CH. SIXTEEN
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"Gally!"

The boy shoots awake, blinking rapidly in confusion once he feels how stiff his muscles are. His bed has never caused stiff muscles before, unless he sleeps in a crazy position... which he does not.

"Damnit, man." Sighing, Jeff runs a hand down his face. "You've been blocking our way to feed her the whole morning, but after our last experience of waking you up, we decided to never do that again."

Oh yeah, that time he fell asleep repairing something in his hut, his hammer still in his hands, and Alby attempted to wake him up.

Perhaps that's the reason he's bald: can't grow hair 'cause Gally hit him so hard.

"What?" He rubs sleep out of his eyes with one hand. The other one seems either stuck or asleep. Then he looks at it, and... keeps looking. And looking, and looking, and—

"Yes, you did," Jeff answers the unspoken question.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep—" he gapes. Joan still seems as calm as she was last night, when he spoke to her and held her hand to keep her from escaping the ropes.

("You're probably gonna think I'm a real piece of shit if you gain certain memories back," he says.

Nothing really happens. She keeps lying there, eyes closed and veins pulsing.

"But I reacted that way 'cause of the Griever," he continues. "However, I do still think you're untrustworthy. Never got enough answers to know if you meant to betray us or not.")

"Come on, I've got to feed her. Or you do it," Jeff says, shaking the Builder out of his memory of the previous day. "I don't care."

"You do it," he decides. Quickly, he slips his hand away from Joan, who finally loosened her grip on him. It leaves a somehow empty but relieving feeling. As if he wasn't not supposed to hold her hand at all.

Jeff starts feeding Joan the soup. Her eyebrows furrow at first, maybe at the loss of Gally's touch or at the taste of the soup, then she relaxes a bit, allowing Jeff to do his thing. "Once she wakes up," he starts, "it might be a good idea for you to talk to her."

He pulls a face.

"Gally, man, I mean it."

"Jeff, man... no." He holds his hands up. "I'm not doing that. I don't like her presence. She doesn't like my presence. We don't like each other's presence."

"You did just spent the whole night with her presence."

"That was an accident—"

"And all this denying only makes you more suspicious."

"Jeff—"

The boy turns around. "Just talk to her. You know how it feels. You also know some kids went crazy because of their thoughts, so you better help her out."

"You can't force me."

"I know," he says. "But think about it. You said it yourself, you don't hate her that much."

"I dislike her presence and words and do not appreciate her ruining my shirts or the fact that she's untrustworthy."

Jeff raises an eyebrow, then sighs, and finishes feeding the girl. "She's been out for two days," he sighs. "Worries me."

Gally make a sound that's like a grunt and a sigh at once... or whatever. "I'm out."

"Ahw, don't be ashamed, Galileo," he mimics.

"For what?" He spits out.

He chuckled. "For holdin' your dear girl's hand all night. It's alright. I'm sure you're not the first to do that."

"What?"

His other eyebrow raises, too. "Hm?"

"Who else spent the night holding her hand?"

"Bro, I meant other kids." Jeff groans. "Whatever. Just hopin' she wakes up soon."

❀

About a day later, she does.

It's in the middle of the night. The room is so dark that she can't see a single thing, and when she tries to move, something rough scratches against her wrists and ankles. Ropes.

She twists a bit. Tries to place how sick she feels. Everything seems to hurt, and especially her wrist. A stabbing pain each time she moves it.

Panic starts to increase once she remembers the previous events. The memories, at least. They felt too real to be fake. God.

Traitor, Newt and his limp, Gally and the Griever, this Thomas, the girl telling her it's not a test for her... too much.

Fuck, she's tied up. She can't see anything. Before she passed out, she remembers a Griever. She felt like she was dying that moment. Is she dead? No, she's alive.

Tied up— no—
She resists against the ropes as much as she can. It's mostly the fact she doesn't know where she is and the darkness surrounding her that makes her this afraid. As if the air just vanished, just like the lights, and her freedom. It's frightening.

She pulls and pulls and pulls, until the ropes spring off her wrists, which are bruised and red by now. She scraped her skin off while struggling, but the fear definitely overtopped the pain.

Her hands search everywhere for a light, her breaths heaving with each step. It's so quiet that every moment she makes is perfectly audible, and it doesn't ease her mind much.

Traitor, limp, Griever, Thomas, the girl, not a test— the words repeat and repeat and repeat.

But there was more. So much more. Fires, heat, more traitors— too much to think of. It's already driving her crazy.

And she can't find anything. There's texture on the walls and furniture around her but she doesn't recognize anything or find a door handle or a light or a candle or anything proper to recognize and the panic increases and more thoughts stream and stream and they drive her crazy and they stream—

❀

"Oh, Joan.." Clint rushes over to the girl, huddled in the corner of the room with red wrists, a shaking body, and a few dark veins that still haven't completely left.

How long has she been sitting there? Is she awake or not? Why the hell would she even be sitting in this corner like this?

"Joan." He doesn't touch her. Didn't end the greatest last time they tried touching someone who just rose from the Changing. "Joan?"

A cry leaves her mouth. Her throat is so dry from inhaling the cold air all night, that the sound comes out in a weird, cracking way.

"You're safe now," he assures. It's the only thing he can think of saying. "Come sit on the bed. The floor's not awesome."

No reply.

"Joan." Clint reaches out, then stops himself. Yet he can't leave her like this either, can he? "Alright. I'll be back in a second."

A few minutes later, he comes back. With Newt. Because of course, who else could you bring when you need help comforting someone?

"You walked in on her like that?" He asks.

Clint nods. "Same position as right now."

Newt watches the girl. Nothing has changed since Clint walked in, indeed. But she seems to be awake. Just not really... there.

Slowly, the boy crouches in front of her. "Joan? Can you hear me?"

Nothing.

Traitor, limp, Griever, Thomas, the girl, not a test, sun flares—

She shrinks even more. Gone. She needs them gone. Nothing's left of her idea to get stung. She wanted to remember, but she didn't want this to be the aftermath. It's driving her crazy. Literally.

"Joan?" He lies a careful hand on her knee. It doesn't change anything, so he moves even closer to move her head up. Once it's revealed, it confirms she's awake.

Her eyes are open, but dazed off. Silent tears run down her cheeks and she barely blinks as her body shakes. Comparable to being zoned out.

"Any other patients acted like this?" Newt wonders.

Clint shakes his head. "No. But maybe her own serums work. They're stacked over there."

Newt starts inspecting the bottles. "See how they all get driven crazy? Gally has hallucinations, George never trusted anyone again, Gary was Banished because he destroyed everything, and it seems like her mind is just repeating everything over again. Hear that?"

Clint move closer to listen. It's quiet, almost inaudible, but definitely comes from Joan. "Traitor, limp, Griever, Thomas, the girl, not a test, sun flares—"

"This." Newt chooses a little tube that's filled with a brown liquid. A strong smell that's awful. And he holds it under her nose.

It's only needed for a second, then she already shoots up, alarmed. Nearly slams the tube out of Newt's hand before she looks around, panicked.

"It's alright," he reassures, handing Clint the tube. "You're safe now. Don't listen to everything going on in your head."

A shiver runs down her spine. Another tear slips at the realization of this reality— that she might have to live with these words forever. "Going on in my head is the fact I got tied up in the dark."

"The door was locked and couldn't be unlocked by unwanted boys. You've been safe," Newt says carefully. "Come on. Sit down."

She does as he says, swallowing and trying to calm herself by fidgeting with her fingers. Another sharp inhale. A choked cry. "I, eh. I don't feel... awesome."

"Yeah. That's understandable," Clint comments, letting out an awkward laugh.

"No, but like—" She swallows. "I feel sick and... and crazy. And shaky— is this even real?"

"It is," Newt says. "Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

She shakes her head. Her head aches as she does so. Her stomach hurts. Her bones burn. Her wrist might be the most painful thing, though her skull's killing her. "Pass me the lavender oil."

Clint obeys. The girl puts a few of the oil on her hands, rubs them together, ignoring the pain in her body, and then runs her fingers over her neck. Up and down and up and down, calming herself.

"Doesn't it hurt? Your wrist? Anything?"

"Nope," she lies.

Shit, it hurts so fucking badly.

It feels like she's only damaging her wrist more. But alright. She survived a month in a desert, on her own. This is an easy task, right?

Besides, they might not remember, but she betrayed everyone. When they found out she wasn't immediately going with them to here, and they had to wait another year... and then those issues with Gally.

Too much. She doesn't want to think about it. Not yet.

"Do you want tea?"

She shakes her head.

It kinda hurts.

"Anything?"

She shakes her head.

Okay it really hurts.

"No. Thanks."

"Really—"

"Just leave me for a sec," she suggests. "Wait. No. I'm leaving myself. Going for a swim. Or a shower."

"I'm not sure if that is a good—"

"I'm fine."

❀

A/n: lol would anyone mind if it's more like enemies to friends to lovers cuz I do want them to have a decent relationship before the lover part