Let the wise hear and increase in learning,

And the one who understands obtain guidance.

Proverbs 1:5

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For three days, Helmer did not talk to Sam. Subconsciously, he knew it wasn't intentional, but he needed some time to figure everything out. He found it hard to believe he was a horseman, much less War, but after what he had seen, he couldn't deny something was going on. He considered himself a nice person, and couldn't fathom assuming a permanent role in causing needless carnage. Even after his parents died, he was still polite and kind, and he didn't think himself worthy to be War.

But he had been Chosen, and now he was stuck with it.

The one thing he had the most trouble believing was the whole Apocalypse thing. He had never been particularly religious, due to his grandparent's love of scientific fact, and he was struggling to wrap his head around the concept that capital 'G' God existed. Sam had even tossed around the dude's name a few times during his speech, and Helmer was having a sort of religious crisis. He spent his whole life on the fence about a prime deity, until Sam came along and shoved him right off into holy lands, shouting, "Wake up, America!"

It made his head ache to think about, so he decided to not think of anything. He kept his mind blank, focusing only on counting his steps: one, two, three, four...

He also gave Sam and Abalone a wide berth, only nearing to snag a snack, but otherwise he steered away. Sam had said he couldn't infect Helmer, but after the whole thing with Leah, he was wary. He wondered when Sam would finally lose his temper and Helmer would keel over and die from the Devil's Plague.

The rats that scurried underfoot sometimes adopted creepy red eyes, and those types would attack each other until whole colonies were dead. Sam made no comment, but occasionally he would reach out and brush a red-eyed rat, killing them instantly.

After three days of enduring the silent treatment, Sam finally snapped.

"What the hell, dude?"

Helmer slowly looked up from the small fire they had built, meeting Sam's bright violet eyes, which smoldered much like the flames he warmed his hands on. Helmer felt hollow, like someone had scooped out his insides and left him empty. He turned, picked up a stick, and poked at the fire to keep it burning.

"Please talk to me," Sam pleaded, scooting closer. "Please, Helmer."

Helmer did not reply. His hazel eyes burned from smoke, but at least he felt something, anything.

"I can't live in silence anymore, Helmer, not after the hospital." Sam was begging now, and Helmer couldn't find it in him to open his mouth.

He still said nothing.

"Why aren't you talking? Are you mad at me?" Sam asked, driving a stick into the ground so hard it snapped. The deep furrows resembled claws, and Helmer wondered if he would grow claws. Fitting.

And still he refused to reply.

Then Sam made a strangled noise in his throat, flinging the remains of the stick into the fire. "I miss my mom," he whispered.

Helmer looked up, his heart clenching as he saw Sam's head buried in his hands.

"I miss my mom," he repeated, tears starting to slip down his face. "And my baby sister, and my brother. I- I killed them. It's my fault. S-Shoulda just died, shoulda never taken the deal."

Helmer's voice was croaky from disuse, "I agree." Sam let out a choked sob, and Helmer continued, "But there's not going back. You have to deal with it."

"I act like I'm not sorry, but I am, I am," Sam moaned. "I can feel my remorse slipping away, and I hate it, I hate it I hate it I hate it but I can't change it cause I took the deal. I'm deteriorating every day, Helmer. I want to be human, I want to. I can prove it, I can."

And Helmer wasn't sure if he wanted to act sympathetic. Sam had a hand in ending the world, and it was his own fault his family died, but Helmer was inherently kind so he scooted over and wrapped his arm around Sam, who immediately began to cry into his hoodie. Helmer considered saying something, maybe a soothing word to comfort him, but anything he said would be a lie, so he remained quiet.

It took him a few moments to realize that one of Sam's hands was fisted in his hoodie, and the other was resting on his wrist.

He didn't get sick.

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Helmer's life became a lot easier after that. Their conversations were light-hearted and carefree, topics ranging from favorite baseball teams to family.

Helmer talked about how his family was originally from China, but they moved to Latvia and then to Canada.

"I've never met a Chinese-Latvian-Canadian before," Sam mused, his eyes twinkling. Then Sam talked about his Scottish heritage, and how his family was completely insane. "They're all named after Celtic gods, and it gets really confusing. My aunt was named 'Dea Mediotautehae' and my uncle was named 'Toleandossus', if that gives you any perspective. Thankfully, when my dad died, we didn't have to see them anymore, because they were all self-centered jerks. "

After that, Helmer told him about his grandparents. "My grandpa was a physicist. He taught at a college until he was like 70, and then he retired to live at home. Once, he told me that a student of his denied that gravity existed, saying that there was only density and buoyancy, and then jumped from a 2nd floor window to prove it. He broke his leg, but claimed that the only reason he fell was because he was denser than the air."

Sam had laughed loud and hard at that, a wide smile splitting his face. Helmer wanted to see that smile more often.

The only issue was the fact that they weren't far south enough to escape the early January chill. Jack Frost still nipped at their noses and ears, where even hoods didn't shield them. They huddled together in empty houses, piling fluffy blankets up in a nest for extra insulation. Abalone curled around them on the coldest nights, radiating warmth.

Speaking of Abalone, she acted cheerful as ever, prancing around them and galloping in circles. She was alive and happy - although Helmer was pretty sure she shouldn't be.

They had been walking since sunrise, the day as bitterly cold as the last. Helmer was deep in thought, worrying about he things he ought not to, when Sam cried, "Helmer! Look!"

Luck was on their side today, it seemed. Lying in the middle of the road next to an annoyingly yellow volkswagen beetle were two men in various states of decay. Despite the fact their faces were chewed and pecked at by animals, and their guts splattered the street, they were both wearing large coats ideal for Philadelphia weather.

Helmer knelt next to a guy wearing a big trench coat. He had a beard caked with blood and was missing an eye. Helmer carefully pulled the coat off, only touching the dude once, and deemed it his size. The only thing undesirable about it was the crimson stain on the front.

Across from him, Sam was shrugging off the leather jacket from the other guy, moving intestines aside to access the fabric. Sam had also removed his blue scarf and had it wrapped around his neck.

"Nice trench coat," Sam whistled.

Helmer could see the yearning in his eyes, so he said, "I'll trade you for the jacket."

Sam's face lit up, and he eagerly traded the items.

Helmer had been wearing the same clothes for a few days, so it felt good to be wearing something else, especially when he found out the insides were lined with soft fur. Sam, sitting atop Abalone, looked almost regal, wearing the scarf that dangled down to his toes, although he was a pretty tall guy. But he seemed quite warm, bundled up in the trench coat that didn't exactly fit him.

"You're staring," Sam teased.

"You look stylish," Helmer said, shrugging.

"And you look like Dean Winchester."

Helmer chuckled. "If I'm Dean Winchester, then who are you? Sam? Oh wait."

"Nah man, I'm totally Lucifer. Just snap my fingers and bam! dead."

"You could be Lilith, with the white eyes thing going on."

"I'm Lucifer, and Abalone is Lilith."

"Whatever you say, Sammy."

"Hey!"

They laughed.

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The next few days consisted of Sam teaching Helmer 'Horseman 101', though they didn't call it that. They steered around the word 'horseman' as it would only make things awkward. Although it was just the two of them, Helmer felt ridiculous.

"Saddles are for wimps," Sam had declared, sliding off Abalone. "So we ride bareback."

"I don't even know how to ride a horse," Helmer had argued. When he had started to use the curb to gain higher elevation, Sam outright booed him.

"You're being a loser, Helmer. Just get on the freaking horse. We won't be waiting for you to get a stepstool."

Of course, by 'we' he meant the other horsemen, Famine and Death.

Helmer braced himself on Abalone, and he wondered if the poor horse's back would break once he climbed on. After all, Sam was much lighter than him. "Can she even hold my weight?"

Abalone whinnied and tossed her head indignantly, like: Of course I can hold your weight, idiot!

So Helmer carefully swung one leg up, then the other. He was so focused on positioning himself correctly, that when he finally sat up, he realized he was facing the wrong end.

Sam nearly fainted from laughing so hard, clutching his stomach and crying with mirth. "I wish I had a phone!" he crowed.

When Helmer managed to get on without embarrassing himself, Sam said, "Now grab her mane- don't be shy -and gently squeeze your calves to make her go. Not your knees, your calves."

Lo and behold, Abalone slowly began to walk forward.

"You'll need to steer her more, since she's freaking blind. Just nudge her side where the obstacle is and she'll move away."

Eventually, Helmer got the hang of it, urging Abalone into trot, then a canter, and soon they were racing up and down the street. The wind in his hair, he threw his hands up and whooped. He wondered if his horse could run as fast, or as far, but then Abalone reared up and he was forced to hold on, leaving the thoughts of the future far behind.

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A week passed, and they crossed over into Maryland and headed for the White House. They decided to start moving west there, so they could hit civilization soon. Knowing it was inevitable, they discarded their old clothes and dressed so they would look like regular teenagers. They robbed several people, filling their pockets and stolen wallets with cash. They took showers in the homes that still worked, changing apparel every other day to avoid using up more water than they needed to.

When they finally did reach the White House, Sam insisted on going inside, saying he had never been before. Several pillars had collapsed, making picking through the rubble precarious, but they managed to get inside, where Helmer admired the way it still shined after the structural deterioration. Sam eagerly ran up the steps to the oval office, telling Abalone he'd be back. When Helmer caught up, Sam was sitting at the desk, grinning.

"Yes peasant, how may I assist you?"

Helmer shook his head, chuckling. "You could never beat Obama, man."

"Maybe once we've finished, we could fix this place up and live here." Sam traced a line through the dust on the mahogany. "Think of it. The four of us, living in the White House."

Helmer didn't object, but he didn't agree either. Instead, he said, "I'm going to check out the other rooms."

Inside the west wing, Helmer explored the dining rooms, scavenging any preservatives. He glanced inside the cabinet room and ignored the dead people in the chairs. He picked up files and flipped through them, though most didn't make sense to him. He found the situation room, and thought about how it would be so easy to finish the job early by nuking a few countries, but he quickly brushed that away. Heading back towards Sam, he stepped inside the roosevelt room. This place would have been awesome if it wasn't crumbling.

Sam was no longer sitting at the desk, but a note was scribbled out on some paper. Meet me in the state dining room. Executive residence(middle building).

Helmer followed the vague instructions to the main entrance of the White House, where he walked along the perimeter, casting a look in each room before he found the state dining room.

Some of the ceiling had collapsed, leaving rubble scattered about the floor, but it still retained its magnificence. Under an vaulted ceiling, the carpet on the floor was soft, the walls painted white. Dusty curtains allowed light to seep in through the windows. Broken glass dotted the ground around a fallen golden chandelier. There was a frame of Abraham Lincoln on the wall.

Sam was moving aside large tables and clearing away debris. "Help me," he called. Abalone was standing off to the side, sniffing the air.

Helmer walked over and began to help cleaning up the room. "Why are we doing this?" he asked, hefting a piece of the ceiling. He looked up at the visible sky. The sun was setting.

"I wanted to set this up the way it might have been before everything," Sam replied. He wheeled tables upright and blew dust off the curtains. Once Sam was satisfied with how it looked, he pulled out a camera and snapped a photo.

"Where did you find that?" Helmer asked.

"It's amazing what's lying around," Sam said slyly. He waved the polaroid until it cleared up, and grinned at the picture. "I'm gonna make a scrapbook after all this."

"Right," Helmer drawled. "Anyway, why don't we find a place to relax until the sun goes down? We're staying here, right?"

"Yeah," Sam said enthusiastically. "Sleepover at the White House!" Suddenly his eyes widened. "I have an idea. Follow me."

Helmer had no time to object as Sam darted into executive residence and turned to the right, heading into the east wing, Abalone not far behind. Somehow, he knew which way to go, turning corners and slipping into hallways until they arrived in the Family Theater. The place was relatively small, the walls colored a rich carmine and lined with gold, the seats cushioned. A projector was stationed facing a large screen covering the opposite wall. The carpeted floor was reddish-pink, and the room seemed to be untouched by the structural damage.

"Stay here," Sam told Helmer, then ran up the steps.

A few moments later, the projector flickered to life, casting a shaky image on the screen. Sam came back down, smiling.

"What are we watching?" Helmer asked.

"The Day After Tomorrow," Sam said, plopping himself into a furnished seat. "C'mon."

So Helmer flicked the lights off and sat down next to Sam to watch the movie. "The only thing we're missing is popcorn," he joked.

Sam chuckled, then turned his attention to the film.

About halfway through, Sam's eyes fluttered closed. Helmer remained where he was, unsure about waking him, but eventually stood up, turned the movie off, and turned the lights on. He carefully scooped Sam up and carried him upstairs, where, by a stroke of luck, he found a bedroom. He set the teen down gently.

Outside, he guided Abalone up the steps and into the bedroom, where he let her find a place to sleep.

He walked down the hall, opening and closing doors quietly until he found another bedroom, where he flopped down without undressing. He sighed into the pillow and closed his eyes.

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