Chapter Text
The first time Shane met the farmer, he briefly thought he was having some sort of alcohol induced fever dream.
No one could be that tall. No one could be that muscular. Even in the state he was in, with bleary eyes and lips tingling from alcohol, he could see that the woman looming over him had shoulders that could build mountains and hands that could crush stones in their rough, furrowed palms. Her clothing was simple, exposing the musculature of a lumber-yard worker, and seeing this strange being juxtaposed against the familiar backdrop of the saloon? It seemed so wrong that he could only think he was hallucinating.
Giants didn’t exist in the realm of men, and there was no doubt that she was a giant.
He forgot what she said to him almost as soon as she said it, the words an ephemeral wisp lost in his drunken haze, but it was clear that she expected some sort of reply. She stared at him, the golden scraps of her eyes sloped downwards and framed by a dark, prominently featured face, and Shane blanched at the sight. What did he say? What did he do? How did he react to this unearthly happenstance, a new person showing up in this closed off cesspool of a town?
Truthfully, he just wanted her to go away as fast as possible.
It was partially because he wanted everyone to leave him alone, yes, but something about the way she towered over him shook him to his core, like she was some sort of judicator sent by Yoba to punish him for his sins. Sitting in front of this plain-faced, dour looking farmer made Shane feel small, weak - pathetic, and it reminded him wholly of his own inadequacies. Before her, he was nothing, and that made it easy for him to turn back to his beer and growl some sort of spiteful, sharp reply.
He didn’t remember what exactly he said – it didn’t matter enough to recall. But he knew it was cruel, and he knew it was enough to drive away any aspirations of comradery between the two of them. She was new, he knew. Probably introducing herself to the town, like he’d been told to expect, and he knew that he ought to make it clear what to expect from him.
There was silence. He stared into his glass, the color reminding him briefly of her eyes, and thought no more of her as her heavy footsteps plodded off into the dark.
For a little over two seasons, Shane got what he wanted, and never once did the farmer speak to him. Indeed, she gave him a wide berth, avoiding his gaze entirely on the rare occasions they passed on the street. However, one Thursday, near the beginning of fall, Shane stumbled out of his room around noon and found her sitting at the kitchen table with a small china teacup in her hand.
That, though he didn’t know it then, was to be the day that predicated Shane’s slow slide directly into Hell.
“Shane,” Marnie chirped, worry cast over her features as she stood up from her chair. “How are you feeling? Can I get you anything?”
Shane held up a hand, stilling her and shaking his head. “I’m fine,” he croaked, throat stiff and nose clogged full of snot. The flu, unfortunately enough, was going around, and nothing about his habits had helped him develop an immune system strong enough to avoid succumbing. A pity, though it didn’t really matter. Vomiting and feeling like shit were two of his most frequent pastimes... at least right now it wasn’t his fault. “I’m just getting some water.”
“Are you sure? We have orange juice, apple juice, I could make you some eggs – or oatmeal, if you’re having trouble stomaching food…”
He shook his head again, a slow, crusty swing, and continued staring at the elephant in the room.
For a second, the farmer met his bleary gaze, her expression flat and unreadable as the deserts of the west, before she set her cup down with an exaggerated gentleness. Somehow, that made him even more aware of her ridiculous size – she had to be six and a half-feet tall at least, and she was built like someone who could lift a cow. Even as she hunched her shoulders inward, she dwarfed her chair, and paired with Marnie, his short, stubby aunt? It was comical in a way that didn’t much make Shane feel like laughing.
He noticed more details now about her now, seeing her lit up by the afternoon sunlight steaming through the window. The fluffiness of her tawny brown hair, the crookedness of her prominent nose, and the shadows carved into her solemn expression all gave her a… rough quality, which contrasted with her large, soft mouth and gently sloped jawline.
Mostly though, Shane noticed how uncomfortable he was seeing her in his kitchen, sitting in the chair that, when he did drag himself home for meals, was his. It reminded him of how many hours he spent away and the lives tumbling around him as he drank. Was this a regular thing? Was the farmer… one of Marnie’s friends? How often did she come over while Shane was sacrificing himself on the altar of Joja-Mart’s sea of Listerine scented floors? Was this normal?
Despite his protests, Marnie turned and bustled into the kitchen. “You really should try to eat something Shane – even if it’s just some fruit! We have fresh peaches; Bear brought them over, and... oh!”
She poked her head out of the kitchen, looking between Shane and the strange woman with her hands in her lap. “Have you two met?”
Shane expected her to reply, to oust him as an inconsiderate asshole (as if that was ever a secret), but she was silent, maintaining her reserved distance. He had no idea what to say – could he really call what had happened that spring night a meeting? He barely remembered it; just the brief twist of hurt in her mouth before she turned and walked away.
Marnie seemed to pick up on the awkward atmosphere, and with a gentle smile, she indicated the farmer with an upturned palm. “Shane, this is Bear, the girl who’s taken over the old Ellicott plot. She’s Jeremiah’s granddaughter. Bear, this is Shane, my nephew. He helps me with the animals.”
Shane’s mouth thinned, wondering for a moment if Jeremiah Ellicott had been as staggeringly tall as – Bear? Was that seriously her name? If so, it was pretty precognizant of her parents given that she fit her namesake to a tee.
“Hello,” the farmer said, her voice as low as the rumble of a rockslide. She looked at him for only a brief second, flicking her amber eyes up before she studiously examined the light glinting off the edge of the china. Everything about her body-language screamed ‘please don’t look at me, you disgusting drunk.’
Shane mostly complied, though he had to be marginally friendly for Marnie’s sake. “Hey,” he managed, punctuating his greeting with an ugly sounding cough. “Good to, uh. Meet you.”
Bear nodded, but said nothing more after that, and the room was drowned in another pungent silence before Marnie’s sympathetic nature forced her to intervene.
“It’s not surprising you haven’t met each other; Bear’s been very busy cleaning up that old farm! It’s lovely now though. How’re the cows, dear? Is Daffodil doing well?”
“I have her outside now.” Bear gave her first non-monosyllabic reply, and a crackle of fondness entered her otherwise flat voice. “Since it’s sunny. With the chickens and Wisteria.”
“Ahh, I bet that’s nice.”
Shane let out another ugly series of coughs before shuffling into the kitchen. Predictably, Marnie was already fixing him something to eat, and near a glass of orange juice sat two, big fat orange capsules full of blessed decongestants. Mutely, he grabbed them in his palm, stuffing them into his mouth one after the other. Usually he’d try to fight Marnie’s attempts to take care of him, but he simply didn’t have the energy today.
Behind him, he heard a creak of wood and the scraping of a chair against the floor, and the uncomfortable pressure increased as Bear entered the kitchen.
“Um,” she began, just before setting her cup in the sink with a very delicate clink. “I need to finish work. Thank you for lunch.”
Every sound felt carefully measured, as if she was only allotted a certain number of words per day, though Marnie seemed entirely used to her terseness. “Oh, thank you for coming over! Give everyone my regards, will you? I’m so happy to know that everything’s going well over there.”
Distantly, Shane grasped for a faded memory of a conversation. Marnie had said business had picked up a bit, hadn’t she? It was probably this woman’s doing if their talk was any indication. Bear didn’t provide any more clues, only giving Marnie a simple nod before plodding off.
She didn’t even glance back at him.
“Bear’s a sweet girl," Marnie prodded, her tone conveying her normal quasi-overbearing geniality before she set the bowl of oatmeal by Shane. “Very shy, but very sweet. You should get to know her, sometime. I’m sure you’d get on.”
Shane pawed a dirty, crusty tissue out of the pockets of his pajama pants and blew his nose. "Mmn." What the hell did someone that big have to be shy about?
“She’s coming over again on Saturday. If you’re feeling any better by then, why not join us for lunch?
With a slow motion – he could practically hear his joints creak – Shane looked down at the spoon by his hand. He picked it up in a daze, grunted again, and began shoving mushed grains into his mouth. It sort of helped his throat, though he had a vague certainty that he’d be puking it all back up again later. “Thanks,” he rasped. “For the food.”
Marnie sighed, but didn’t she didn't press the issue. There was only so long one could beat their head against a brick wall, after all.
Shane was glad. He knew he was a lost cause. It was better if they all left him be, leave him to his space – forget about him, just as he so desperately tried to forget about himself.