At 10:32pm, Sam finally staggered up the steps of his grandmother's porch.

He paused and looked over his shoulder at the burly Hells Angel-wannabe who had given him a ride. The man looked like he could also have gone into a career as a lumberjack, for he had the great beard, squinty eyes, and shoulders powerful enough to physically take down a tree without an axe.

But instead, as he'd shouted at Sam on the ride over to his grandmother's house, Big Fred had always dreamed of running the road on the back of a powerful steed, and so here he was, sitting on top of a purring beast that spat pollution and roared when her spirit ran high. The way he was talking about his motorcycle made Sam wonder if the man got a motorcycle confused with a cat, but he didn't dare bring it up.

"See you later, Sam!" Big Fred waved a meaty hand that was big enough to crush Sam's head. "I'll take you out on the road sometime!"

Sam swallowed, managed a weak smile, and inched towards his grandmother's door. Big Fred gunned his bike's engine, making it roar like a ferocious jaguar, and he sped off into the night. It left a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

Relieved that his unusual taxi had left, Sam turned to the next obstacle in his path: his grandmother's door. He didn't have his keys anymore. And his phone had died an hour ago. Not that it had been any help – his grandmother wouldn't answer any of the 42 times he had tried calling her throughout the day.

He smoothed down the old pair of sweats and oversized, red-plaid shirt he'd been given. The sweats were quite comfortable, but the shirt – it practically hung to his knees. Big Fred should have kept it for himself and became a proper Canadian lumberjack, in Sam's opinion. Regardless, he was grateful for the clothes. It was better than showing up on his grandmother's porch naked.

Sam knocked on the door. He half expected that he'd have to knock for half the night before she let him in, but to his surprise, the door opened almost immediately. There she stood, his grandmother, in all her five-foot-two glory.

She wore her favorite bathrobe, a baby-blue fuzzy thing that looked more suited to a child than an adult, and her feet were bare. She looked like she hadn't slept in three weeks, thought that could be from downing an entire bottle of vodka as well as not sleeping. Sam never could tell which it was, because he always saw his grandmother drinking and staying up to all hours of the night.

He fidgeted, both ecstatic and nervous to see her. "Hi Gran."

"Sam." She eyed him up and down, her brows rising with every passing second. She lifted a cigarette to her lips and took a drag before puffing out a cloud of foul smoke. "So you're not dead after all. Where've you been?"

He shrugged. Where hadn't he been, at this point? From the crazy bag lady to Big Fred, it had been a really long day.

"Well," she stepped aside, holding the door open for him, "From the looks of you, you certainly found yourself some trouble. Better come in and tell me about it."

Sam felt his eyes well up. He felt the strongest urge to hug her, because he'd missed her so much. There were times throughout the day where he thought he might never see Gran again. He didn't hug her, though, because she'd only shove him away and tell him to grow up.

He blinked back the water in his eyes and went into the house. This day had been awful but he got through it and now he was finally back home with Gran. Everything would be okay now. He was sure of it.

"Oh Gran, a whole bunch of things happened! It was really scary and I met a lot of strange people. There was even this goat named Charlie and he was missing an ear. He tried to eat my hair! And then, there was a-"

Gran held up her hand, cutting him off. "I'll just stop you there. Gimme a minute, and I'll meet you in the kitchen, all right?"

Sam scratched the side of his nose as she headed for the pantry in the basement. His Gran was the best. She was always so understanding, and did her best to help him out. It was with a warm fuzzy feeling that he kicked off the cheap plastic thongs from his feet, and went to the kitchen.

He stopped when he'd taken exactly one step onto the ugly gray laminate tiles. This wasn't right. He rubbed his eyes, thinking that exhaustion was finally getting to him, because now he was seeing things.

Two men sat at his grandmother's kitchen table. Both wore dark militaristic clothing, with muscles threatening to rip their shirts apart. Guns were holstered in shoulder harnesses, and from where Sam stood, he could see a large knife strapped to a thigh. They were the kind of men that oozed the three C's – confidence, competence and coolness.

And if it wasn't strange enough to see these two commandos in his grandmother's kitchen, one was drinking tea out of a pink mug that had the letters CRABBY CAKES on one side. The other was snacking from a bag of ranch Doritos.

Sam stared at them, both awed and confused. He rubbed his eyes again. Nope, still there.

The one eating chips held out the bag. "Want one?"

Sam's stomach gurgled, reminding him that all he had to eat today was a piece of gum from the crazy bag lady, and a soggy sandwich fished out from – nope, he wasn't going to think about that one. Some memories were better off forgotten.

"Okay." He went to the table and pulled out a chair.

Chip Commando smiled a little as Sam gratefully fished out a handful of Doritos. On the other side of Sam, Tea Commando quietly sipped from his Crabby Cakes mug.

While Sam munched down his snack, he looked from one Commando to the other, wondering why they were in his grandmother's kitchen. He ate several handfuls of chips before Chip pulled the bag away.

There were only a few chips and a pile of crumbs left at this point, and Chip wasn't generous enough to let Sam finish it off. The Commando tossed the last two chips in his mouth and crunched them down between his teeth.

Crunch.
Crunch.
Crunch.

The sound made Sam tense. For some reason, it raised the hairs on the back of his arms. The way both Commandoes watched him didn't help, either.

Sam didn't want to sit at the table anymore. He pushed his chair back, intending to get up, but his grandmother waltzed into the kitchen with two unmarked bottles in her hands. She set them down at the table.

"Here we are."

"Ah, you got the good stuff, huh?" Chip brightened. Without waiting for Sam's grandmother to even sit down, he grabbed the nearest battle and flicked off the cap with a thumb.

Pop! The cork flew across the kitchen and hit the wall, where it then dropped behind a cabinet.

Sam stared at the space on the wall where the cork had hit. Then slowly, he dragged his eyes back to his grandmother, who now slid into the last chair at the table.

Without any decorum, she grabbed the other bottle and twisted off the cork with practiced ease. Unlike Chip, who at least poured it into an empty coffee mug on the table, she just lifted the whole bottle and took a giant swig.

"Aaaah," she exhaled, "that hits the spot."

"Mm. Good stuff," Chip agreed.

Tea sipped his tea and made no move for the vodka. He didn't say anything either.

"Now, Sam," his grandmother said. "Why don't you tell me what happened today?"

Sam nervously looked about the table. Something wasn't right here. Didn't Gran see the two scary guys here? Wasn't she bothered they were in her house? Gran hated when random people stopped by, whether to try selling her fancy cookies or to ask about a lost dog. They all got the door slammed in their face, no exception. It didn't matter if they were a cute child or a creepy looking convict – they all got the same treatment.

So how did these two men convince her to let them into her kitchen? It made no sense.

"Gran?" Sam asked. He sat rigidly in his chair, hands folded on his lap, though the sleeves of his plaid shirt were so long they dangled over his legs.

"Yes, Sam?"

"Who are they?"

"Ah, you mean these gentlemen?" Gran glanced at the commandoes, appearing completely unbothered by their presence.

"Yes," Sam nodded. Unlike his grandmother, he felt a bit uncomfortable with their guests. "Um, why are they here?"

Tea took another sip from his pink mug. He still watched Sam, never having once looked away. Sam squirmed, trying to pretend he didn't notice it. On the other side, Chip crumpled the empty Doritos bag into a ball and tossed it neatly across the room into the open waste bin. It landed dead center, a perfect shot. Lips curling, he placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward with deliberate motion.

It put him closer to Sam, who immediately leaned away in the opposite direction. There was a gleam in Chip's eyes that unnerved him. Desperately, he looked to his grandmother, who hadn't deigned to answer his question. "Gran?"

"What?" She scowled. "Just tell your story and let me drink."

"Yes," Chip drawled. "Tell us your story, Sam. We want to hear everything."