Revisionist History Pt 4: Chemical Imbalances
The week following John and Allison's short running away from their lives was definitely busy. At least, for John it was. When there weren't questions being asked by Charlie, being asked by Allison's parents, being asked by the police and the FBI, there was still homework. Final projects. Graduation requirements. Housecleaning. Idiotic classmates (one of whom ended up with a rather impressive black eye after 6PM on Thursday).
Things at home were odd, tense. But it wasn't like they hadn't been odd at times, before. Granted, John wasn't sure what to expect when he came home on Monday to Charlie emptying out the refridgerator, the pantry, throwing out every single opened food item in the house. He wasn't expecting the explanation he got, that much was certain.
He called Pescadero State Hospital, to ensure that he could still visit his mother before the day's visiting hours were over. He called Allison, asking her for a ride, immediately apologetic for the state he was going to be in. Since he didn't smile on the way to the hospital.
Or on the way back to Allison, in the lobby. He just took her hand and started off towards the parking lot.
But he couldn't stop himself from shaking.
She waits until they're both settled in the car before turning to him. Before asking anything. She could see something was wrong on the way up, could tell it when they were on the phone. But she'd thought it was nerves, he hadn't seen his mother in over a week. And look what she'd done, where she was.
She wasn't entirely sure that's not still what it was. But she was concerned enough to ask. "What's wrong? What happened?"
John doesn't answer right away. Part of him doesn't want Allison to see him like this, so angry, so hurt that he can barely speak. But anything else would be a lie and he wasn't lying to her, not anymore. "She was drugging us. Charlie and I."
So, driving at the moment is right out. Because she's never been more suddenly angry at someone she's barely even spoken to. Allison is so shocked by this idea that it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. "She said that?"
Yeah, he didn't expect them to be driving anywhere right away. "Charlie found unlabeled vials in her things." Who knows what posessed him to go through her makeup, but John won't question it. "Had them tested. Drugs to make us...susceptible to suggestion."
"You went to see her anyway?" She can't fathom it, would probably not have gone. "Dd you ask her about it? Is that why you were so sick?" Instant worrier mode. She's gone right from angry at Sarah to hating her.
"Yes. To all of that." John's hands have started to shake, what fun. "My mother speaks in code a lot of the time. Weird phrases in Spanish and English. Things I'll respond to, without thinking." Following him, Allison?
She is. She thinks she is. "What did she say? What kinds of phrases, what things?" From anger to hate to scared. She looks back at the building for a moment, and then back at him. "John?"
"I can't...say it, not right now." He'll try writing, later. when his hands aren't shaking so damned much. "She wants me to help her get out. She said the drugs were helping, making us stronger." What follows is the most hollow laugh. "I won't. I won't help her."
"Of course you won't. I won't let you. Even if you wanted to, I wouldn't let you.. She has no idea how she's stop him, but she'd find a way. Somehow. "What do you want to do? Are you going to tell them?"
"No...I don't know what I want to do. It was recorded. Should have been. Call and response should be obvious."
"What will you do if they ask you about it?" She's starting to wish that she'd gone in with him. To see her. She doesn't know if that'd be allowed, but she thinks she should've tried. "You don't want to get her out, do you?"
"Tell them some of it. Enough." Not as much as he's going to try and tell her, anyway. "No. I don't, I won't!"
"Okay. Okay." Hands up in the universal sign for 'calm down, it's okay'. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'm sorry." He really, really is. "I don't want to go home, not rigt now. Charlie will ask me questions..." And John is in no state to answer them.
"You've got no reason to be sorry." She nods. Not home, but not staying here. "Where? Where am I driving?"
"Someplace you like." Anywhere. John's having trouble fousing right now.
"Okay. Yeah. Okay." She starts the car, making sure they're both secure. Drives. Drives for a long while, about an hour. To Griffith Park. The hell away from Sarah Connor.
About 35, 40 minutes into the ride John will close his eyes. Try to refocus. Remind himself of where he is, who he's with. He'll open his eyes when they park, looking around. "Should we get out?"
She spent the last leg of the ride mentally freaking out, trying to keep panic in check. "If you like. Do you want to?"
John looks around again. "Yeah..." So, out he gets, and around to the other side to wait for Allison.
It doesn't take her more than a moment to get out, take his hand and lead him to a park bench. They can sit there for a while, while she waits for him to say something.
"I'm sorry," he says, finally, squeezing her hand a bit. "I know this has to be weird." It's weird in his fucking head, he can't imagine what it looks like to her. "It makes me angry, that she thinks it's that simple. That it's a switch she can just turn on, whether or not I like it."
"It's not your fault." She says that a lot, it feels like.
It looks frightening to her, and it makes her angry. Not at him, of course. "With drugs. Poison."
She'll have to. He believes a lot of things are his fault, that he should be in better control. Be perfect, in a way. John is much harder on himself than he'll ever be on others. "With drugs. With...words, brainwashing. Things I can't even repeat, now."
"And that's why you were dizzy, sick. When we were in San Francisco." That makes her uncomfortable and sad and things she can't even think about. Because what if it'd been worse than it had been. "If I said them, by accident, would it be trouble?"
"Yeah, that's why." If it had been worse, John doesn't know what he would've expected her to do. What she would've thought to do. Being admitted to the hospital while in San Francisco wouldn't have been fun for anyone involved. "...If you said them by accident?" John frowns. He really can't imagine she would, unless she tried. "No. Not in trouble. You'd know right away, though. I think."
Allison nods, a little unsure about that. "You said you'd felt like that before. A month ago." That? Also worries her. "I should've gone in with you."
"Yes. A month ago. Before then, on occasion." After fights. Each time it was after some disagreement where John didn't back down by the time the conversation was over. Flinch.
That last statement heralds the return of the sharp Looks. "There is no fucking way I'm letting you talk to her."
"I don't want to talk to her." She really doesn't. Not yet, anyway. "Keep talking. Keep telling me things." Hand squeeze.
Squeeze back. "I'm not letting you be in the same room with her. I don't care if she's in a goddamn coma. No. Got it? No. No way." Breathe, John. Pull yourself together. " It doesn't matter to her what I want, what I think. Even if what she believed wasn't fucking insane, I should've grown up normal. Been prepared, yes, but how does that equate growing up in the middle of nowhere? Moving all the time? It doesn't."
"It matters to me. What you want, what you think. If you don't want me to see her, that's fine. If you never want to see her again, that's fine too. If you want to go, we'll go. Whatever you want, whatever you need."
He's still hyperventilating a bit. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. All the emotions he's not supposed to be, thanks to what she said. What had been in the food. Which is a good sign, except it is a hell of a lot of work to get that much out. "I know it matters to you." Breathing. Closing his hand over hers, opening it again. Focusing on some kids running around yards and yards away. "No matter what she says, what she's said before, she doesn't love me. It's just a tool, a function."
It hasn't occurred to John that he hasn't addressed the indirect question of what he wants or needs.
Maybe she'll have to make it more direct.
She keeps on hand in his, putting her arm around his shoulder. She's sure that Sarah does love him, in some sick and sad way. But she certainly won't say that. "Talk to me, John. Think. Not about me, or your mom or Charlie. What do you want to do? What do you need?"
Contact is nice, is good. John will turn towards her, a bit, and try to do what she's asking. "I want to...have a life. With you. Where ever the fuck that happens to be. I don't dislike it here. I don't want to run anymore. I need normal. Badly. I need to not go back to that place, for a while. At least. Because I'm so freaked the fuck out that I'll end up there to stay."
"You can have that. We can have that. You don't have to run anymore, you don't have to go back there. Ever. And I won't let you end up there. I won't. Okay? You trust me?" Hand squeeze again.
John nods. And continues to try to breathe. "I trust you. A lot. More than I trust myself, right now." And boy howdy, isn't that fun?
She rubs his shoulder, holds his hand. "Tell me why."
"Because you're smart in a way I'm not." And explaining that, he realizes, needs to happen. "You know which questions to ask, I don't...I'm not good at that. You figure things out before you try to change them. Because you're not...you're in this, but you've chosen to be?" Yes, that is a question. Because right now he can't focus on whether or not you want this, Allison.
"I'm in this because I want to be. Because I love you. I want to know how to help you, how to make sure you're happy."
"I'm happy with you, around you. Never been that happy before." Deep breath. "You help. You've never not helped." Never ever? Really?
"Never?" She doesn't believe that, John. "Tell me what you want me to do."
"No, not...you always helped. Even when it was difficult. Even when you were angry at me, it helped, because it was you and you're different." John feels like he sounds like a crazy person. That's always fun. "I want you to move in with me. After graduation."
"How does being angry help?" And...that startled her. A lot. More than a lot. "What? You do?"
"You cared enough to be angry, instead of just annoyed. There's a difference." Another breath. Fuck. "...I was going to wait. Until your birthday, to ask." Which would've been hilarious while her family assumed he was going to ask something else, one imagines. "I do, want that. If you don't, that's fine. Really."
"Being annoyed with you isn't an option." And on her birthday, she'd wonder exactly what they thought he was going to ask. "I want that. Really." And she does. She only had to think about it for a minute. "You're sure?"
"...It's not?" He can't imagine why it wouldn't be. "You do? Okay. Yes, I'm sure." Sigh. "I don't know what else I want, from you, right this moment."
"No, it's not." She squeezes his hand again. "Is that enough? For now?"
"Why?" John nods. His words aren't matching his body language because he feels splintered, trying to keep track of two threads in a conversation. Which isn't that hard, normally. Today is a strange day. "For now. Yes. It's more than enough. I didn't think you'd say yes."
"You don't get annoyed with people you love." Oh, Allison. Really? "Why wouldn't I say yes?"
"...I'm not sure that's true, for most people." So. There's that. "Because I thought you probably wanted to live on your own, first. Be independent."
Allison will not even bother pointing out that she's not most people. "I am independent. Do you think I'm not?"
Yeah it's a bit obvious. Which is part of the reason John worded it that way. "No, I think you are. But sometimes that means living alone, too. At least for a while."
"Maybe I don't want to." She gives him a weird look. "Why are you trying to talk me out of this?"
John frowns at the weird look. "...I didn't realize I was. Fuck." And now he presses his face against her shoulder because what the hell does that even mean?
"Talk to me, John. Please?"
"Fuck." No, John, that's not what she meant. "I'm not supposed to trust people, especially right now. That's why. It's...like thinking one thing while having this backtrack of ideas that's countering it. even if you don't hear it. It's there. It's always there."
John Connor is not having a good mental health day.
Apparently not, no. "What can I do? To stop it? To help?" Rubbing his shoulder more, watching the kids running around.
"I don't know, I really don't. I've never tried working through it before, fighting it. Instead of trusting what she told me, last time, I left. And came back. And things got worse for a few days and then they got better and I can't...figure this shit out. I feel crazy. I feel out of control." ...Ow. "Jesusfuckingchrist."
Hugging him, holding him tighter. "Does talking help? At all? Or is it making it worse?"
He'll hold her back. What else can he do when an idea gives him a full-blown migraine? "It's pointing it out."
"I don't understand what that means. Lie down." Migraines are no good. Absolutely no good.
He'll lie down. Head in your lap, is that okay? Eyes closed because...ow. Light. Migraine. Ow. "..What use is a leader who doesn't think they're in control? Who doubts?" Talking around it is only helping a little, but hell.
That's more than okay. It makes for easier hair petting, which she thinks might help. She hopes. "You don't have to be a leader. It's okay to doubt. More than okay."
"It's okay. It isn't supposed to be okay." Jesus. "My head feels like a bomb. Broken jagged pieces of whatever doesn't fit together and things tick." ...Wow, John.
That's more than a little frightening, more than enough to make her shake even the slightest bit. "Focus on something else. Not on your mother, not on skynet. Not on leading anyone."
"...Mary likes me. I think." That has nothing to do with Sarah, Skynet, or leading anything. Other than the 3rd grade.
She blinks. "She does?" That's good, right?
"She does. She still thinks I'm patient zero, because I'm a boy that her sister likes to talk to, and her parents like even though I make them worry, but yeah."
"It's better that she likes you. Less likely to kick you." Ha. What? "This is where my party's going to be."
"...That would hurt." Much like his head does, now. "It's pretty." Squint. Ow. Back to eyes being closed. "Now I don't know what to get you."
"You don't have to get me anything." More hair petting.
"I'd like to get you something." Thinking about his own birthdays... Snort. "I have no experience in this whatsoever. Fucking A my head hurts. I want to break something."
"Just get whatever reminds you of me." More, more hair pettings. "What do you want to break?" She's wondering, again, if she should call someone. They certainly shouldn't be out in the sun. "We should go."
"All right. I'll try that." He will, later, give her a list of some of the what the fuck-inducing birthday gifts he's gotten. "Something loud." At go he's slowly getting upright again. Squiting. Fumbling for sunglasses which are in a pocket somewhere...eureka. "Okay."
She will, of course, not want any of those cringe-inducing gifts. Not even the rather tight flack jacket. "Like a radio?" Hand holding, and she'll lead him back to the car. "Your house or mine?" Lord.
"Something that makes a lot of noise when broken." So not exactly like a radio. "...I probably shouldn't, though." John glares blearily at the horizon. "How freaked out would your parents be?" Charlie might still be home. Someone will definitely be at the Young household, John thinks.
Someone will definetly be home, yes. Either her father or her mother and sister. Unless they're lucky and they went to the mall. "If you broke something? Probably very."
John shakes his head, slowly. Ow. "I'm not going to break anything. I just want to lie down." He does, still, want to break something.The noise would probably make him want to scream, which would make everything much much worse right about now. "How freaked out would they be if I came over, like this?"
"They knew you were going to see her. I think they'd understand." She's pretty sure.
"Okay. Okay. Your house? Please?"
"Okay." And driving! As fast as she can, legally. It doesn't take long to get to her house, even less time to get inside. As luck would have it? No one appears to be home. Lucky, lucky John.
So very, very lucky. He's thankful. Really. He is, universe, hear that? Besides he's suffering enough as it is. "...Your room is blue." Thank god for something. Blue is not a very bright color.
Yeah, he probably doesn't need a third grader crawling all over him. "It is, yeah. I like blue. Lie down." On the bed! Which...is also blue.
Oddly enough, John had a half-formed story ready for Mary if she had been home. Something about the "boy disease" giving him a headache because Allison is curing it.
John has odd ideas about children, honestly.
Laying down happens, right after taking off of shoes and sunglasses. John flinches. "This is bullshit." So when he's not in pain and terrified because he doesn't know what the hell is wrong with his mind, he's angry. Somewhat understandable, really.
More than understandable.
"I know. It is, I know. I'll be right back." Running back downstairs for an icepack, then back upstairs to sit beside him and apply it to his forhead. The back of his neck. "It'll be okay. I promise."
There's a sharp intake of breath before John relaxes. He wasn't expecting the sudden cold on his skin, but it does help. A lot. "I know. I hope. Fucking hell."
"It will be. I promise." She can't promise that, can she? Really? "You know me. I'm stubborn."
Laughing. Ow. Oh well, it's funny. "You are. I love that." Really, John?
"Don't laugh so hard, you'll break something." Really, Allison. She smirks. "I know you love that. You love a lot of things."
Smirk. "No, not a lot of things. Just you."
Shaking her head. Somehow, she resists the urge to thwap him with a pillow. "I know. I love you too." Enough to lie down beside him, in fact.
Oh, yeah, please don't do that. He'd just laugh again. And then be in a world of pain, over a pillow. "I'm glad for that." He totally is, see! Hugs and everything.
Hugs and everything are much better than migraines and pain. "I wish I could make it better for you."
"It could be a lot worse." Which means that she is making it better. A lot better. "I hate this."
"I know you do. I hate it too. I don't..." Sigh. "I don't understand how she could do something like that."
"How? How isn't that hard. Why she doesn't care is a lot more hard to understand."
"Why is what I meant." She would never, ever even think of something like that. She's pretty sure her mom would't either. "I'm sorry. That she did."
John nods, a little. "...I want normal."
"What's normal? To you?"
Small laugh. "Not this shit, that's for sure. Your sister is normal." John. You're making that worse, you know that right?
She snorts. "She is not. That's such a lie. Is Charlie normal? Am I?" She thinks no.
John laughs. "No, she isn't, but she's great." She is. Or maybe John's just not used to children and he's somewhat amazed that that one really likes him. Sometimes. Perhaps. Well, Mary doesn't seem to hate him anyway. "No. Not really. I have no fucking clue, I don't want to be crazy."
Mary doesn't hate him. She just doesn't like boys. Yet. "You're not crazy. You really, really aren't."
God help them all when she does. "I feel crazy right now." Frown. "Do you have a notebook?"
She sits up, rummaging through her side table drawer. "Yes. And a pen." She hands them over.
"Thank you." John doesn't sit up. He just starts writing. Phrases in English, and their responses. Phrases in Spanish and their responses. Translations for the latter. Underlining things that make him flinch. "...Here."
It takes her a moment to understand what she's looking at, but once she gets it she gets it. "Oh. Wow. I'll keep this safe." Hidden. She'll memorize it so she knows what not to ever say, on purpose or by accident. "Thank you."
John nods. "If we go to Caltech I'll need your help." How many robotics/scientific/engineering terms are on that list? Too many.
Staring at the list now. "Should we not go?" Would she do that? For him? For anyone?
"I want to go." He does. He also knows that it's likely the best school for them. For Allison. "We should go."
"Okay." Laying back down beside him, still holding that notebook. "Maybe we should take a year off. Help you through this. And these." So nothing happens there.
John nods, and rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling. "I'll get a job. I don't need a job, but. It would be too weird if I didn't." Deep breath. In and out. "...Blue and brown are complimentary colors."
"Why would it be weird if you didn't?" She looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Are they?"
"Because people would want to know how I can afford an apartment with you." A glance. "They are." Maybe it would help, John, if you explained what the hell you were talking about.
"Oh. How can you?" Or maybe she doesn't want to know. Maybe she ought to already. She looks at hm. "Is it important? That they are?"
"...Sarah has money. Had. Put it in my name. I found the documents for it." And since she was always careful about that, it hadn't been siezed. Fancy that. "I don't know. Maybe. Blue is your favorite color." Smirkity smirk.
"Aha. That's probably something I shouldn't know a lot about, right?" She thinks so. "Blue is my favorite color. Yes. Brown is not. So much."
"Probably not. Brown is my favorite color." And apparently John thinks this is important.
Or maybe it's distracting him from his headache.
She smirks. "Well. Then, we're complementary." Oh, Allison.
"Exactly." God.
"At least we'll know how to decorate." Heh. "A year off here, or a year off somewhere else?"
John frowns. "...I don't know. I had assumed here."
"Here's good. Here's fine. If isn't too much." Away from Sarah? Might be even better.
Well, Pescadero State isn't exactly in town. "...Too much?" John's confused again.
True. "To focus on. To worry about."
"Moving to a new place would be a lot harder, in that respect." Frowning. "...I get very paranoid in new places."
"Then, we'll stay here." It's not a huge concession. It's not a concession at all. She wants him to be happy. To not feel bad all the time. "I can figure what your mom would think, us moving in together. What's Charlie going to say?" Her father, she thinks, will make faces.
"...Charlie asked if I was planning on waiting until after you started school." And John nearly choked on his drink.
She looks over at him, smirking. "What did you say?"
"I was too busy coughing to say a damned thing."
She laughs, snorting a bit. Because that's lovely and pretty. "Well...maybe he can tell my parents." Even odds, the Youngs and Charlie have probably had all sorts of discussions.
"...Oh hell." John groans. "$20 says he already has."
"...I don't know if I want to take that bet." Though, it would explain all the odd looks her mother keeps giving her the past few days.
"Fucking A he couldn't just keep it to his goddamned self I told him I didn't want his help with this shit." Rant rant rant.
"Well. They didn't tell me. If that helps."
"A little." Mumblegrumble. "Still wish he'd fucking waited."
"Congratulations, John. You have a nosy, pushy dad."
John. Just. Blinks. "...oh don't you fucking tell me this shit is normal."
"Totally normal. If you were a girl, he'd pop into your room to make sure you weren't messing around." So...thank God her parents aren't home. "Totally normal."
"....nnngh." Pillows are great for hiding from reality.
"Hey, you wanted normal. You can't get all huffy when you get it."
"Watch me."
Okay, now? Now she has to laugh, John. Sorry.
Groan. So much groaning. "...Messing around. Right. All right." No John that isn't what you meant. "Stupid headache."
"Do you want something for it? Aspirin? Tylenol?"
"Whatever I take it can't be that strong." Slight shrug. "So I'm not sure that's worth it."
"Is it any better? The headache? Maybe you should eat something."
John nods. "Something to drink might be better, I'm not sure I could keep anything down. Makes me nauseated."
"All right." She's off for a few minutes, returning with a glass of orange juice with ice. "Try this."
And while she's gone he'll try not to be driven insane by the fact that everything in this room smells like Allison. ...He'll mostly manage it. "Thank you." Upright attempt at drinking will commence now. "...I hate this."
"I know. I'm sure it'll get better. I'm sure." She'll help him sit up if need be. "I've never seen your room." Half-hearted attempt at changing the subject.
Half-hearted attempt is better than nothing. "I can show you. It's...pretty boring. There isn't much...stuff."
"We should fix that. When we move." Since...she has stuff.
"Yeah." A small shrug and leaning on Allison a bit. "I worried about having stuff that would have to be left behind if I moved."
"You don't need to anymore." That might be obvious.
"I know. But I haven't exactly gone on shopping sprees in the last week." You know. Other than clothes. And books.
"I know. I don't think you have to do that."
Nod. More leaning on Allison. "Thanks."
She smiles at him, taking his hand again. "What for?"
"This. Always. Just...being you instead of, I don't know, calling Charlie. Calling the police. Letting someone else take care of it." Take care of him.
Another smile, then she kisses his forhead. "I'd never do that. I love you." Over-protective and stubborn.
Very. "Yeah. I love you too." ...Slight frowning. "I got into a fight this week."
Her own frown now. "What about?" Though, she could probably guess...
"Sarah." Pause. "You, more than that."
Okay. Maybe not. "Me? Why me?"
"People saw us leave. Knew you were gone for the weekend, knew I was. Knew, or guessed, that your parents were freaked out. Made annoying comments."
She frowns at that. Not because she cares about comments, she doesn't care what people think of her. Not really. But. "I don't want you getting in fights because of me."
"...I'm not entirely sure it's a part of my character that I can change." The other boy might be lucky that all he got was a black eye.
"Just...be careful, okay?" Frowny, frowny frowny.
"Define careful." John is entirely too good at fighting.
"Don't get hurt too badly. Don't hurt anyone too badly." Allison kind of figured that.
"...I managed to stop at a black eye."
"Good." She watches him. "You know I don't care. What they say about me."
"I know you don't." Obviously he does. A lot.
"But you do." Obviously. "I care what you think of me."
John sighs a bit. "I don't have the best temper. Most people figure that I just don't pay attention at all, or that I don't care. And when I do react, it's ridiculous. I'm not a fucking animal in the zoo. People shouldn't fucking poke me." A glance. "That said, I know that bullshit is stupid, the crap people say. About me, about you. Most of the shit about Sarah just isn't frightening enough."
"It is stupid. And it doesn't matter. I do understand, though, why you'd get angry." She'd get angry, probably if someone badmouthed John.
Another sigh. "I don't want...my lack of anger management to upset you." Yeah good luck with that, John.
"I don't think you have any control of that either." Yeah.
Twitch. "...This sucks."
"What else can I do? What else would help?"
John shakes his head. "I don't even know. Why would you make a puppet into a control freak?"
She gives him a look. "You're not a puppet."
John doesn't say anything. He's not so sure.
"John. You're not. If someone did those things to me, what would you call me?" Heh.
Blink. "...Damaged, maybe. Not often. I'd get you to focus on the other things. The Allison things."
"You're not a puppet. Focus on John things. On things you want to be John things."
Another sigh. "I can't think about what are John things when I'm like this. I can't focus on myself straight on."
"What can you focus on, so you can focus on yourself...crookedly." Is that the word you wanted?
Apparently not judging by John's facial expression. Oh, Allison. "You. Hypothetical situations. Things that aren't directly tied to what is wrong with me."
"What kind of hypothetical situations?"
"Whether or not our entire apartment will be blue and brown." ...Which isn't really hypothetical but the part of his brain that isn't able to deal with things thinks it is. For right now.
"That's very...1970s kitsch hotel." Which maybe isn't terrible. "Do you want it to be?"
"Heh. No, not really." A shrug.
"Oh, come on. We could go all out. Put a tv in the bed." Allison. What. She's kidding. Really.
Is she? "...No." John looks a little distrubed, now. "No decorating styles that were unpopular when they were timely."
She is, judging by the smirk on her face. "No shag carpets? No wood paneling?"
"Hell. No." He sees this smirk. He's still terrified. "That's not even funny, it's just scary."
"It's hilarious." Smirk, smirk, grin.
Groan. Here, Allison. If John puts all of his weight onto you without warning, will you fall over?
It's very likely, and does indeed happen. Good thing she's laughing.
Pretty good yes. He'll just use all that extra weight to pin her down and lay next to her. Until she stops laughing herself silly.
He likes listening to her laugh, even though his head still hurts enough that he doesn't really want to laugh much himself.
"Has anyone said anything stupid to you?"
It takes a little while, but his question does the trick. "Some girl called me a 'bitch whore', but that was for some other thing." What. "No big deal."
"...What?" No big deal apparently was ignored.
"I said something stupid without thinking, she reacted. Really. No big deal."
"Is that kind of bullshit normal?" Oh, John. You have no fucking idea, do you?
"Yeah. Kind of. Sort of. You don't have to do that." Thank god.
"The day I call you a bitch or a whore after this conversation I'm asking to get the shit beat out of me. For the record."
"Well. No. It's not normal for you to call me that." Not normal in a good or healthy way, anyway.
"But it's normal for some airheaded idiotic high school girl to call you that." This is John's suspension of disbelief.
"About as normal as you calling her an airheaded idiot. Yes."
"Airheaded idiot is much nicer than bitch or whore. Really."
"Well. I called her fat, so." Not...on purpose, but still.
"...Oh." John doesn't get it. At all. "Are your parents still angry?"
She's really not going to explain it apparently. "Not as much as they were."
John sighs, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. "I think Charlie is too freaked out by Sarah and amused by us to be mad at me for long. He just worries, instead." Sometimes he wishes people would stop with the damned worrying already. And then things like this afternoon happen.
"Is he wrong to worry?" She doesn't think so. Based on this afternoon. Based on what Sarah did.
"No it's just...frustrating. Weird. Mostly my problem, though, nothing he's done."
"I'm sorry. Do you want me to stop worrying?" She never, ever could. but she could probably hide it.
"I don't think that's possible." She could hide it, and he'd know she was hiding something, and it wouldn't end well.
"Probably not." Oh, yay. Garage door opening. She smiles a little. "How's your head now?"
"Still hurts. Not as bad." Groan. "Do I need to go talk to people?"
"Nah. I can do it. What do you want me to tell them?"
"That I have a migraine?" Since that's...more or less what is happening, anyway. "That I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"Okay." She presses a kiss against his forhead. "Back in a bit." And off she goes.
John will survive all right until she comes back. Finish his orange juice. Do that odd half-sleeping thing, since it's her room, and it's not bright, and he's tired...
When she comes back, she attempts to be as quiet as possible. Hoping he'll sleep, maybe.
He does. Not for terribly long, a bit less than an hour, but eventually he blinks awake. "Hey. What'd they say?"
"If you stay the night, you're riding the couch and you have to call Charlie." Smile. "So he doesn't worry."
"If I call Charlie he'll just come get me, so I should go home anyway." Small shrug. "I feel all right, now. Better."
She doesn't quite believe that, but. "Want me to drive you, or Charlie to pick you up?"
"I'd rather you drove me." The conversation with Charlie he'd rather prepare himself for.
"Okay. Now, or later?"
"Now." John nods. He's not really up for dealing with the rest of Allison's family, even if he doesn't have to directly deal with them. "Now's good."
"All right." She'll even offer a hand-up.
And John, wonder of wonders, will take it. Because it's Allison. Which will never fail to be a reason for John.
Things at home were odd, tense. But it wasn't like they hadn't been odd at times, before. Granted, John wasn't sure what to expect when he came home on Monday to Charlie emptying out the refridgerator, the pantry, throwing out every single opened food item in the house. He wasn't expecting the explanation he got, that much was certain.
He called Pescadero State Hospital, to ensure that he could still visit his mother before the day's visiting hours were over. He called Allison, asking her for a ride, immediately apologetic for the state he was going to be in. Since he didn't smile on the way to the hospital.
Or on the way back to Allison, in the lobby. He just took her hand and started off towards the parking lot.
But he couldn't stop himself from shaking.
She waits until they're both settled in the car before turning to him. Before asking anything. She could see something was wrong on the way up, could tell it when they were on the phone. But she'd thought it was nerves, he hadn't seen his mother in over a week. And look what she'd done, where she was.
She wasn't entirely sure that's not still what it was. But she was concerned enough to ask. "What's wrong? What happened?"
John doesn't answer right away. Part of him doesn't want Allison to see him like this, so angry, so hurt that he can barely speak. But anything else would be a lie and he wasn't lying to her, not anymore. "She was drugging us. Charlie and I."
So, driving at the moment is right out. Because she's never been more suddenly angry at someone she's barely even spoken to. Allison is so shocked by this idea that it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts. "She said that?"
Yeah, he didn't expect them to be driving anywhere right away. "Charlie found unlabeled vials in her things." Who knows what posessed him to go through her makeup, but John won't question it. "Had them tested. Drugs to make us...susceptible to suggestion."
"You went to see her anyway?" She can't fathom it, would probably not have gone. "Dd you ask her about it? Is that why you were so sick?" Instant worrier mode. She's gone right from angry at Sarah to hating her.
"Yes. To all of that." John's hands have started to shake, what fun. "My mother speaks in code a lot of the time. Weird phrases in Spanish and English. Things I'll respond to, without thinking." Following him, Allison?
She is. She thinks she is. "What did she say? What kinds of phrases, what things?" From anger to hate to scared. She looks back at the building for a moment, and then back at him. "John?"
"I can't...say it, not right now." He'll try writing, later. when his hands aren't shaking so damned much. "She wants me to help her get out. She said the drugs were helping, making us stronger." What follows is the most hollow laugh. "I won't. I won't help her."
"Of course you won't. I won't let you. Even if you wanted to, I wouldn't let you.. She has no idea how she's stop him, but she'd find a way. Somehow. "What do you want to do? Are you going to tell them?"
"No...I don't know what I want to do. It was recorded. Should have been. Call and response should be obvious."
"What will you do if they ask you about it?" She's starting to wish that she'd gone in with him. To see her. She doesn't know if that'd be allowed, but she thinks she should've tried. "You don't want to get her out, do you?"
"Tell them some of it. Enough." Not as much as he's going to try and tell her, anyway. "No. I don't, I won't!"
"Okay. Okay." Hands up in the universal sign for 'calm down, it's okay'. "What do you want me to do?"
"I'm sorry." He really, really is. "I don't want to go home, not rigt now. Charlie will ask me questions..." And John is in no state to answer them.
"You've got no reason to be sorry." She nods. Not home, but not staying here. "Where? Where am I driving?"
"Someplace you like." Anywhere. John's having trouble fousing right now.
"Okay. Yeah. Okay." She starts the car, making sure they're both secure. Drives. Drives for a long while, about an hour. To Griffith Park. The hell away from Sarah Connor.
About 35, 40 minutes into the ride John will close his eyes. Try to refocus. Remind himself of where he is, who he's with. He'll open his eyes when they park, looking around. "Should we get out?"
She spent the last leg of the ride mentally freaking out, trying to keep panic in check. "If you like. Do you want to?"
John looks around again. "Yeah..." So, out he gets, and around to the other side to wait for Allison.
It doesn't take her more than a moment to get out, take his hand and lead him to a park bench. They can sit there for a while, while she waits for him to say something.
"I'm sorry," he says, finally, squeezing her hand a bit. "I know this has to be weird." It's weird in his fucking head, he can't imagine what it looks like to her. "It makes me angry, that she thinks it's that simple. That it's a switch she can just turn on, whether or not I like it."
"It's not your fault." She says that a lot, it feels like.
It looks frightening to her, and it makes her angry. Not at him, of course. "With drugs. Poison."
She'll have to. He believes a lot of things are his fault, that he should be in better control. Be perfect, in a way. John is much harder on himself than he'll ever be on others. "With drugs. With...words, brainwashing. Things I can't even repeat, now."
"And that's why you were dizzy, sick. When we were in San Francisco." That makes her uncomfortable and sad and things she can't even think about. Because what if it'd been worse than it had been. "If I said them, by accident, would it be trouble?"
"Yeah, that's why." If it had been worse, John doesn't know what he would've expected her to do. What she would've thought to do. Being admitted to the hospital while in San Francisco wouldn't have been fun for anyone involved. "...If you said them by accident?" John frowns. He really can't imagine she would, unless she tried. "No. Not in trouble. You'd know right away, though. I think."
Allison nods, a little unsure about that. "You said you'd felt like that before. A month ago." That? Also worries her. "I should've gone in with you."
"Yes. A month ago. Before then, on occasion." After fights. Each time it was after some disagreement where John didn't back down by the time the conversation was over. Flinch.
That last statement heralds the return of the sharp Looks. "There is no fucking way I'm letting you talk to her."
"I don't want to talk to her." She really doesn't. Not yet, anyway. "Keep talking. Keep telling me things." Hand squeeze.
Squeeze back. "I'm not letting you be in the same room with her. I don't care if she's in a goddamn coma. No. Got it? No. No way." Breathe, John. Pull yourself together. " It doesn't matter to her what I want, what I think. Even if what she believed wasn't fucking insane, I should've grown up normal. Been prepared, yes, but how does that equate growing up in the middle of nowhere? Moving all the time? It doesn't."
"It matters to me. What you want, what you think. If you don't want me to see her, that's fine. If you never want to see her again, that's fine too. If you want to go, we'll go. Whatever you want, whatever you need."
He's still hyperventilating a bit. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. All the emotions he's not supposed to be, thanks to what she said. What had been in the food. Which is a good sign, except it is a hell of a lot of work to get that much out. "I know it matters to you." Breathing. Closing his hand over hers, opening it again. Focusing on some kids running around yards and yards away. "No matter what she says, what she's said before, she doesn't love me. It's just a tool, a function."
It hasn't occurred to John that he hasn't addressed the indirect question of what he wants or needs.
Maybe she'll have to make it more direct.
She keeps on hand in his, putting her arm around his shoulder. She's sure that Sarah does love him, in some sick and sad way. But she certainly won't say that. "Talk to me, John. Think. Not about me, or your mom or Charlie. What do you want to do? What do you need?"
Contact is nice, is good. John will turn towards her, a bit, and try to do what she's asking. "I want to...have a life. With you. Where ever the fuck that happens to be. I don't dislike it here. I don't want to run anymore. I need normal. Badly. I need to not go back to that place, for a while. At least. Because I'm so freaked the fuck out that I'll end up there to stay."
"You can have that. We can have that. You don't have to run anymore, you don't have to go back there. Ever. And I won't let you end up there. I won't. Okay? You trust me?" Hand squeeze again.
John nods. And continues to try to breathe. "I trust you. A lot. More than I trust myself, right now." And boy howdy, isn't that fun?
She rubs his shoulder, holds his hand. "Tell me why."
"Because you're smart in a way I'm not." And explaining that, he realizes, needs to happen. "You know which questions to ask, I don't...I'm not good at that. You figure things out before you try to change them. Because you're not...you're in this, but you've chosen to be?" Yes, that is a question. Because right now he can't focus on whether or not you want this, Allison.
"I'm in this because I want to be. Because I love you. I want to know how to help you, how to make sure you're happy."
"I'm happy with you, around you. Never been that happy before." Deep breath. "You help. You've never not helped." Never ever? Really?
"Never?" She doesn't believe that, John. "Tell me what you want me to do."
"No, not...you always helped. Even when it was difficult. Even when you were angry at me, it helped, because it was you and you're different." John feels like he sounds like a crazy person. That's always fun. "I want you to move in with me. After graduation."
"How does being angry help?" And...that startled her. A lot. More than a lot. "What? You do?"
"You cared enough to be angry, instead of just annoyed. There's a difference." Another breath. Fuck. "...I was going to wait. Until your birthday, to ask." Which would've been hilarious while her family assumed he was going to ask something else, one imagines. "I do, want that. If you don't, that's fine. Really."
"Being annoyed with you isn't an option." And on her birthday, she'd wonder exactly what they thought he was going to ask. "I want that. Really." And she does. She only had to think about it for a minute. "You're sure?"
"...It's not?" He can't imagine why it wouldn't be. "You do? Okay. Yes, I'm sure." Sigh. "I don't know what else I want, from you, right this moment."
"No, it's not." She squeezes his hand again. "Is that enough? For now?"
"Why?" John nods. His words aren't matching his body language because he feels splintered, trying to keep track of two threads in a conversation. Which isn't that hard, normally. Today is a strange day. "For now. Yes. It's more than enough. I didn't think you'd say yes."
"You don't get annoyed with people you love." Oh, Allison. Really? "Why wouldn't I say yes?"
"...I'm not sure that's true, for most people." So. There's that. "Because I thought you probably wanted to live on your own, first. Be independent."
Allison will not even bother pointing out that she's not most people. "I am independent. Do you think I'm not?"
Yeah it's a bit obvious. Which is part of the reason John worded it that way. "No, I think you are. But sometimes that means living alone, too. At least for a while."
"Maybe I don't want to." She gives him a weird look. "Why are you trying to talk me out of this?"
John frowns at the weird look. "...I didn't realize I was. Fuck." And now he presses his face against her shoulder because what the hell does that even mean?
"Talk to me, John. Please?"
"Fuck." No, John, that's not what she meant. "I'm not supposed to trust people, especially right now. That's why. It's...like thinking one thing while having this backtrack of ideas that's countering it. even if you don't hear it. It's there. It's always there."
John Connor is not having a good mental health day.
Apparently not, no. "What can I do? To stop it? To help?" Rubbing his shoulder more, watching the kids running around.
"I don't know, I really don't. I've never tried working through it before, fighting it. Instead of trusting what she told me, last time, I left. And came back. And things got worse for a few days and then they got better and I can't...figure this shit out. I feel crazy. I feel out of control." ...Ow. "Jesusfuckingchrist."
Hugging him, holding him tighter. "Does talking help? At all? Or is it making it worse?"
He'll hold her back. What else can he do when an idea gives him a full-blown migraine? "It's pointing it out."
"I don't understand what that means. Lie down." Migraines are no good. Absolutely no good.
He'll lie down. Head in your lap, is that okay? Eyes closed because...ow. Light. Migraine. Ow. "..What use is a leader who doesn't think they're in control? Who doubts?" Talking around it is only helping a little, but hell.
That's more than okay. It makes for easier hair petting, which she thinks might help. She hopes. "You don't have to be a leader. It's okay to doubt. More than okay."
"It's okay. It isn't supposed to be okay." Jesus. "My head feels like a bomb. Broken jagged pieces of whatever doesn't fit together and things tick." ...Wow, John.
That's more than a little frightening, more than enough to make her shake even the slightest bit. "Focus on something else. Not on your mother, not on skynet. Not on leading anyone."
"...Mary likes me. I think." That has nothing to do with Sarah, Skynet, or leading anything. Other than the 3rd grade.
She blinks. "She does?" That's good, right?
"She does. She still thinks I'm patient zero, because I'm a boy that her sister likes to talk to, and her parents like even though I make them worry, but yeah."
"It's better that she likes you. Less likely to kick you." Ha. What? "This is where my party's going to be."
"...That would hurt." Much like his head does, now. "It's pretty." Squint. Ow. Back to eyes being closed. "Now I don't know what to get you."
"You don't have to get me anything." More hair petting.
"I'd like to get you something." Thinking about his own birthdays... Snort. "I have no experience in this whatsoever. Fucking A my head hurts. I want to break something."
"Just get whatever reminds you of me." More, more hair pettings. "What do you want to break?" She's wondering, again, if she should call someone. They certainly shouldn't be out in the sun. "We should go."
"All right. I'll try that." He will, later, give her a list of some of the what the fuck-inducing birthday gifts he's gotten. "Something loud." At go he's slowly getting upright again. Squiting. Fumbling for sunglasses which are in a pocket somewhere...eureka. "Okay."
She will, of course, not want any of those cringe-inducing gifts. Not even the rather tight flack jacket. "Like a radio?" Hand holding, and she'll lead him back to the car. "Your house or mine?" Lord.
"Something that makes a lot of noise when broken." So not exactly like a radio. "...I probably shouldn't, though." John glares blearily at the horizon. "How freaked out would your parents be?" Charlie might still be home. Someone will definitely be at the Young household, John thinks.
Someone will definetly be home, yes. Either her father or her mother and sister. Unless they're lucky and they went to the mall. "If you broke something? Probably very."
John shakes his head, slowly. Ow. "I'm not going to break anything. I just want to lie down." He does, still, want to break something.The noise would probably make him want to scream, which would make everything much much worse right about now. "How freaked out would they be if I came over, like this?"
"They knew you were going to see her. I think they'd understand." She's pretty sure.
"Okay. Okay. Your house? Please?"
"Okay." And driving! As fast as she can, legally. It doesn't take long to get to her house, even less time to get inside. As luck would have it? No one appears to be home. Lucky, lucky John.
So very, very lucky. He's thankful. Really. He is, universe, hear that? Besides he's suffering enough as it is. "...Your room is blue." Thank god for something. Blue is not a very bright color.
Yeah, he probably doesn't need a third grader crawling all over him. "It is, yeah. I like blue. Lie down." On the bed! Which...is also blue.
Oddly enough, John had a half-formed story ready for Mary if she had been home. Something about the "boy disease" giving him a headache because Allison is curing it.
John has odd ideas about children, honestly.
Laying down happens, right after taking off of shoes and sunglasses. John flinches. "This is bullshit." So when he's not in pain and terrified because he doesn't know what the hell is wrong with his mind, he's angry. Somewhat understandable, really.
More than understandable.
"I know. It is, I know. I'll be right back." Running back downstairs for an icepack, then back upstairs to sit beside him and apply it to his forhead. The back of his neck. "It'll be okay. I promise."
There's a sharp intake of breath before John relaxes. He wasn't expecting the sudden cold on his skin, but it does help. A lot. "I know. I hope. Fucking hell."
"It will be. I promise." She can't promise that, can she? Really? "You know me. I'm stubborn."
Laughing. Ow. Oh well, it's funny. "You are. I love that." Really, John?
"Don't laugh so hard, you'll break something." Really, Allison. She smirks. "I know you love that. You love a lot of things."
Smirk. "No, not a lot of things. Just you."
Shaking her head. Somehow, she resists the urge to thwap him with a pillow. "I know. I love you too." Enough to lie down beside him, in fact.
Oh, yeah, please don't do that. He'd just laugh again. And then be in a world of pain, over a pillow. "I'm glad for that." He totally is, see! Hugs and everything.
Hugs and everything are much better than migraines and pain. "I wish I could make it better for you."
"It could be a lot worse." Which means that she is making it better. A lot better. "I hate this."
"I know you do. I hate it too. I don't..." Sigh. "I don't understand how she could do something like that."
"How? How isn't that hard. Why she doesn't care is a lot more hard to understand."
"Why is what I meant." She would never, ever even think of something like that. She's pretty sure her mom would't either. "I'm sorry. That she did."
John nods, a little. "...I want normal."
"What's normal? To you?"
Small laugh. "Not this shit, that's for sure. Your sister is normal." John. You're making that worse, you know that right?
She snorts. "She is not. That's such a lie. Is Charlie normal? Am I?" She thinks no.
John laughs. "No, she isn't, but she's great." She is. Or maybe John's just not used to children and he's somewhat amazed that that one really likes him. Sometimes. Perhaps. Well, Mary doesn't seem to hate him anyway. "No. Not really. I have no fucking clue, I don't want to be crazy."
Mary doesn't hate him. She just doesn't like boys. Yet. "You're not crazy. You really, really aren't."
God help them all when she does. "I feel crazy right now." Frown. "Do you have a notebook?"
She sits up, rummaging through her side table drawer. "Yes. And a pen." She hands them over.
"Thank you." John doesn't sit up. He just starts writing. Phrases in English, and their responses. Phrases in Spanish and their responses. Translations for the latter. Underlining things that make him flinch. "...Here."
It takes her a moment to understand what she's looking at, but once she gets it she gets it. "Oh. Wow. I'll keep this safe." Hidden. She'll memorize it so she knows what not to ever say, on purpose or by accident. "Thank you."
John nods. "If we go to Caltech I'll need your help." How many robotics/scientific/engineering terms are on that list? Too many.
Staring at the list now. "Should we not go?" Would she do that? For him? For anyone?
"I want to go." He does. He also knows that it's likely the best school for them. For Allison. "We should go."
"Okay." Laying back down beside him, still holding that notebook. "Maybe we should take a year off. Help you through this. And these." So nothing happens there.
John nods, and rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling. "I'll get a job. I don't need a job, but. It would be too weird if I didn't." Deep breath. In and out. "...Blue and brown are complimentary colors."
"Why would it be weird if you didn't?" She looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. "Are they?"
"Because people would want to know how I can afford an apartment with you." A glance. "They are." Maybe it would help, John, if you explained what the hell you were talking about.
"Oh. How can you?" Or maybe she doesn't want to know. Maybe she ought to already. She looks at hm. "Is it important? That they are?"
"...Sarah has money. Had. Put it in my name. I found the documents for it." And since she was always careful about that, it hadn't been siezed. Fancy that. "I don't know. Maybe. Blue is your favorite color." Smirkity smirk.
"Aha. That's probably something I shouldn't know a lot about, right?" She thinks so. "Blue is my favorite color. Yes. Brown is not. So much."
"Probably not. Brown is my favorite color." And apparently John thinks this is important.
Or maybe it's distracting him from his headache.
She smirks. "Well. Then, we're complementary." Oh, Allison.
"Exactly." God.
"At least we'll know how to decorate." Heh. "A year off here, or a year off somewhere else?"
John frowns. "...I don't know. I had assumed here."
"Here's good. Here's fine. If isn't too much." Away from Sarah? Might be even better.
Well, Pescadero State isn't exactly in town. "...Too much?" John's confused again.
True. "To focus on. To worry about."
"Moving to a new place would be a lot harder, in that respect." Frowning. "...I get very paranoid in new places."
"Then, we'll stay here." It's not a huge concession. It's not a concession at all. She wants him to be happy. To not feel bad all the time. "I can figure what your mom would think, us moving in together. What's Charlie going to say?" Her father, she thinks, will make faces.
"...Charlie asked if I was planning on waiting until after you started school." And John nearly choked on his drink.
She looks over at him, smirking. "What did you say?"
"I was too busy coughing to say a damned thing."
She laughs, snorting a bit. Because that's lovely and pretty. "Well...maybe he can tell my parents." Even odds, the Youngs and Charlie have probably had all sorts of discussions.
"...Oh hell." John groans. "$20 says he already has."
"...I don't know if I want to take that bet." Though, it would explain all the odd looks her mother keeps giving her the past few days.
"Fucking A he couldn't just keep it to his goddamned self I told him I didn't want his help with this shit." Rant rant rant.
"Well. They didn't tell me. If that helps."
"A little." Mumblegrumble. "Still wish he'd fucking waited."
"Congratulations, John. You have a nosy, pushy dad."
John. Just. Blinks. "...oh don't you fucking tell me this shit is normal."
"Totally normal. If you were a girl, he'd pop into your room to make sure you weren't messing around." So...thank God her parents aren't home. "Totally normal."
"....nnngh." Pillows are great for hiding from reality.
"Hey, you wanted normal. You can't get all huffy when you get it."
"Watch me."
Okay, now? Now she has to laugh, John. Sorry.
Groan. So much groaning. "...Messing around. Right. All right." No John that isn't what you meant. "Stupid headache."
"Do you want something for it? Aspirin? Tylenol?"
"Whatever I take it can't be that strong." Slight shrug. "So I'm not sure that's worth it."
"Is it any better? The headache? Maybe you should eat something."
John nods. "Something to drink might be better, I'm not sure I could keep anything down. Makes me nauseated."
"All right." She's off for a few minutes, returning with a glass of orange juice with ice. "Try this."
And while she's gone he'll try not to be driven insane by the fact that everything in this room smells like Allison. ...He'll mostly manage it. "Thank you." Upright attempt at drinking will commence now. "...I hate this."
"I know. I'm sure it'll get better. I'm sure." She'll help him sit up if need be. "I've never seen your room." Half-hearted attempt at changing the subject.
Half-hearted attempt is better than nothing. "I can show you. It's...pretty boring. There isn't much...stuff."
"We should fix that. When we move." Since...she has stuff.
"Yeah." A small shrug and leaning on Allison a bit. "I worried about having stuff that would have to be left behind if I moved."
"You don't need to anymore." That might be obvious.
"I know. But I haven't exactly gone on shopping sprees in the last week." You know. Other than clothes. And books.
"I know. I don't think you have to do that."
Nod. More leaning on Allison. "Thanks."
She smiles at him, taking his hand again. "What for?"
"This. Always. Just...being you instead of, I don't know, calling Charlie. Calling the police. Letting someone else take care of it." Take care of him.
Another smile, then she kisses his forhead. "I'd never do that. I love you." Over-protective and stubborn.
Very. "Yeah. I love you too." ...Slight frowning. "I got into a fight this week."
Her own frown now. "What about?" Though, she could probably guess...
"Sarah." Pause. "You, more than that."
Okay. Maybe not. "Me? Why me?"
"People saw us leave. Knew you were gone for the weekend, knew I was. Knew, or guessed, that your parents were freaked out. Made annoying comments."
She frowns at that. Not because she cares about comments, she doesn't care what people think of her. Not really. But. "I don't want you getting in fights because of me."
"...I'm not entirely sure it's a part of my character that I can change." The other boy might be lucky that all he got was a black eye.
"Just...be careful, okay?" Frowny, frowny frowny.
"Define careful." John is entirely too good at fighting.
"Don't get hurt too badly. Don't hurt anyone too badly." Allison kind of figured that.
"...I managed to stop at a black eye."
"Good." She watches him. "You know I don't care. What they say about me."
"I know you don't." Obviously he does. A lot.
"But you do." Obviously. "I care what you think of me."
John sighs a bit. "I don't have the best temper. Most people figure that I just don't pay attention at all, or that I don't care. And when I do react, it's ridiculous. I'm not a fucking animal in the zoo. People shouldn't fucking poke me." A glance. "That said, I know that bullshit is stupid, the crap people say. About me, about you. Most of the shit about Sarah just isn't frightening enough."
"It is stupid. And it doesn't matter. I do understand, though, why you'd get angry." She'd get angry, probably if someone badmouthed John.
Another sigh. "I don't want...my lack of anger management to upset you." Yeah good luck with that, John.
"I don't think you have any control of that either." Yeah.
Twitch. "...This sucks."
"What else can I do? What else would help?"
John shakes his head. "I don't even know. Why would you make a puppet into a control freak?"
She gives him a look. "You're not a puppet."
John doesn't say anything. He's not so sure.
"John. You're not. If someone did those things to me, what would you call me?" Heh.
Blink. "...Damaged, maybe. Not often. I'd get you to focus on the other things. The Allison things."
"You're not a puppet. Focus on John things. On things you want to be John things."
Another sigh. "I can't think about what are John things when I'm like this. I can't focus on myself straight on."
"What can you focus on, so you can focus on yourself...crookedly." Is that the word you wanted?
Apparently not judging by John's facial expression. Oh, Allison. "You. Hypothetical situations. Things that aren't directly tied to what is wrong with me."
"What kind of hypothetical situations?"
"Whether or not our entire apartment will be blue and brown." ...Which isn't really hypothetical but the part of his brain that isn't able to deal with things thinks it is. For right now.
"That's very...1970s kitsch hotel." Which maybe isn't terrible. "Do you want it to be?"
"Heh. No, not really." A shrug.
"Oh, come on. We could go all out. Put a tv in the bed." Allison. What. She's kidding. Really.
Is she? "...No." John looks a little distrubed, now. "No decorating styles that were unpopular when they were timely."
She is, judging by the smirk on her face. "No shag carpets? No wood paneling?"
"Hell. No." He sees this smirk. He's still terrified. "That's not even funny, it's just scary."
"It's hilarious." Smirk, smirk, grin.
Groan. Here, Allison. If John puts all of his weight onto you without warning, will you fall over?
It's very likely, and does indeed happen. Good thing she's laughing.
Pretty good yes. He'll just use all that extra weight to pin her down and lay next to her. Until she stops laughing herself silly.
He likes listening to her laugh, even though his head still hurts enough that he doesn't really want to laugh much himself.
"Has anyone said anything stupid to you?"
It takes a little while, but his question does the trick. "Some girl called me a 'bitch whore', but that was for some other thing." What. "No big deal."
"...What?" No big deal apparently was ignored.
"I said something stupid without thinking, she reacted. Really. No big deal."
"Is that kind of bullshit normal?" Oh, John. You have no fucking idea, do you?
"Yeah. Kind of. Sort of. You don't have to do that." Thank god.
"The day I call you a bitch or a whore after this conversation I'm asking to get the shit beat out of me. For the record."
"Well. No. It's not normal for you to call me that." Not normal in a good or healthy way, anyway.
"But it's normal for some airheaded idiotic high school girl to call you that." This is John's suspension of disbelief.
"About as normal as you calling her an airheaded idiot. Yes."
"Airheaded idiot is much nicer than bitch or whore. Really."
"Well. I called her fat, so." Not...on purpose, but still.
"...Oh." John doesn't get it. At all. "Are your parents still angry?"
She's really not going to explain it apparently. "Not as much as they were."
John sighs, pressing his forehead to her shoulder. "I think Charlie is too freaked out by Sarah and amused by us to be mad at me for long. He just worries, instead." Sometimes he wishes people would stop with the damned worrying already. And then things like this afternoon happen.
"Is he wrong to worry?" She doesn't think so. Based on this afternoon. Based on what Sarah did.
"No it's just...frustrating. Weird. Mostly my problem, though, nothing he's done."
"I'm sorry. Do you want me to stop worrying?" She never, ever could. but she could probably hide it.
"I don't think that's possible." She could hide it, and he'd know she was hiding something, and it wouldn't end well.
"Probably not." Oh, yay. Garage door opening. She smiles a little. "How's your head now?"
"Still hurts. Not as bad." Groan. "Do I need to go talk to people?"
"Nah. I can do it. What do you want me to tell them?"
"That I have a migraine?" Since that's...more or less what is happening, anyway. "That I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"Okay." She presses a kiss against his forhead. "Back in a bit." And off she goes.
John will survive all right until she comes back. Finish his orange juice. Do that odd half-sleeping thing, since it's her room, and it's not bright, and he's tired...
When she comes back, she attempts to be as quiet as possible. Hoping he'll sleep, maybe.
He does. Not for terribly long, a bit less than an hour, but eventually he blinks awake. "Hey. What'd they say?"
"If you stay the night, you're riding the couch and you have to call Charlie." Smile. "So he doesn't worry."
"If I call Charlie he'll just come get me, so I should go home anyway." Small shrug. "I feel all right, now. Better."
She doesn't quite believe that, but. "Want me to drive you, or Charlie to pick you up?"
"I'd rather you drove me." The conversation with Charlie he'd rather prepare himself for.
"Okay. Now, or later?"
"Now." John nods. He's not really up for dealing with the rest of Allison's family, even if he doesn't have to directly deal with them. "Now's good."
"All right." She'll even offer a hand-up.
And John, wonder of wonders, will take it. Because it's Allison. Which will never fail to be a reason for John.