside to tell Randall what had happened and he told you to stay out of it.

"No, I have to help-"

・You ran back outside, with Randall coming after you.

"Don't go after them!" He called out to you, but you were set on helping.

"I am-"

"Goddamn, wait for me-"

・He jogged up to you, and you both went into town

・On the road there, you could hear the ambulance coming from behind. Except Ethan was walking in the middle of the road.

"Move Ethan!" You yelled but he was too far away. You started to sprint. So did Randall.

"Just move to the side, I'll get him!"

・But you were already closer, halfway between Randall and Ethan, Acosta didn't bother to slow down. Too caught up in her own mind, yelling at Kristi about this place.

・Randall could only move out of the way and yell out.

・You got to Ethan before the ambulance did.

・You were puffing hard when Randall reached you. He helped both of you up but his lips were thin and his jaw was clenched.

"I'm taking you home, c'mon Ethan-"

・When the two of you were alone again, Randall surprised you.

・He had tears in his eyes as he spoke, "please don't do that again."

𝐵𝑂𝑌𝐷

・You were used to your husband risking himself. Over and over again.

・He was the leader and that meant being with him would come with responsibilities. You knew that.

・It was so difficult at first, not knowing if he was safe. But after some time, you had understood and you could control your panic.

・But when it came to you risking yourself, Boyd couldn't handle it. Not at all. Even though you had to.

・It was night. And something didn't feel right. Other than the obvious.

・Boyd felt it too, and neither of you could fall asleep.

・You opened the blinds and peered out to see Sara standing in the middle of the road. Crying.

"Shit," was all you said before your legs were moving.

・You unlocked the door and ran outside.

・Boyd jumped up and watched as you moved, "hey! Hey!" Was all he could say before you were out the door.

・You ran to Sara, grabbed her and hauled her toward the station.

・They were closing in.

・The monsters had made a circle around you both, and they were walking toward you.

'This is it,' you thought, 'this is my end.'

・And then Boyd was there, and you ran to him, dragging a sobbing Sara wth you.

・You made it somehow. All three of you were safe in the station.

"What were you thinking! You could have died! Do not do that again!"

・Boyd had never spoken to you like that, but you understood - even if you yelled back...

"What was I supposed to do? I couldn't leave her out there!"

・Sara was sitting on the bed, her head in her hands, swaying back and forth.

"You could have let me do it! You can't risk yourself, I can't lose you!"

・He looked away from you at the end, shaking his head.

・You went to him, and hugged him tight, "I'm here. I'm safe."

Wearing Thin

A story about what it costs to survive—and the one person who refuses to let you lose yourself trying.

pairings: randall kirkland x softangelgirlfriend!reader

synopsis: When kindness starts to look like a liability, you learn how to survive—you take less risk, give less away, stop reaching for people who won’t reach back.

She learns.

Randall is the one who notices first.

What starts as irritation turns into something sharper when the softness he couldn’t stand is replaced by something colder, quieter—something that looks too much like everyone else.

The argument that follows isn’t really about survival.

It’s about what she’s willing to lose to stay alive—and why he can’t stand watching her become someone she’s not.

CONTENT WARNING: emotional distress, survival setting, loss of identity, behavioral change, being taken advantage of, self-sacrificing tendencies, moral ambiguity, arguments/conflict, harsh environment, implied violence/danger, anxiety, internal conflict, themes of survival, angst, soft randall (if you squint)

word count: 2.1k

a/n: thanks to the lovely anon who requested this!! i had so much fun writing this and love the idea of randall dating someone who’s like the complete opposite of him. love this concept and the idea of randall noticing her change before anyone else just stuck in my head. considering turning this into like a non plot series type thing, so think of this as like how they were before they got together type thing!

She says thank you too much.

Not in a way that draws attention, not in that bright, performative tone people use when they’re trying to be liked. It’s quieter than that. Automatic. Like it’s stitched into her, like she doesn’t know how to exist without softening everything around her.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you.”

“I appreciate it.”

It slips out of her without thinking. For everything. Someone hands her a cup of water, she thanks them. Someone barely spares her a glance, she thanks them anyway, like acknowledgment in itself is something she owes something back for. Half the time, the people she says it to don’t even register it. The other half, they take it and give nothing in return.

Randall notices before he realizes he’s watching her.

And it bugs him.

Not because it’s wrong—he doesn’t care about that, doesn’t even know if it is—but because it doesn’t fit. Not here. Not somewhere that eats through people until there’s nothing left but what’s necessary. Softness like that doesn’t last. It gets worn down, traded off piece by piece until there’s nothing left to take.

Or it gets you hurt.

“You always like that?” he asks one afternoon, voice cutting in without warning.

She’s sitting off to the side, splitting what little food she has into two uneven portions. The bigger half is already gone from her hands, passed quietly to someone who hadn’t even asked for it.

She glances up at him, and there’s no embarrassment in it. No defensiveness. Just that same open, unguarded look that makes it hard to tell whether she doesn’t understand what he’s saying or just doesn’t agree.

“Like what?”

He tips his chin toward the empty space in her hands. “That,” he says. “Giving your stuff out like it’s unlimited.”

“They needed it.”

“So do you.”

She shrugs easy, like it’s not even worth arguing. Like her own needs don’t carry the same weight in her head. “I’ll be okay.”

Randall lets out a short breath through his nose, something between a scoff and a laugh.

He shifts his weight against the doorframe, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Heard that one before.”

There’s no real bite to it. Not like there usually is when he talks.

She watches him for a second, like she’s actually thinking about it, like she might take it seriously.

“Still,” she says after a second, “thank you.”

He frowns at her like she said something that doesn’t make sense.

“For what?”

She tilts her head slightly. “For saying something.” Then continues softer. “For looking out for me.”

That throws him off in a way he doesn’t like.

He hadn’t meant it like that. Hadn’t meant it as anything, really. It was just… a comment. An observation.

“I didn’t say anything,” he shoots back immediately. “I made a comment.”

“It counts.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

She smiles anyway.

That… irritates him more than it should.

He looks away first.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

It’s small, but it’s real, like his intention doesn’t change the outcome for her. Like it counts regardless.

And that should’ve been the end of it.

It isn’t.

He doesn’t notice the change right away.

Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t care enough to name it.

At first, it’s small.

She hesitates.

Someone asks for help, and she pauses instead of moving right away. Just a second—but it’s there. Like she’s thinking about it now, running it through a set of rules that didn’t exist before. Sometimes she still steps in. Sometimes she doesn’t.

Then she stops offering.

Stops hovering near people who look like they’re struggling. Stops splitting what she has. Keeps to herself more, stops inserting herself into situations that don’t directly involve her. It’s as if she’s learned where the invisible lines are and decided not to cross them anymore. Like she’s finally figuring out how things work.

Smart.

That’s what it is.

Smart.

Her voice changes too, a little. Less extra. Less… her.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.”

The extra words disappear. The softness that used to round everything out gets trimmed away, piece by piece, until what’s left is efficient. Careful. Distant.

And eventually, the thank yous stop.

That’s what Randall notices first.

Not in some big, dramatic way. It’s just… gone. A beat that used to exist, a rhythm he hadn’t realized he’d gotten used to until it wasn’t there anymore.

She hands him something one day—he doesn’t even remember what—and turns away like it’s nothing.

No pause. No acknowledgment. No “thanks.”

Nothing.

He waits for it without meaning to. It doesn’t come. He catches himself almost saying something.

Doesn’t

Just watches her walk off, something in his expression tightening for a second before it disappears. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Because once he sees it, he can’t stop seeing it.

It’s in everything she does. Or doesn’t do.

She doesn’t look at people the same way anymore. Doesn’t step in. Doesn’t react. Someone drops something right next to her and she just keeps walking like she didn’t hear it.

Someone asks for help, and she gestures vaguely toward someone else instead of stepping in herself. She keeps her food now—every bit of it—tucked away like she’s finally learned the lesson everyone else picked up years ago.

And maybe that’s a good thing.

Maybe that’s what she’s supposed to do.

But it doesn’t sit right.

Not because the behavior itself is wrong, but because it’s her doing it, and it looks… off. Like she’s wearing something that doesn’t quite fit, like it pulls in the wrong places.

Randall leans back against the wall one evening, arms crossed, watching her pass by like she doesn’t even register he’s there.

“Hey.”

“What?”

She pauses, but she doesn’t fully turn toward him. The distance is subtle, but it’s there now—something measured in the way she holds herself, in how much of her she allows anyone to see.

“When’d you start ignoring people?”

“I don’t.”

He lets out a quiet huff. “Yeah. You do,” he continues, flat. “Just watched you do it.”

“They’ll figure it out.”

“That’s new.”

There’s something different there. Not colder, exactly. Just… shut down in a way it wasn’t before.

“People said I needed to stop,” she says.

“Stop what?”

“Being stupid.”

The word sits wrong.

Randall’s expression shifts, something sharper creeping in.

“Who said that?”

She shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she says, a little firmer now, though her voice stays level. “They weren’t wrong.”

He pushes off the wall then, uncrossing his arms.

“Right,” he says, tone flat. “So now you just don’t do anything.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She exhales, already looking annoyed. “I’m just not making things harder for myself anymore.”

“By what—acting like you don’t see anything?” he cuts in.

“By not being an easy target.”

“So this is you fixing it?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You call this better?”

“I call it necessary.”

There’s no softness left in it.

“Necessary,” he repeats, pushing off the wall as irritation sharpens into something more pointed. “No. This isn’t necessary. This is you turning into everyone else.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” she shoots back, and finally there’s some heat in her voice. “They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

“Barely.”

“But they are.”

“And you think this is why?” he presses, stepping closer now, frustration creeping in around the edges. “You think acting like you don’t care is what’s keeping them alive?”

“It’s part of it.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s what’s left after everything else gets stripped away.”

She exhales sharply, already looking like she wants out of the conversation. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he counters, stepping into her path before she can move past him. “Because this isn’t you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I don’t have to. I saw who you were before.”

“Yeah?” she says, turning fully toward him now, something raw slipping through the cracks. “And where did that get me?”

It lands.

Not loud, not dramatic, but exactly where it needs to.

“Nowhere,” she continues, quieter but sharper. “It got me taken advantage of. It got me ignored. It almost got me hurt.”

“And this is better?”

“It’s safer.”

“Is it,” he asks, voice dropping, “or is it just easier?”

Her jaw tightens. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he shoots back, something deeper threading through the frustration now. “I’ve seen what this place does to people.”

“So have I.”

“Then you should know better.”

“Know better than to survive?”

“No,” he says, the word cutting clean. “Know better than to lose yourself doing it.”

She lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s easy for you to say.”

That one sticks.

Because it’s not wrong.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, even though he already knows.

“It means you already know how to be like this,” she says, gesturing toward him. “You don’t hesitate. You don’t second-guess. You don’t care about people you shouldn’t. That’s how you survive here.”

Each word lands steady, deliberate.

“And I don’t,” she adds, softer now. “So I’m learning.”

Something twists in his chest, sharp and immediate.

“Yeah,” he mutters, jaw tightening, “and how’s that working out for you?”

“Better than before.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says, stepping closer again, voice rougher now. “Because you look miserable.”

That stops her.

Not completely, but enough to crack something in the surface she’s been holding together.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in, not letting her pull away from it. “You don’t talk to anyone, you don’t help unless you have to, you don’t—” He exhales, shaking his head. “That’s not surviving. That’s just existing.”

She swallows, gaze dropping for a second before she forces it back up. “At least I’m still here.”

And that—

That’s it.

“This place already ruins people,” he says, quieter now, but heavier. “Don’t help it.”

He holds her gaze, something real breaking through the usual edge in his voice.

“Do you think I like being like this?” he adds. “You think this is something you should be aiming for?”

She doesn’t answer.

Because she doesn’t have one.

“I didn’t start like this,” he continues, dragging a hand over the back of his neck, pacing once like he needs to burn off the weight of it. “Nobody does. This place takes whatever you were and grinds it down until this is what’s left.”

He gestures to himself, something bitter flickering across his face.

“And you want to speed that up?” he asks, looking back at her. “You want to do that to yourself on purpose?”

Her expression shifts, just slightly.

“I’m just trying to survive,” she says, but it’s quieter now. Less certain.

“Yeah,” he replies. “So was I.”

The words settle between them, heavy.

“And look how that turned out.”

That’s what finally gets through.

She looks at him differently then, like she’s seeing past the surface of him for the first time, like she’s noticing what it cost him to get here.

“I don’t know what else to do,” she admits, and there’s something fragile in it now, something honest.

Randall exhales slowly, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders.

“You keep going,” he says. “The way you were.”

“That doesn’t work here.”

“It did,” he counters. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

“Barely.”

“Barely counts.”

She lets out a small breath, shaking her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“I can’t keep being that person if it’s going to get me killed,” she says, voice tightening again, but not as defensive. “I can’t keep giving things away, trusting people, acting like things are normal when they’re not.”

“I’m not saying be stupid,” he says, more controlled now. “I’m saying don’t kill the only part of you that makes this place bearable.”

She goes still.

“Not just for you,” he adds, quieter.

Her gaze lifts back to his, something unspoken settling between them.

“You don’t have to be like me,” he says. “That’s not something you should want.”

A beat passes.

“Trust me.”

There’s something almost ironic about it, but neither of them acknowledges it.

Silence settles, but it’s different now. Less sharp. Less guarded.

She looks down at her hands, turning everything over, and for once he doesn’t interrupt it. He lets the quiet sit, lets her work through it without pushing.

After a moment, she exhales, her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“…Okay.”

It’s not a promise.

But it’s something.

It doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t magically undo the shift.

The next time someone asks for help, she still hesitates. It’s there, that pause, that instinct to pull back, to protect herself the way she’s been trying to.

Then, slowly, she steps in anyway.

Not like before. Not automatic.

But it’s hers.

Later, when she passes Randall in the hallway, she slows just enough to catch his attention, holding something out for him to take.

“Here.”

He takes it, glancing at her.

She starts to walk off.

There’s a pause.

It’s small. Uncertain.

“…Thanks,” she says, quieter than it used to be.

It’s quieter now. A little uncertain, like she’s still figuring out how much of herself she’s allowed to keep without it costing her.

Randall nods once, like it’s nothing.

“Yeah.” he mutters.

But he doesn’t look away as she walks off, watching her as she goes.

And this time, there’s no irritation in it.

Just something quieter.

Something that looks a lot like him making sure she doesn’t disappear into this place the way everyone else eventually does—even if he never says that part out loud.

It’s because he’s decided—quietly, without saying it out loud—that if the world tries to take that softness from her again, it’s going to have to go through him first.

Claude Frollo

Church gossip, he hears women talking about you and would have lashed out at them but he confronts you about first 

He’s not the best father figure and he knows it, so during your pregnancy, he ignores you and drones out your talks of your future family because he has turmoil inside of him

He basically locks you up in your home because he wants to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby...and because he has prejudice against gypsies (there’s another word for these people I forgot what it was) and believes they’d attempt to kill you 

After the baby is born, he sighs a breath of relief because the baby is normal *coughjerkcough*

Frollo leaves you to take care of the baby but will help out with whatever you ask because you ask him (more like demand him)

Clayton

You tell him the minute you figure it out because you two have been trying for a while now

Oh he is ecstatic! He picks you up and spins you around, smothering you in kisses

He takes care of you during your pregnancy, always by your side unless he needs to attend to business

Clayton already had plans to teach his child hunting and surviving skills, doesn’t matter the gender of the baby, Clayton could care less about the gender. You remind him he’s gonna have to wait a few years for the baby to grow

He’s there when the baby is born to help you through the process, and he’ll never admit it but he was nervous to hold the baby for the first time

Your baby is the smallest and softest thing he has ever held in his life!

Dr. Facilier

I feel like Facilier’s friends on the other side and his shadow figure it out first even before you do

He gives a hearty chuckle at the news but he doesn't let you see the worry on his face

He decides your baby is gonna live a better life than his but still have voodoo and black magic in the back pocket. So Facilier works long hours to get money to provide for the baby and the future, and you of course

Facilier is wary of leaving you all alone with his friends on the other side, even more when the baby is born because of the screw-up deals he’s made with them so he gets his hands on protection talismans of good magic to protect you both

He’s not the most patient man but he has to be for the baby, and every time he looks at your baby he remembers he did something good

Hades

The Fates drop lots of indirect and direct hints, it’s amusing but also ‘get out of my business’

His fire simmers down to a spark before it engulfs his entire being, both in thrill and shock, and confronts you which is a surprise to you too because you didn’t know

Because he is the Lord of the Underworld he can’t exactly stop working so he likes to have you by his side but he knows you need rest. So when he’s away from you for a long time he gets pissy and has a hard time controlling his anger which does in the poor work he is doing

He’s got enemies and any of them can be plotting to take you and his baby out so that adds to his pissy attitude. So he locks you up during and after your pregnancy without consulting you first

At a young age (read: a few weeks) Hades starts teaching the baby how to handle their powers and defensive and offensive techniques

Pain and Panic basically become the kid’s punching bag

Randall - I was gonna do Jafar but I thought Randall would be cute for this 😁

You tell him because you’re a bit nervous and want to know his reaction. He’s shocked, neither a good shock nor a bad shock, just shocked. 

But you know his good with kids, or at least with familial kids because he loves his nephew, and you tell him he’ll be a good father

He gets a bit overprotective of you during your pregnancy, not letting anyone near you whether they are strangers or friends

Since he is a lizard monster and lizards have eggs, two eggs come out of you. Both of you take the job of keeping them warm and cozy until they hatch. You catch Randall rubbing his hands round the eggs and humming

He tries so hard to not cry when the eggs hatch but one or two tears escape. He’s gonna love them and spoil them just as much as he did with his nephew who comes by every once in a while

Accident:

You hadn't seen him, you just walked by and your hand brushed seemingly nothing, until you saw him, he had gone like 9000 shades of pink. You couldn't stop apologizing, he tried stuttering out an 'its all good' but he couldn't get it put and instead just ended up running away. Later you found a note in your dorm that read:

'Hey, sorry for running away earlier, you were just really pretty and it scared me. -Randal.'

Asking to touch:

If you had the nerve to ask, you'd probably had been friends forever. But when you do, you're super nervous, and it takes him by surprise. He stutters until finally he just sighs out an ok. You reach out to touch his tail and he goes neon pink. He'd told about four months later when he had asked you out (and you obviously said yes) that his tail is super sensitive and touching it was a huge turn on. Which then caused you to turn pink.

SURPRISE! BONUS IMAGINE!