Stay With Me - Ch. 8
Title: Stay With Me
Summary: When did it all change? When did this become her path? As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. Her life was never the same.
Rating: M
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane Modern AU
Warnings: none (this chapter)
Length: ~1200 words
December 24, 2013
Late p.m.
The sign above the gas station read Sevenstream Stop-In.
It came to her slowly, words coming in small, unsteady lines drawn across her mind. Red neon with lights of a convenience store underneath. Black everywhere else. She had been looking at them for ages it felt like, but the images were only now starting to make sense.
It was nighttime. Dark, though the overhead lights were hurting her eyes.
Glaring white lights streamed into the car from the gas station's big overhead canopy that made her eyes, her face, her skin, absolutely every molecule of her it touched ache. But, with considerable effort, she blinked past it and peered out the window.
Snow.
It wasn't much, but it was a thought. Small yet clear. It might have been the first thought she'd ever had. They were parked at the far end of the lot, and a steady snowfall drifted down out of a black, starless sky. Fat flakes. Fluffy white pillows. Nearby, with only the odd light in the distance.
Drowning in a sea of numbness and lethargy, Sansa swallowed. Her tongue tentatively wet her lips. It had been two years since she had seen snow.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she woozily turned her head to meet his eyes.
Burnt ash. Always ash.
Snow and ash.
Sandor's mouth moved, his gaze steady on her while she followed his lips with all the finesse of a downed sparrow in a muddy field. He said her name. The shape of his mouth was right, but his voice, normally deep and resonant, had a strange muffled quality to it, like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. Not understanding, Sansa very slowly looked away and was taken aback to find a sandwich in her hand. Two sad pieces of bread with a slice of turkey and cheese jammed between them hung limply between her fingers, and she didn't know what to do with it.
" … been two days, girl. You've got to eat something," Sandor said, his voice coming in a little clearer. Huffing, he reached out and nudged her hand, pushing the sandwich toward her. It was clearly not for the first time.
Worried about what that meant, Sansa glanced around her surroundings, searching for something, anything that might help her recall what had happened. She saw a pillow wedged up against her door, an old, tattered blanket sagging over her lap. Her clothes were ripped and bloody, and there was a large bandage wrapped tight around her arm, a red-stained pad of gauze and visible beneath the wrapping. Breathing fast, she caught a brief glimpse of her face in the mirror and blinked back hot tears.
"Hey, hey, hey," Sandor said quickly, before firmly grasping her chin. He looked her squarely in the eyes. "Calm down. You're alright, little bird."
She believed him, and her breaths gradually evened. As they did, his grip slowly eased until he gave a small nod of approval, his expression grim.
"At least, you're awake. I wasn't sure for a while there … I thought ..." Letting whatever it was he wanted to say fall away, Sandor's mouth settled into a firm scowl. His assessing gaze steamrolled her over. "You're alright now, little bird. You hear me? That fucker's never going to touch you again. You understand?"
Joffrey.
Sansa stared vacantly at her lap, her right hand curling into the folds of the blanket.
Joffrey was dead. Sandor had saved her.
Oh, gods.
Oh, gods. Sandor.
"Sansa?" Sandor's earnest tone stopped her from sliding headlong into a raging flood of guilt and blind panic. She lifted her eyes away from her shaking hands, from where she was probably, stupidly, squashing the sandwich without a thought.
His expression had gone from scorching to concerned, and it held her in place. She stared across at his uneasy frown.
"Sansa," he rumbled, clear and concise, "do you understand me?"
Then, she did.
More aware than ever of the latent throbbing in her head, Sansa managed a halting nod. She didn't know whether he was pleased with her answer or not, as if he was uncertain whether to believe her. Pursing his lips, he finally glanced over his shoulder and turned back with an exhale.
"Alright," he grumbled, returning swiftly to the harsh tone she recognized most. "Eat."
He plunked a bottle of water down next to her, and the conversation was apparently over. For Sansa, however, one look at the sad excuse for a sandwich was more than enough. She didn't want to eat. She was so sore, the mere thought of it hurt.
"W-" she tried, wincing as she formed the words around several cuts and a face full of bruises. "W-what … happened to the truck?"
Instead of his beloved black truck, Sandor was crammed behind the wheel of a dinky white sedan as he wolfed down a sandwich of his own, a bag of chips, chasing it with a shot of Dornish whisky taken straight from the bottle. As soon as she spoke, though, he went still.
He looked at her as if she hadn't spoken in days. Maybe she hadn't.
"You don't remember?"
Sansa thought for a moment, then shook her head.
Sandor's lips went tight across teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. "I left it with a friend. People in our line of work sometimes have to cut and run at a moment's notice, so he has a place off the grid, outside the city. We stopped there last night," he said, pausing as if she should remember. Sansa began to wonder how long she had been awake. Awake without once responding to him. Or had she? No. His earlier reaction suggested she hadn't.
"Anyway," he continued, "we stopped, got you patched up as good as I could, and left it there. It's a custom job. Too dangerous to be driving it around. This piece of shit, though ..." He looked with disdain across the dashboard. "The Palfrey's one of the most common models on the road. Cops'll take one look at it and look the other way, so long as we don't give them a reason to do otherwise."
Sansa nodded, realizing for the first time that they were on the run. That Joffrey's family and the police would be looking for them, and they had nowhere to go.
A ribbon of fear shivered down her spine. "W-what are we going to do?"
Sandor was silent. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his face meshed in thought. When he replied, his voice was flat and dark. "Not much to do. Best keep moving."
He threw his empty sandwich wrapper into the back, where a large navy duffle bag Sansa hadn't previously noticed was shoved behind his seat. A brief flash of memory came to her of Sandor in a dusty living room and an open closet, wood panel walls, and Sandor kneeling as he hurriedly shoved things into it-a stash of guns, cash, and IDs. A green kerosene lamp burned on a nearby table.
Sandor turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life. He flipped on the headlights and pulled to the edge of the parking lot.
"Keep your head down," he rasped, gently maneuvering her back to the pillow. Sansa ribs twinged, but quickly settled.
Then, he pulled onto the road and into the falling snow.
Summary: When did it all change? When did this become her path? As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. Her life was never the same.
Rating: M
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane Modern AU
Warnings: none (this chapter)
Length: ~1200 words
December 24, 2013
Late p.m.
The sign above the gas station read Sevenstream Stop-In.
It came to her slowly, words coming in small, unsteady lines drawn across her mind. Red neon with lights of a convenience store underneath. Black everywhere else. She had been looking at them for ages it felt like, but the images were only now starting to make sense.
It was nighttime. Dark, though the overhead lights were hurting her eyes.
Glaring white lights streamed into the car from the gas station's big overhead canopy that made her eyes, her face, her skin, absolutely every molecule of her it touched ache. But, with considerable effort, she blinked past it and peered out the window.
Snow.
It wasn't much, but it was a thought. Small yet clear. It might have been the first thought she'd ever had. They were parked at the far end of the lot, and a steady snowfall drifted down out of a black, starless sky. Fat flakes. Fluffy white pillows. Nearby, with only the odd light in the distance.
Drowning in a sea of numbness and lethargy, Sansa swallowed. Her tongue tentatively wet her lips. It had been two years since she had seen snow.
A hand touched her shoulder, and she woozily turned her head to meet his eyes.
Burnt ash. Always ash.
Snow and ash.
Sandor's mouth moved, his gaze steady on her while she followed his lips with all the finesse of a downed sparrow in a muddy field. He said her name. The shape of his mouth was right, but his voice, normally deep and resonant, had a strange muffled quality to it, like it was coming from the other end of a long tunnel. Not understanding, Sansa very slowly looked away and was taken aback to find a sandwich in her hand. Two sad pieces of bread with a slice of turkey and cheese jammed between them hung limply between her fingers, and she didn't know what to do with it.
" … been two days, girl. You've got to eat something," Sandor said, his voice coming in a little clearer. Huffing, he reached out and nudged her hand, pushing the sandwich toward her. It was clearly not for the first time.
Worried about what that meant, Sansa glanced around her surroundings, searching for something, anything that might help her recall what had happened. She saw a pillow wedged up against her door, an old, tattered blanket sagging over her lap. Her clothes were ripped and bloody, and there was a large bandage wrapped tight around her arm, a red-stained pad of gauze and visible beneath the wrapping. Breathing fast, she caught a brief glimpse of her face in the mirror and blinked back hot tears.
"Hey, hey, hey," Sandor said quickly, before firmly grasping her chin. He looked her squarely in the eyes. "Calm down. You're alright, little bird."
She believed him, and her breaths gradually evened. As they did, his grip slowly eased until he gave a small nod of approval, his expression grim.
"At least, you're awake. I wasn't sure for a while there … I thought ..." Letting whatever it was he wanted to say fall away, Sandor's mouth settled into a firm scowl. His assessing gaze steamrolled her over. "You're alright now, little bird. You hear me? That fucker's never going to touch you again. You understand?"
Joffrey.
Sansa stared vacantly at her lap, her right hand curling into the folds of the blanket.
Joffrey was dead. Sandor had saved her.
Oh, gods.
Oh, gods. Sandor.
"Sansa?" Sandor's earnest tone stopped her from sliding headlong into a raging flood of guilt and blind panic. She lifted her eyes away from her shaking hands, from where she was probably, stupidly, squashing the sandwich without a thought.
His expression had gone from scorching to concerned, and it held her in place. She stared across at his uneasy frown.
"Sansa," he rumbled, clear and concise, "do you understand me?"
Then, she did.
More aware than ever of the latent throbbing in her head, Sansa managed a halting nod. She didn't know whether he was pleased with her answer or not, as if he was uncertain whether to believe her. Pursing his lips, he finally glanced over his shoulder and turned back with an exhale.
"Alright," he grumbled, returning swiftly to the harsh tone she recognized most. "Eat."
He plunked a bottle of water down next to her, and the conversation was apparently over. For Sansa, however, one look at the sad excuse for a sandwich was more than enough. She didn't want to eat. She was so sore, the mere thought of it hurt.
"W-" she tried, wincing as she formed the words around several cuts and a face full of bruises. "W-what … happened to the truck?"
Instead of his beloved black truck, Sandor was crammed behind the wheel of a dinky white sedan as he wolfed down a sandwich of his own, a bag of chips, chasing it with a shot of Dornish whisky taken straight from the bottle. As soon as she spoke, though, he went still.
He looked at her as if she hadn't spoken in days. Maybe she hadn't.
"You don't remember?"
Sansa thought for a moment, then shook her head.
Sandor's lips went tight across teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. "I left it with a friend. People in our line of work sometimes have to cut and run at a moment's notice, so he has a place off the grid, outside the city. We stopped there last night," he said, pausing as if she should remember. Sansa began to wonder how long she had been awake. Awake without once responding to him. Or had she? No. His earlier reaction suggested she hadn't.
"Anyway," he continued, "we stopped, got you patched up as good as I could, and left it there. It's a custom job. Too dangerous to be driving it around. This piece of shit, though ..." He looked with disdain across the dashboard. "The Palfrey's one of the most common models on the road. Cops'll take one look at it and look the other way, so long as we don't give them a reason to do otherwise."
Sansa nodded, realizing for the first time that they were on the run. That Joffrey's family and the police would be looking for them, and they had nowhere to go.
A ribbon of fear shivered down her spine. "W-what are we going to do?"
Sandor was silent. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his face meshed in thought. When he replied, his voice was flat and dark. "Not much to do. Best keep moving."
He threw his empty sandwich wrapper into the back, where a large navy duffle bag Sansa hadn't previously noticed was shoved behind his seat. A brief flash of memory came to her of Sandor in a dusty living room and an open closet, wood panel walls, and Sandor kneeling as he hurriedly shoved things into it-a stash of guns, cash, and IDs. A green kerosene lamp burned on a nearby table.
Sandor turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life. He flipped on the headlights and pulled to the edge of the parking lot.
"Keep your head down," he rasped, gently maneuvering her back to the pillow. Sansa ribs twinged, but quickly settled.
Then, he pulled onto the road and into the falling snow.