The Grand Canyon was once a creek.
She couldn't remember anything. Not at first. Not really. She knew she was lost. She knew people were looking for her and that she had to hide. She'd been in a grocery store, just walking. Just shopping. Doing things that she knew she normally didn't do. She didn't know how she knew that. It felt right. This wasn't where she was supposed to be.
Where was she supposed to be?
They'd called an ambulance, once the manager had realized something was seriously wrong. Called an ambulance and taken her to a hospital. Found her ID on her. An ID on her. "Allison Baum", it said.
"Is that my name?" she asked. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound like her. It didn't sound like anyone.
The hospital led to a psych consult, which led to medication. Drugs. She didn't like drugs. Her body didn't react well. Something she'd said must've scared them. The consult led to the police. The police knew her. They knew her and they wanted to take her away.
And she panicked. She panicked, and there was screaming. And when it stopped...she didn't know where she was. Again. She wasn't at the consult. She wasn't with the police.
She didn't know anything.
Losing Allison was both intentional and unintentional. John had been annoyed with her, wanted some space, away from her, away from his mother. What he'd expected was a half hour and a lot of questions he didn't want to answer.
What he got, when he went to the grocery store to meet up with her again, was the realization that something had gone very, horribly wrong.
He could call Sarah. He should. He didn't. He needed to find Allison on his own and figure out what happened. He went to the hospital, saw the amount of police officers and turned right back around. Started looking on foot. Rooftops, fire escapes, cellar stairs. Corners hidden from light. Then he spotted her and he knew, somehow, that whatever it was wasn't better.
"...Allison?"
It wasn't better. No. Not at all.
She was shaking. Twitching. Her hands. Her eyes. Every part of her. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what. Or why. "Allison. I'm Allison. Allison Baum. I'm Allison Baum." She couldn't even make herself believe it. IT felt wrong. She felt wrong.
"I don't know you. Do I know you?"
"...Yes. You're glitching." Way to go, John, he realized. You don't even know what the hell has happened and five seconds into the conversation you're in over your head. "I'm John. Remember?"
Moving slowly, palms up, hands open. Maintaining eye contact. "You're glitching. I can fix it."
"Fix me? Fix me how?" Glitching. The word made the twitching worse. Made her head ache. Made it hard to move. Made her sit, right there on the sidewalk. Bad idea. What if she had to run? "Am I broken? Did you hurt me?"
Someone did. She knew that. Felt that.
"No." Did he? He didn't think he did. He never meant to, but for some reason just saying no felt like a lie. Which wasn't important. He needed to find out what was happening to Allison. "We're..." What? Friends? Siblings? No. "I didn't hurt you. What happened?"
"You didn't hurt me." She shouldn't believe him. Doesn't really believe him. But her body calms. Just a little. A bit. She doesn't understand it. "You didn't hurt me. I don't know what happened. I don't know anything." Literally, in fact. Does he understand she means that literally?
"How can you fix me?"
John moves closer. Can he? Is she still spooked? Two people sitting on the sidewalk talking is slightly less suspicious than one sitting there and the other standing like she's going to charge him at any moment.
She might, though. That's not as terrifying as it should be. He thinks he can deal with it, if she does. Maybe he can. Maybe he can't.
His mother is better at this. His mother, he is fairly certain, would somehow make this worse. It's his fault, he shouldn't have left her.
"I don't...I'm not sure." There's the truth. He's tempted to ask her what she remembers again. Repeat it. "I'll try?"
"Did I do something wrong?" Hands still shaking. She stares at them. "They said I did something wrong. They were going to take me somewhere."
Slowly, so she can pull away if she wants, John tries to take her hand. Only his are shaking too, what the fuck is this? "No, you...you didn't do anything wrong. The police don't understand."
Neither in this moment does John. This is not the Allison he's used to. It is the Allison he remembers, and his head is starting to hurt. He should call his mother.
He won't.
She won't take his hand, but she won't stop him if he takes hers. "I don't understand. My name is Allison Baum?" It still doesn't feel right. No matter how many times she says it. "And you're John. What's wrong with me? They gave me something. My head..."
Not quite the Allison he remember. She knew him. Knew her own name.
John shakes his head. "No. You're Allison Young. Allison Baum is...a cover?" Is she following this? "You're glitching but I don't know why..." Turning her hand over in his like it's going to explain something. Like he's going to see the metal, whatever is causing this.
He doesn't. All he sees are scars, too many scars. "What did they give you, did they say?"
"Something to calm me down." It's clearly working wonders. "Door mal. Dormalin. Bad. Bad door. What's wrong with me?" She doesn't understand the scars. Why there are so many, why they don't hurt. "Will you? Help me? Please?"
"Yes..." No. More like he doesn't know how all of a sudden. "I don't know what's wrong, I don't know why you're glitching." Slight panic. "I don't know what to do."
"People don't glitch. Why do you keep saying that? People don't glitch, they don't break. How can you fix me, if you don't know that?" She pulls her hand back now. Maybe a little too roughly.
John flinches. "Fuck, I don't know, okay? You're not like this. You're usually not like this." No, usually Allison has all the emotive capacity of a statue. "I have to fix it, I can't just leave you like this!" Yes, John: raising your voice at her is totally a good idea.
A great idea, judging by her reaction. That is to say, by the way she's trying to withdraw from the conversation. Shaking harder. Her breathing is panicked. She's afraid. Maybe of him. Maybe not. "You hurt me. Did you? Did you hurt me?" She already asked that.
"No. No. I didn't hurt you." Still tastes like a lie. "I'm John. We're friends. I wouldn't hurt you, ever. I mean it." At least he's not yelling anymore?
At least there's that. For now. "Friends. We're friends. You're my friend, and someone hurt me. How can I be glitching?" Twitching. Shaking.
"Allison Baum is a cover. Why?"
"I don't know how. Sometimes...you get angry, you glitch, I don't know why the fuck it happens." That's true. He's never sure why. "Allison Baum is a cover because the police are looking for us. The government is looking for us. Skynet is looking for us." Any of those ring a bell?
"Skynet." The word makes her hand twitch. Clench. Hard. Her breathing gets slower. Deeper. Programming trying to reintegrate, maybe. Or something else. "Machines. Metal."
"Yes." No? Maybe. Fuck. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
Her left eye twitches, her breathing keeeps getting slower. Deeper. Shallower. "The metal. I'm not metal. Am I? I don't know. John..."
"I don't know. Sometimes." That isn't helpful, John. "You're Allison. Hey. Look at me?" Eye contact. "You're Allison. Okay?" That? Is about all he's sure of at the moment.
"I'm not metal. John. I'm not a machine, I don't...I don't know what's wrong with me. Please." Eye contact. "You have to help me. Please. I don't know what to do."
Time to try taking her hands again. And not yelling, that's not helping. "I'm trying." He nods. "Do you remember me?" She keeps saying his name but he's not sure.
"John. You're John." She has no idea if she knows that or if she remembers because he just told her. "John." Everything feels slow. Wrong.
"Hey. Stay with me?" She looks like she's about to pass out; what the hell did they give her, what is happening? "Can you stand up? We should go, go home. You can lay down in the car, okay?" John's starting to feel exposed on top of worried and twitchy and it's not helping anything. They're too close to all the cops and the hospital anyway.
'Something to calm her down'. Something that's interacting with something else like crazy. They don't know that, though. "Home? Home. Palmdale?" Well. There's a memory, isn't it? "Okay. Okay, John." She can stand, but walking without assistance? Probably out of the question.
"No. We're in Arizona. Not California. Not Palmdale." She can lean on him? He'd carry her but...this close to the hospital is probably not the best idea. "Home for now." Come on, towards the car. It's only about a block away, in the opposite direction of the hospital at least.
Hopefully Sarah will still be out.
Maybe their luck will hold out on that front.
Allison will, in fact, lean on him. Grip his shoulders, loosely. Stumbling will happen. It'll happen a lot. But eventually, getting in the car will happen. "Home for now. Okay." She'll pass out on the drive 'home'. All those drugs. Interacting.
Wonderful.
That worries him. Hell, all of this worries him, but he can drive and wrap one hand around her wrist at the same time. Make sure her pulse hasn't stopped. Make sure she's just passed out and not something worse.
Once he's parked, once he's certain Sarah's not home, John will carry her in. Get her on the bed, keep her head elevated. Get water, towels. Look up Dormalin. Wait for her to wake up. Try and figure out why the hell he can't stop shaking now.
Good luck with that, John.
She's still shaking. Unconscious, and shaking. Breathing slow. Maybe too slow. Maybe not. Eventually, she'll wake up. It doesn't help much. It doesn't help with the confusion. The loss of memory.
Well when she does, he'll be there. Sarah's called, she's out with the landlord at the hospital and they'll be fine. That's what he told her. Now he just needs to make it true. "Hey. Allison?" How does she respond? Why is she showing overdose symptoms? He doesn't understand.
She doesn't understand either. So they can be in the same boat. "John. My mother. Where's my..." No. It's gone, whatever it was. "What's wrong with me?"
Oh, the frowning. The flinching. The shaking. What the holy hell is going on with them. "I don't know. I think you're overdosing on the Dormalin." But something's wrong with him too and he has no idea what the fuck. He shakes his head. He can't keep saying that out loud.
"They gave me a little. Just a little. I wouldn't stop screaming. They were going to take me somewhere." It's amazing how much she still looks like she's going to pass out. "I don't know what to do. I'm sorry. I'm glitching, I'm sorry." Memory seems to be returning. Slowly. "I don't understand."
"Shh, shh, it's okay." He doesn't want her any more upset than she already is. "You don't have to apologize." Because what ever the hell this is she didn't cause it. John doesn't know what did it, but it wasn't her. "Stay with me, okay? Stay awake. Please?"
She shakes her head, quickly. Not so much a 'no', as it is an 'I don't know if I can' type of shake. "I don't...I'm not a machine. Am I? I think...I don't want to kill you." Well. That's...
Comforting?
Uhm. John will have to get back to you on that. "Did you?" For fuck's sake boy what are you, 4? "No. You're not a machine." So what the hell is going on then?
She makes an odd noise under her breath. Her slow, slow breathing. Staying conscious is hard. "I don't know. Maybe? I don't know. You said I was."
"I know." He sounds really, really sorry. "Sometimes I think you are. But you're not..."
"How do you know?" She closes her eyes but is apparently still awake. "Machines don't bleed."
"No they don't. But you have." So why can't he think of these things sometimes? Sometimes he sees the metal and right now...it's giving him a headache. But it's ridiculous. "Because. I know. Do you trust me?" Here, Allison. Cold towel on your forehead, over your eyes. Does that help?
It does help. Machines don't bleed. Machines don't overdose. Machines don't get fevers. "Sometimes. Yes. Sometimes. No." Her speech is almost stilted now. Not a good sign.
"Nngh." He wants her to stay awake. "Do you trust me right now?" If she didn't, before, well. He can't do a damned thing about it can he?
She's trying. And having a hard time of it. "Yes. Now. John." Her breathing speeds up a bit. She's really trying here. "You have to fix this. Before she gets home. Your mother."
"She's not coming home tonight." He hates the panic in her voice, and hates that he's damn near got it too. Syllable for syllable. "We've got time. I don't know how to fix it." John's really, really sorry, Allison. But he doesn't understand what's wrong. "If they only gave you a little, this shouldn't be happening."
"What if she does?"
"Maybe...maybe they lied." Yes. Let's do fuel the paranoia, Allison. "It doesn't...it doesn't feel like a little. I feel wrong. I don't feel right. I need...I need a reboot. I don't know." She doesn't understand. Not at all. Memories are coming back, slowly. They don't make sense. Nothing makes sense.
"She called, she said she wouldn't." And he will pray to whatever gods and devils will listen that she doesn't. Because it won't end well. Something will go wrong. If there is one thing John knows in this moment, it's that he can't fix this if Sarah's there. "Reboot? I don't..." He doesn't know how to do that right now, Allison.
"Adrenaline. In the first aid kit. Epi-pens. Inject two of them. It doesn't matter where. Then, electricity. A shock to the system. It doesn't matter where." OF course. Of course Sarah showed her how to reboot herself.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Oh. There aren't words for how much he really doesn't want to do that. At all. "You can't...we...isn't there something else we could do instead?" So close to yelling, but not quite.
"I don't know!" So close to crying here. "I don't. I'm hot and I can't think. You have to fix it, please..."
"Fuck." His hands are shaking and he doesn't like it but he goes. He finds the first aid kit and the Epi-pens. Finds the defibrillator. Wonders why the hell they own one. Wonders if he's doing the right thing. Doesn't like any of it.
It takes less than three minutes before he's back with all of that, setting everything down on the nightstand, the shelves above it. "Allison?" He really, really hopes she's better. That he won't have to do this. John's terrified.
Unconscious isn't really better, is it? Not really. Not at all. She would probably wake up out of this on her own, if he let her slep it off. but she might not. And would Sarah let her, if she came home early? Probably not.
Probably not at all.
No. Probably not. Not that it makes him feel any better, mind. Something could go wrong. She could just...not wake up, and then what? He can't risk losing her. It's a risk either way.
He'll do what she asks. Two Epi-pens, in the arm. Starts the the defibrillator. Once it's charged he uses it, puts it away, takes her pulse.
It's thready for a little bit, but eventually evens out. Gets stronger. Her eyes open wide. Thanks to the adrenaline. Fight or flight response. She's still out of it, still confused. But it's better.
"Allison?" It's better, yes. He's still looking like an epileptic drug addict over here on the edge of the bed, however.
"Yes. Here. I'm here." Reboot. There you go. "I'm here, John."
John sounds...slightly relieved. Slightly. "How are you feeling?"
"Not 100%. Not optimal. I'll recover." Long blink. "I'm sorry for glitching."
"It's not your fault." John's gone right back to that tone of sounding vaguely annoyed in order to cover up his own startlment. His hands are still shaking so he's just going to fold them instead. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yes." No. "Seventy-five percent. Thank you for helping me. Are you okay?"
John opens his mouth to say yes and stops himself. "...No I don't think so."
Deep breath. Then another. "What's wrong?"
"My hands won't stop shaking." See? He holds them out. "I don't know why that's happening. Nerves, maybe." Bullshit, boy.
She sits up, very slowly and takes his hands. Examines them. "Maybe. You have a lot of caffeine. Mr Coffee nerves." What. Allison. "Have you eaten?"
John frowns. "Not since this morning. I'll be fine." He doesn't want her to worry about him. Especially right now. "I'll be fine, really."
"I could make you a sandwich." Oh. Allison.
"No. Stay here, rest. I'll make my own sandwich, okay?"
She blinks at him. Once. Twice. "Sometimes it's nice to have help. Okay?" Deep breath. "I'll rest."
"I know. That's true." What's also true is that he doesn't want to eat. He wants to think and he doesn't want Allison to see what he;s thinking. They're close, too close sometimes. "I'll be back in a little bit. I'll just be in the kitchen, all right?"
She's reluctant, quite a bit reluctant to agree to that. But. "All right." She'll even lay back down and shut her eyes. 'Rest.' Of course.
Away he goes. Into the kitchen, even, but he's more interested in looking at his reflection in the small decorative mirror on the wall than food.
Something happened. Something bad, and Allison forgot who she was. Forgot who he was. Almost got arrested. And they took her to the hospital, gave her something, and her entire body rebelled against it. Overdosed. "One hundred and twenty second before the system reboots," he muttered under his breath. Two minutes before Allison responded after John shocked her.
Restart, his ass. Allison wasn't a machine wasn't she? Sometimes. She was his friend and this? Was all wrong. So many kinds of wrong. And he perpetuated it. He should've found a way around it.
There weren't words for how much he was glad Sarah hadn't been home for this. His mother. She would've freaked out, blamed it on Allison and then what? John wasn't sure. He had a few ideas. None of them were good.
Allison had been scared and he'd promised to help her. John wasn't sure this was helping. He thought it might be worse.
It might be worse. It probably isn't any better. if Sarah hears about it, when Sarah hears about it. It'll probably be worse. For now, Allison will rest. Because she promised John. She protects John. This is protecting John.
Somehow, this is protecting John.
At some point, she falls under again. Asleep. Unconscious. Does it matter?
It matters. If only because it sets John's hands shaking again what the fuck is up with that anyway as he checks her pulse. Her breathing. Sarah will hear about it, if only to ask what happened to the empty Epi-pens. John is just going to have to figure out how much truth is going to be in what he tells her.
For some reason, the idea of lying to Sarah isn't nearly as distressing as he thinks it should be. He feels stuck. Trapped. Like he's in a maze metal, glass, Allison hitting him but he doesn't know how to get out. Doesn't know how to get them out.
After a few minutes he'll open a document on his computer. Type in about 500 words worth. Encrypt it. Date it. Close it.
A week from now, when he finds it again, and they are half a state away, what he's written will make his hands shake. This is the beginning of the void between John and Sarah, this episode, this glitch. His mother will never understand it.
Tonight, right now, when John's done typing he's going to fall asleep right next to Allison, clothes and all.
Where was she supposed to be?
They'd called an ambulance, once the manager had realized something was seriously wrong. Called an ambulance and taken her to a hospital. Found her ID on her. An ID on her. "Allison Baum", it said.
"Is that my name?" she asked. It didn't sound right. It didn't sound like her. It didn't sound like anyone.
The hospital led to a psych consult, which led to medication. Drugs. She didn't like drugs. Her body didn't react well. Something she'd said must've scared them. The consult led to the police. The police knew her. They knew her and they wanted to take her away.
And she panicked. She panicked, and there was screaming. And when it stopped...she didn't know where she was. Again. She wasn't at the consult. She wasn't with the police.
She didn't know anything.
Losing Allison was both intentional and unintentional. John had been annoyed with her, wanted some space, away from her, away from his mother. What he'd expected was a half hour and a lot of questions he didn't want to answer.
What he got, when he went to the grocery store to meet up with her again, was the realization that something had gone very, horribly wrong.
He could call Sarah. He should. He didn't. He needed to find Allison on his own and figure out what happened. He went to the hospital, saw the amount of police officers and turned right back around. Started looking on foot. Rooftops, fire escapes, cellar stairs. Corners hidden from light. Then he spotted her and he knew, somehow, that whatever it was wasn't better.
"...Allison?"
It wasn't better. No. Not at all.
She was shaking. Twitching. Her hands. Her eyes. Every part of her. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what. Or why. "Allison. I'm Allison. Allison Baum. I'm Allison Baum." She couldn't even make herself believe it. IT felt wrong. She felt wrong.
"I don't know you. Do I know you?"
"...Yes. You're glitching." Way to go, John, he realized. You don't even know what the hell has happened and five seconds into the conversation you're in over your head. "I'm John. Remember?"
Moving slowly, palms up, hands open. Maintaining eye contact. "You're glitching. I can fix it."
"Fix me? Fix me how?" Glitching. The word made the twitching worse. Made her head ache. Made it hard to move. Made her sit, right there on the sidewalk. Bad idea. What if she had to run? "Am I broken? Did you hurt me?"
Someone did. She knew that. Felt that.
"No." Did he? He didn't think he did. He never meant to, but for some reason just saying no felt like a lie. Which wasn't important. He needed to find out what was happening to Allison. "We're..." What? Friends? Siblings? No. "I didn't hurt you. What happened?"
"You didn't hurt me." She shouldn't believe him. Doesn't really believe him. But her body calms. Just a little. A bit. She doesn't understand it. "You didn't hurt me. I don't know what happened. I don't know anything." Literally, in fact. Does he understand she means that literally?
"How can you fix me?"
John moves closer. Can he? Is she still spooked? Two people sitting on the sidewalk talking is slightly less suspicious than one sitting there and the other standing like she's going to charge him at any moment.
She might, though. That's not as terrifying as it should be. He thinks he can deal with it, if she does. Maybe he can. Maybe he can't.
His mother is better at this. His mother, he is fairly certain, would somehow make this worse. It's his fault, he shouldn't have left her.
"I don't...I'm not sure." There's the truth. He's tempted to ask her what she remembers again. Repeat it. "I'll try?"
"Did I do something wrong?" Hands still shaking. She stares at them. "They said I did something wrong. They were going to take me somewhere."
Slowly, so she can pull away if she wants, John tries to take her hand. Only his are shaking too, what the fuck is this? "No, you...you didn't do anything wrong. The police don't understand."
Neither in this moment does John. This is not the Allison he's used to. It is the Allison he remembers, and his head is starting to hurt. He should call his mother.
He won't.
She won't take his hand, but she won't stop him if he takes hers. "I don't understand. My name is Allison Baum?" It still doesn't feel right. No matter how many times she says it. "And you're John. What's wrong with me? They gave me something. My head..."
Not quite the Allison he remember. She knew him. Knew her own name.
John shakes his head. "No. You're Allison Young. Allison Baum is...a cover?" Is she following this? "You're glitching but I don't know why..." Turning her hand over in his like it's going to explain something. Like he's going to see the metal, whatever is causing this.
He doesn't. All he sees are scars, too many scars. "What did they give you, did they say?"
"Something to calm me down." It's clearly working wonders. "Door mal. Dormalin. Bad. Bad door. What's wrong with me?" She doesn't understand the scars. Why there are so many, why they don't hurt. "Will you? Help me? Please?"
"Yes..." No. More like he doesn't know how all of a sudden. "I don't know what's wrong, I don't know why you're glitching." Slight panic. "I don't know what to do."
"People don't glitch. Why do you keep saying that? People don't glitch, they don't break. How can you fix me, if you don't know that?" She pulls her hand back now. Maybe a little too roughly.
John flinches. "Fuck, I don't know, okay? You're not like this. You're usually not like this." No, usually Allison has all the emotive capacity of a statue. "I have to fix it, I can't just leave you like this!" Yes, John: raising your voice at her is totally a good idea.
A great idea, judging by her reaction. That is to say, by the way she's trying to withdraw from the conversation. Shaking harder. Her breathing is panicked. She's afraid. Maybe of him. Maybe not. "You hurt me. Did you? Did you hurt me?" She already asked that.
"No. No. I didn't hurt you." Still tastes like a lie. "I'm John. We're friends. I wouldn't hurt you, ever. I mean it." At least he's not yelling anymore?
At least there's that. For now. "Friends. We're friends. You're my friend, and someone hurt me. How can I be glitching?" Twitching. Shaking.
"Allison Baum is a cover. Why?"
"I don't know how. Sometimes...you get angry, you glitch, I don't know why the fuck it happens." That's true. He's never sure why. "Allison Baum is a cover because the police are looking for us. The government is looking for us. Skynet is looking for us." Any of those ring a bell?
"Skynet." The word makes her hand twitch. Clench. Hard. Her breathing gets slower. Deeper. Programming trying to reintegrate, maybe. Or something else. "Machines. Metal."
"Yes." No? Maybe. Fuck. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
Her left eye twitches, her breathing keeeps getting slower. Deeper. Shallower. "The metal. I'm not metal. Am I? I don't know. John..."
"I don't know. Sometimes." That isn't helpful, John. "You're Allison. Hey. Look at me?" Eye contact. "You're Allison. Okay?" That? Is about all he's sure of at the moment.
"I'm not metal. John. I'm not a machine, I don't...I don't know what's wrong with me. Please." Eye contact. "You have to help me. Please. I don't know what to do."
Time to try taking her hands again. And not yelling, that's not helping. "I'm trying." He nods. "Do you remember me?" She keeps saying his name but he's not sure.
"John. You're John." She has no idea if she knows that or if she remembers because he just told her. "John." Everything feels slow. Wrong.
"Hey. Stay with me?" She looks like she's about to pass out; what the hell did they give her, what is happening? "Can you stand up? We should go, go home. You can lay down in the car, okay?" John's starting to feel exposed on top of worried and twitchy and it's not helping anything. They're too close to all the cops and the hospital anyway.
'Something to calm her down'. Something that's interacting with something else like crazy. They don't know that, though. "Home? Home. Palmdale?" Well. There's a memory, isn't it? "Okay. Okay, John." She can stand, but walking without assistance? Probably out of the question.
"No. We're in Arizona. Not California. Not Palmdale." She can lean on him? He'd carry her but...this close to the hospital is probably not the best idea. "Home for now." Come on, towards the car. It's only about a block away, in the opposite direction of the hospital at least.
Hopefully Sarah will still be out.
Maybe their luck will hold out on that front.
Allison will, in fact, lean on him. Grip his shoulders, loosely. Stumbling will happen. It'll happen a lot. But eventually, getting in the car will happen. "Home for now. Okay." She'll pass out on the drive 'home'. All those drugs. Interacting.
Wonderful.
That worries him. Hell, all of this worries him, but he can drive and wrap one hand around her wrist at the same time. Make sure her pulse hasn't stopped. Make sure she's just passed out and not something worse.
Once he's parked, once he's certain Sarah's not home, John will carry her in. Get her on the bed, keep her head elevated. Get water, towels. Look up Dormalin. Wait for her to wake up. Try and figure out why the hell he can't stop shaking now.
Good luck with that, John.
She's still shaking. Unconscious, and shaking. Breathing slow. Maybe too slow. Maybe not. Eventually, she'll wake up. It doesn't help much. It doesn't help with the confusion. The loss of memory.
Well when she does, he'll be there. Sarah's called, she's out with the landlord at the hospital and they'll be fine. That's what he told her. Now he just needs to make it true. "Hey. Allison?" How does she respond? Why is she showing overdose symptoms? He doesn't understand.
She doesn't understand either. So they can be in the same boat. "John. My mother. Where's my..." No. It's gone, whatever it was. "What's wrong with me?"
Oh, the frowning. The flinching. The shaking. What the holy hell is going on with them. "I don't know. I think you're overdosing on the Dormalin." But something's wrong with him too and he has no idea what the fuck. He shakes his head. He can't keep saying that out loud.
"They gave me a little. Just a little. I wouldn't stop screaming. They were going to take me somewhere." It's amazing how much she still looks like she's going to pass out. "I don't know what to do. I'm sorry. I'm glitching, I'm sorry." Memory seems to be returning. Slowly. "I don't understand."
"Shh, shh, it's okay." He doesn't want her any more upset than she already is. "You don't have to apologize." Because what ever the hell this is she didn't cause it. John doesn't know what did it, but it wasn't her. "Stay with me, okay? Stay awake. Please?"
She shakes her head, quickly. Not so much a 'no', as it is an 'I don't know if I can' type of shake. "I don't...I'm not a machine. Am I? I think...I don't want to kill you." Well. That's...
Comforting?
Uhm. John will have to get back to you on that. "Did you?" For fuck's sake boy what are you, 4? "No. You're not a machine." So what the hell is going on then?
She makes an odd noise under her breath. Her slow, slow breathing. Staying conscious is hard. "I don't know. Maybe? I don't know. You said I was."
"I know." He sounds really, really sorry. "Sometimes I think you are. But you're not..."
"How do you know?" She closes her eyes but is apparently still awake. "Machines don't bleed."
"No they don't. But you have." So why can't he think of these things sometimes? Sometimes he sees the metal and right now...it's giving him a headache. But it's ridiculous. "Because. I know. Do you trust me?" Here, Allison. Cold towel on your forehead, over your eyes. Does that help?
It does help. Machines don't bleed. Machines don't overdose. Machines don't get fevers. "Sometimes. Yes. Sometimes. No." Her speech is almost stilted now. Not a good sign.
"Nngh." He wants her to stay awake. "Do you trust me right now?" If she didn't, before, well. He can't do a damned thing about it can he?
She's trying. And having a hard time of it. "Yes. Now. John." Her breathing speeds up a bit. She's really trying here. "You have to fix this. Before she gets home. Your mother."
"She's not coming home tonight." He hates the panic in her voice, and hates that he's damn near got it too. Syllable for syllable. "We've got time. I don't know how to fix it." John's really, really sorry, Allison. But he doesn't understand what's wrong. "If they only gave you a little, this shouldn't be happening."
"What if she does?"
"Maybe...maybe they lied." Yes. Let's do fuel the paranoia, Allison. "It doesn't...it doesn't feel like a little. I feel wrong. I don't feel right. I need...I need a reboot. I don't know." She doesn't understand. Not at all. Memories are coming back, slowly. They don't make sense. Nothing makes sense.
"She called, she said she wouldn't." And he will pray to whatever gods and devils will listen that she doesn't. Because it won't end well. Something will go wrong. If there is one thing John knows in this moment, it's that he can't fix this if Sarah's there. "Reboot? I don't..." He doesn't know how to do that right now, Allison.
"Adrenaline. In the first aid kit. Epi-pens. Inject two of them. It doesn't matter where. Then, electricity. A shock to the system. It doesn't matter where." OF course. Of course Sarah showed her how to reboot herself.
"Jesus fucking Christ." Oh. There aren't words for how much he really doesn't want to do that. At all. "You can't...we...isn't there something else we could do instead?" So close to yelling, but not quite.
"I don't know!" So close to crying here. "I don't. I'm hot and I can't think. You have to fix it, please..."
"Fuck." His hands are shaking and he doesn't like it but he goes. He finds the first aid kit and the Epi-pens. Finds the defibrillator. Wonders why the hell they own one. Wonders if he's doing the right thing. Doesn't like any of it.
It takes less than three minutes before he's back with all of that, setting everything down on the nightstand, the shelves above it. "Allison?" He really, really hopes she's better. That he won't have to do this. John's terrified.
Unconscious isn't really better, is it? Not really. Not at all. She would probably wake up out of this on her own, if he let her slep it off. but she might not. And would Sarah let her, if she came home early? Probably not.
Probably not at all.
No. Probably not. Not that it makes him feel any better, mind. Something could go wrong. She could just...not wake up, and then what? He can't risk losing her. It's a risk either way.
He'll do what she asks. Two Epi-pens, in the arm. Starts the the defibrillator. Once it's charged he uses it, puts it away, takes her pulse.
It's thready for a little bit, but eventually evens out. Gets stronger. Her eyes open wide. Thanks to the adrenaline. Fight or flight response. She's still out of it, still confused. But it's better.
"Allison?" It's better, yes. He's still looking like an epileptic drug addict over here on the edge of the bed, however.
"Yes. Here. I'm here." Reboot. There you go. "I'm here, John."
John sounds...slightly relieved. Slightly. "How are you feeling?"
"Not 100%. Not optimal. I'll recover." Long blink. "I'm sorry for glitching."
"It's not your fault." John's gone right back to that tone of sounding vaguely annoyed in order to cover up his own startlment. His hands are still shaking so he's just going to fold them instead. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yes." No. "Seventy-five percent. Thank you for helping me. Are you okay?"
John opens his mouth to say yes and stops himself. "...No I don't think so."
Deep breath. Then another. "What's wrong?"
"My hands won't stop shaking." See? He holds them out. "I don't know why that's happening. Nerves, maybe." Bullshit, boy.
She sits up, very slowly and takes his hands. Examines them. "Maybe. You have a lot of caffeine. Mr Coffee nerves." What. Allison. "Have you eaten?"
John frowns. "Not since this morning. I'll be fine." He doesn't want her to worry about him. Especially right now. "I'll be fine, really."
"I could make you a sandwich." Oh. Allison.
"No. Stay here, rest. I'll make my own sandwich, okay?"
She blinks at him. Once. Twice. "Sometimes it's nice to have help. Okay?" Deep breath. "I'll rest."
"I know. That's true." What's also true is that he doesn't want to eat. He wants to think and he doesn't want Allison to see what he;s thinking. They're close, too close sometimes. "I'll be back in a little bit. I'll just be in the kitchen, all right?"
She's reluctant, quite a bit reluctant to agree to that. But. "All right." She'll even lay back down and shut her eyes. 'Rest.' Of course.
Away he goes. Into the kitchen, even, but he's more interested in looking at his reflection in the small decorative mirror on the wall than food.
Something happened. Something bad, and Allison forgot who she was. Forgot who he was. Almost got arrested. And they took her to the hospital, gave her something, and her entire body rebelled against it. Overdosed. "One hundred and twenty second before the system reboots," he muttered under his breath. Two minutes before Allison responded after John shocked her.
Restart, his ass. Allison wasn't a machine wasn't she? Sometimes. She was his friend and this? Was all wrong. So many kinds of wrong. And he perpetuated it. He should've found a way around it.
There weren't words for how much he was glad Sarah hadn't been home for this. His mother. She would've freaked out, blamed it on Allison and then what? John wasn't sure. He had a few ideas. None of them were good.
Allison had been scared and he'd promised to help her. John wasn't sure this was helping. He thought it might be worse.
It might be worse. It probably isn't any better. if Sarah hears about it, when Sarah hears about it. It'll probably be worse. For now, Allison will rest. Because she promised John. She protects John. This is protecting John.
Somehow, this is protecting John.
At some point, she falls under again. Asleep. Unconscious. Does it matter?
It matters. If only because it sets John's hands shaking again what the fuck is up with that anyway as he checks her pulse. Her breathing. Sarah will hear about it, if only to ask what happened to the empty Epi-pens. John is just going to have to figure out how much truth is going to be in what he tells her.
For some reason, the idea of lying to Sarah isn't nearly as distressing as he thinks it should be. He feels stuck. Trapped. Like he's in a maze metal, glass, Allison hitting him but he doesn't know how to get out. Doesn't know how to get them out.
After a few minutes he'll open a document on his computer. Type in about 500 words worth. Encrypt it. Date it. Close it.
A week from now, when he finds it again, and they are half a state away, what he's written will make his hands shake. This is the beginning of the void between John and Sarah, this episode, this glitch. His mother will never understand it.
Tonight, right now, when John's done typing he's going to fall asleep right next to Allison, clothes and all.