Re: [No. 3 to No. 24: Iris & Sam]
She pressed together sticky fingertips as she stood and stopped. Maybe she should be scared that they were lost, or that she was remembering the town wrong, but Sam had gotten over being scared of her fucked up reality. Or she'd got better at articulating it, and none of those hallucinations ever fucked with her or nothing. They happened mostly when she was stressed hard, and this situation should maybe count, even though she felt ok. Her wrists hurt a little, the new bruises there tender, but that was nothing.
"I get stuff wrong in my head a lot," she explained, like they were just out for a stroll and the weather had turned odd. There was no light now, and Sam didn't have her flashlight or her phone, but she knew this was the laundry. It looked different than the laundry normally looked, but she could see the machines through the windows. "Wanna go inside?" she asked as Iris leaned bloody against the wall, and she tugged on Iris' hand without waiting for a response. "We're filthy," she added, not mentioning WHAT the filth was. "We can wash up, and maybe there's some clean clothes sitting in dryers." After all, that was how the Alexander kids went shopping when they were small, yeah? In laundromats, because people left their shit unattended all the time. And she looked at Iris' other wrist, a frown marring her forehead and blood collecting in frown lines there. "Do you need that wrapped?" Which was maybe secondary to Iris' fucked up knees, but Sam was seeing thing in pieces, consumable, bite sized. Washing up first. Clean clothes. Wrist. Etc. And it would be better to get to Cris when they were clean, because that way he wouldn't worry. She didn't want him worrying about anything.
And maybe it was really a laundromat inside, and maybe it was just someone's house they were gonna raid. It didn't fucking matter, because it WAS a laundromat, even if it was in the wrong fucking place. The mob was gone, but inside felt good all the same, and Sam walked in and looked over her shoulder at her sister. "Did you really think they wanted to fuck you up over him?" she asked, as if the conversation had never shifted from her asking questions earlier, and as if there wasn't some dead guy splattered itchy all over their faces.