InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Echelon"

Judith Grimes (_lilasskicker) wrote,
@ 2012-07-06 05:43:00

Judith and Stiles had spend the better part of the previous day trying to prepare one another for whatever they could think of that would make them both more efficient in getting the other out of a potentially sticky situation. Neither of them knew what this experiment that had been announced was going to consist of, so Stiles had focused on teaching Judith to swim and helping her develop some quick problem-solving skills while Judith had focused on giving Stiles a crash course on archery and how to think on his feet if it came down to making a weapon out of something he found on the fly.

When she woke up sitting beside him, Judith's heart sank. While all of their hard work hadn't been an entire waste, because both of them could retain those skills for something else entirely, she didn't see how any of that was going to help them now. Tugging on her restraints, Judith grew increasingly violent in trying to free herself. She wasn't going to let someone force her into being a sitting duck if she could help it. Given what Carl had said, she doubted her success rate, but she still had to try.

By the time Judith was too tired to keep struggling and she'd slumped a little in the chair in defeat, an ugly voice she could tell was intentionally being masked started to speak, explaining to the two of them that they were going to be asked a series of questions about one another. Looking over at Stiles, she took a deep breath. "Just do the best you can. I ain't gonna be mad at you none if you get things wrong," she said, because based on the wires attached to them both, she had a feeling that wrong answers were going to be bad news and she also got the feeling that Stiles was the type of person who needed to hear that reassurance.

"Stiles," the disembodied voice addressed him and Judith looked nervously around in an attempt to locate the source of it. "What is Judith's father's name?"

Judith looked back at Stiles and wondered if Carl had ever mentioned it. She didn't get the feeling that he and Carl were very good friends at all, but Carl seemed to know most of the people in the dome. Whoever was his partner was in trouble, she thought, but he would be just fine. Carl liked to know about people; it was easier to find out how they worked and whether they were worth keeping around. Rick. Rick. It's Rick, she thought, willing Stiles to have the answer, because something told her that cheating would be a poor choice and she didn't want to find out the hard way for sure.

To say that wasn’t happy to wake up tied to a chair shirtless was an understatement. He wouldn’t have been any more pleased if he wasn’t half-naked of course, but he wasn’t happy in general. He, too, jerked hard against his restraints, heart already beating hard in his chest. He was back to back with Judith even though he couldn’t actually see her very well. He struggled for several minutes, beads of sweat popping up on his forehead. His thoughts were already along the lines of how very screwed they were, because Cora had been right.

This test was going to be like the one with the bomb that had turned out to be fake. The wires running to them went to a place he couldn’t see because the room was dimly lit. But he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what they were for.

And he was trying very hard not to freak out as he thought about how Scott and Cora and Lydia and Allison were also going through this, and how werewolves didn’t fair well when it came to electricity and god he hated this place so much. He dug his nails into the palms of his hand, remembering his promise to Carl, that he wouldn’t hurt Judith -- intentionally or otherwise. But given the situation they were in, he knew it wasn’t going to be a promise he was able to keep. They’d spent so much time on training for other possibilities that he hadn’t taken this one into account as much as he should have and dammit he knew better.

Part of the problem was that he’d begun pulling away from people who weren’t from Beacon Hills. Hell, he’d pulled away from a lot of them, for that matter. He’d stopped reaching out to everyone else because he still blamed himself for the whole mess with Tate on some level. And now he was realizing what a mistake that was.

“You too,” he told Judith, slumping back into the chair, as well. They barely knew one another. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well for either of them.

He held his breath at the first question, but he didn’t bother looking around for the source of the distorted voice. He wondered how long he had to answer. He tried to think back to every conversation he’d had with Carl since he’d gotten to Vas, but they’d been few and far between. Especially when the knowledge about werewolves had come out. But he was pretty sure Carl had never mentioned their father’s name. Shit.

Think, Stilinski, he ordered himself, heart beating hard. He was named after his mother’s father. Maybe Carl had been named after his own father. It was the best guess he had. “Carl, Senior,” he answered hopefully.

Judith tried not to let herself feel nervous when Stiles got his first question. They'd trained one another in every conceivable other thing, but she hadn't gotten to know him at all. Part of that was out of loyalty to Carl and the other part of it was because Judith wasn't very big on sharing. The more another person knew about her, the more vulnerable to them she was and Judith didn't like being vulnerable. She supposed it would be her luck that right now, the opposite was true.

There was no announcement to tell Stiles that he was wrong, but Judith found out quickly what happened when the wrong answer was given and she was given a jolt of electricity that surprised her more than it hurt. Judith hissed a little against it and physically startled, but she thought if she could endure that, and that was all this was, she'd be all right; they both would be. It was just a mean way to force people to get to know one another. Just in case part of the game was to actually get to know the other person, Judith proactively offered up the answer she believed to be correct. "It's Rick," she replied gently. She opened her mouth to tell Stiles that it was okay, because that hadn't been so bad, but the voice interrupted her, addressing her this time.

"Judith, how old was Stiles when his mother died?"

The stark intimacy of the question caught Judith off-guard and she gasped in spite of herself. Once the initial shock of it wore off, Judith felt sick to her stomach. Was that why she and Stiles had been paired together? They had things like that in common? Judith lost track of the time between the question and what happened next because it made her heart hurt for Stiles the way her own sometimes ached when she wondered what it was like to have a real mother; one who loved her and to whom she truly belonged.

She hadn't meant to start to cry, but it happened all the same and that was when she was hit with the shock again. Judith cursed under her breath. "I'm sorry, Stiles," she said softly in a watery voice, but whether the apology was a sentiment toward his loss or whether it was because she assumed that no answer at all was also considered a wrong one and she guessed Stiles had been shocked for her mistake, Judith wasn't entirely sure.

He couldn’t see what had happened, but when nothing happened to him and he felt the chairs jerk just slightly, he was pretty sure he knew what had happened and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the nausea that suddenly threatened to take over. They were going to be asked questions and shocked when they were wrong. Yep, they were all so very out of luck with this.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, feeling ill and wondering why the hell they hadn’t just shocked him instead of her. That would have made more sense. He jerked against his restraints, gritting his teeth.

He heard her say Rick and he filed it away for later just in case this ever happened again. He doubted they’d ever do this same experiment again and if they did, surely they wouldn’t use the same questions they were using now. But then again maybe they would and Stiles wasn’t a fan of having to be taught the same lesson twice for no reason. Rick, his mind repeated.

Then he heard the question about his mother and tensed for a whole new reason. Fuck you, he thought, for dragging her into this place in any way.

He didn’t even hear Judith’s response and he jerked slightly when he felt the shock. At least it wasn’t too bad. He exhaled slowly, swallowing hard.

“Stiles, how old was Judith when her mother died?”

Jesus how was this okay? he thought, digging his fingernails harder into the palms of his hands. Was this why they’d put the two of them together? Because they’d both lost their moms? He hated this place. Again, he tried to think about what he knew about Carl, but the information was so little that he didn’t have any idea. “Four?” he guessed, wincing at the silence and then the high pitched whine of electricity.

When the very same question was shot back at Stiles, Judith’s face scrunched in an attempt to keep herself together. Why did they have to bring that up? Why did they have to remind her that she’d killed her mother? Judith closed her eyes and swallowed thickly against the lump in her throat as Stiles gave his attempt at an answer. Judith heard it before she felt it, but the second jolt was more painful than the first. In fact, it caught her so off guard that she let out a yelp and a huff of surprise.

“Christ…” she breathed. Judith’s fingers twitched and she felt one of her calves doing the same. She had meant to give Stiles the answer again just in case, but her focus was broken by the residual waves of tingling she felt in her limbs and the headache that was creeping in. She wouldn’t let Stiles know it still hurt even after the current had stopped. Judith didn’t want him to feel badly, because how could he have known?

“Judith, what behavioral disorder does Stiles suffer from?” the voice asked.

For a moment, Judith just gaped at the air in front of her. How the hell should she know?

I'm sarcastic and I babble a lot. Especially if I'm nervous or if I've taken too much of my medication.

What kinda medication you take and what for?

I take Adderall for my attention deficit disorder.

Judith felt a surge of relief. She knew that answer! “ADD!” she yelped out. “Stiles has attention deficit disorder!” It wasn’t that she was excited that he had it, but someone on the outside looking in might’ve thought so, given her tone. Judith was just glad she wouldn’t have to put Stiles through the shock she’d just endured, because it had been a lot worse than the first one. She waited, then, for some kind of confirmation, but the voice didn’t give her one. She supposed the fact that she didn’t hear the same sound of the electricity flaring itself up to be administered was a good sign. “...was that right?” she finally asked Stiles, needing to know one way or the other.

He felt her jerk against the chair and he cursed. “If I get it wrong, shock me then, you fucking assholes,” he ground out, jerking in his own chair. He felt tears prickle at his eyelids, but they weren’t from pain. They were from anger. Anger that this was happening, anger at himself for not knowing the answers, for not being able to figure things out this time. Anger because this was all so fucking pointless.

He rocked his body against the chair in an attempt to knock it over, but it barely budged. Son of a bitch.

When he heard Judith’s next question, he exhaled in relief as she answered it with barely any hesitation, correctly. “That was right,” he confirmed, trying to turn his head to look at her. “I’m sorry I’m getting all of these wrong.” A tear trickled down his face. He should have known that somehow it didn’t matter what kind of preparation it took, that it wouldn’t end up being what they needed anyway. He should have focused more on actually getting to know her.

“Stiles, your next question...How many years apart were Judith and her brother, Carl, born?”

Stiles thought quickly. He knew that Judith was supposed to be Carl’s younger sister. She was maybe 18 or 19 right now. Carl was at least 13 or 14. But it didn’t tell him how many years there were between the two of them. He forced himself to take a deep breath, suddenly wishing he had the ability to read minds. That would be nice. “Ten years?” he tried.

Judith let out a sigh of relief when Stiles confirmed that she’d gotten her answer right. Good, because that one had been a bitch. “You’re doin’ the best you can, Stiles, I ain’t mad at ya,” she reassured him. And she wasn’t, really. She was mad, that was for sure, but she wasn’t directing it at Stiles. It wasn’t his fault that she was guarded and that their camps had a very clear divide that she’d been violating by training with him and having taken on the invitation for lacrosse — which, by the way, it turned out she had actually been pretty good at with a little instruction.

She could hear Stiles was upset by the tone of his voice. It made her feel badly to know that he was beating himself up over something he couldn’t control. It reminded her, if she was honest, very much of Carl. The Carl she knew back home.

The next question aimed at Stiles made Judith relax a little. Everybody knew how old Carl was, by now, right? They had to. And she knew that Carl had been correcting himself from introducing her as his baby sister to a few people in the dome. If Stiles got this one wrong, it was either because he hadn’t been paying attention or because he’d only missed it by a year or two. She could handle it if he was close and wrong, but if he was way off, then maybe she ought to be frustrated.

The relaxation and relief melted away from her as quickly as they’d cropped up when Stiles’ voice broke the short silence between them. He was three years off, but that was close. Sort of. Judith braced herself for another shock and waited impatiently for it to be administered. When it came, her teeth clenched together when her jaw locked of its own accord and she jerked back against the chair. The skin beneath the electrodes was starting to burn and it took Judith’s body an extra minute to adjust to the lack of current when it went; her limbs were stiff, still, as though they were still experiencing it.

Judith choked back a wave of nausea and slammed her head against the back of the chair to distract herself from it. Throwing up right now would only make the situation even more bleak, because Stiles would hear it...and probably notice even if he didn’t. He’d feel worse, he’d lose focus, and even if he got a question he knew, he’d probably miss it. The last thing Judith wanted was for him to miss more questions. The shocks were increasing in intensity and Judith closed her hands into fists, breaking the skin of her palms with her fingernails when spasms jolted through her leg and neck muscles. Don’t let him hear. Don’t let nobody hear it or see it. Your sufferin’ makes you vulnerable; always keep it to yourself, Little Asskicker, she heard Daryl’s voice in her head, remembering the time she’d been caught by the shrapnel fleeing a building they’d been scavenging when an opposing camp decided that if they couldn’t have the goods inside, nobody could.

Daryl had told her that on their way back to the farm, because he knew just as well as she did that Rick would’ve shit a brick and Carl would’ve insisted she be taken out of watch rotations. Daryl had seemed to understand that the watch rotations were one of the only things that kept Judith sane some days on that damn farm. His words were meant for Carl because she’d been whimpering as she limped closer to the property line and he’d stopped her because Carl had been on the roof of the RV on watch with Glenn when they’d gotten there. Straighten up. It ain’t gonna kill ya, just walk normal.

Without thinking about it, Judith sat up straighter and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Don’t let Stiles hear her pain. Make sure he didn’t know she was vulnerable. Keep him focused on the task at hand and not on the thing he couldn’t change.

“Thirteen,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to keep her voice neutral. “You was close, though,” she added as she knit her brow and willed the sound of her voice to stay even.

“Judith, who, in the dome, does Stiles have romantic feelings for?”

For another short moment, Judith stayed quiet. She thought back on the lacrosse game and tried to remember the way he interacted with the girls and boys there. Her top two choices by reflex negated themselves because she had gotten the impression that Scott and Rikki were like an early version of Glenn and Maggie. So it wasn’t either of them, she didn’t think. ...but then again, the question hadn’t specified someone who was in a relationship with Stiles, just someone for whom he had feelings.

There was the redhead and the two brunettes with the curly hair, then there had been the one with the straight hair. The latter had seemed a little more grouchy and withdrawn than Judith thought Stiles would be interested in, so that option was out. It occurred to her, as she decided on the curly-haired brunette with the accent, that she didn’t know the girl’s name. Judith’s expression dropped and her face paled. On a lark, even though she was pretty sure it was wrong, she blurted out Rikki’s name because she remembered it. “I don’t know, I’m sorry, Stiles if I’m wrong,” she tacked on quickly, wincing ahead of time.

Carl had been introducing Judith as his baby sister, but hadn’t assumed that had been literal. He barely knew Carl, barely knew anything about the world Carl was from, and now he was starting to seriously wish that he knew a hell of a lot more about it than he did. The guilt was immense as he heard her being shocked again. He did not want another person’s death on his head. Didn’t want more blood on his hands.

All thoughts about it left his mind when she answered Rikki to the question about who he had feelings for. There was no way she could know that. No possible way. They knew that of course. The deck was stacked against them. For the most part, they were asking questions that so few people would know the answers to that it was obvious to him that the experiment’s goal was to cause physical and emotional damage. He was pretty sure it was going to work.

The shock that went through hurt more than the last time and his nails dug so hard into his palms that he drew blood. But he didn’t scream. He didn’t cry out. It left him panting for breath, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction they were so obviously looking for. Not if he could help it.

Stiles slumped back in the chair, already exhausted and he’d only been shocked twice and her three times. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault, Judith,” he said raggedly. “They’re picking impossible questions for a reason.”

“Stiles, your next question...Who taught Judith how to use a crossbow?”

How the fuck would he begin to know that? He’d never seen or heard Carl talking about using a crossbow, so he doubted it was Carl. Michonne had a sword. Something pricked at the back of his mind. It had been such a long time ago, but there had been someone there from Carl’s world before, back in Vas. Daryl. And Daryl had used a crossbow as a weapon choice.

“Daryl,” he said, sounding a lot more confident than he felt. “Daryl Dixon.”

Judith didn't doubt that Stiles was wrong; the questions weren't difficult ones, but that was assuming one knew the person about whom they were being asked and Judith didn't know Stiles any better than the fact that apparently his father was on a special diet, he was sick of pizza — whatever that was; she still hadn't tried it — and he played lacrosse. She knew that he'd been stabbed and Carl was pretty sure Joey's late boyfriend had done it, but she hoped they wouldn't ask her any questions about that, because she hadn't been there and she wasn't sure whether Stiles would be offended by the fact that she knew about it anyway.

The next question fired at Stiles made Judith roll her eyes as her stomach churned nervously. There was no way that, if he didn't even know how much older Carl was than she, Stiles would have a goddamn clue who'd taught her to use her crossbow. That was a stupid, unfair question and Stiles' silence confirmed it for her. Judith sighed softly and took a deep breath, bracing herself for another wrong answer and another nasty shock.

But then Stiles spoke and Judith turned her head trying to look around at him, her expression caught between surprised and impressed. "How'd you know that?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Sometimes knowing the basic things about people was more difficult in a place like this than the big things. The big things tended to come out in really upsetting ways. Ways that rocked everyone else in the entire place. Like the news about werewolves existing in Vas when that had happened. Like him being attacked and almost killed by Tate.

He relaxed when nothing happened, closing his eyes, and breathing slowly, sweat pouring down his neck and chest. “Daryl was in the last place for a little while. He used a crossbow. I knew he was from the same place as Carl. I was just hoping I’d be right.” His voice was quiet and he deliberately tried not to imagine how the rest of the people caught up in this disaster of an experiment were fairing. Tried not to imagine Scott and Cora and Lydia and Allison and Judith’s brother Carl. He couldn’t lose focus.

Silently he began going over every single thing he knew about Carl, about Carl’s world, trying to remember every conversation he’d ever had with him, with Beth. With Daryl. He didn’t know how long they were going to keep up the questions, but he could do this. Whatever they threw at him next, whatever the question was, he’d figure it out. It was what he was good at. It was his main skill. His talent. He could do this. He heard the next question and he closed his eyes because he knew Judith wasn’t going to know the answer to what kind of toppings he liked on his pizza. She didn’t even know what pizza was. She’d never had it before.

Just focus, he ordered himself.

Somehow, Judith had forgotten that Carl had said Daryl was in the previous dome briefly. Beth, she remembered, because Beth was the reason Carl was so loyal to Derek. Beth was the reason Carl had insisted Judith keep her mouth shut about Derek, especially in front of Allison's father. Judith didn't know Derek all that well, having only met him the one time when she'd first arrived, but whoever he was, he'd meant a hell of a lot to Carl and the hinge had been Beth. In retrospect, she wondered how long Daryl had actually been in there with them all and how he'd fared. She also wondered why he, Carl, Beth, and Michonne hadn't ever brought the dome up to her back home growing up, but now wasn't really the time to ponder those sorts of things.

The disembodied voice asked Judith what kind of toppings Stiles ate on his pizza and Judith made a face in spite of herself. She didn't even know what kind of toppings went on a pizza.

"Stiles, I'm sorry..." she prefaced. She couldn't even venture a guess, because Judith hadn't ever seen a pizza and didn't know what one was. She knew that Stiles was tired of it and that Scott thought it was blasphemy that she hadn't ever tried it, but that was all she'd gotten out of that conversation. "I don't know..." she said apologetically, because really...Judith had no idea what she ought to even be choosing from.

Stiles wanted to assure her that it was okay. He knew. He’d known she wouldn’t get the question right and she wasn’t to blame for that. He also knew they were increasing the voltage with each incorrect answer and that just didn’t bode well for either of them. It didn’t bode well for anyone stuck with this experiment.

But he also wished that he’d never done a paper on electrical currents and how it impacted the human body because he knew all the different possible outcomes up through and including death and none of them were pleasant. Before he could start thinking too much about that, white hot pain licked through his body and a pained cry escaped him involuntarily as his body seized up, muscles jumping in response.

Now the tears were from anger and pain. He laid his head back against the chair, panting for breath when the pain stopped just as suddenly as it began. His head felt like it was going to explode.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “It’s okay. Not your fault.” He squeezed his eyes shut again. He exhaled, feeling like he was going to throw up.

“Stiles,” the voice said a few moments later, even as his consciousness felt like it was beginning to waver. Don’t pass out. Do not pass out. You’ve had worse than this. You were dead for seventeen hours. This isn’t that bad. “Where was Judith born?”

A tear slid down his cheek as he tried to focus on the question. Where had Beth said she was from? Alabama? Georgia? Mississippi? He knew it was one of the southern states but that conversation felt like such a long time ago. He swallowed painfully, hoping it would be enough. “Georgia. She was born in Georgia,” he whispered.

The whine of electricity amping itself up made Judith shudder and she winced, trying to keep her expression neutral in case someone was watching. Someone had to be watching, didn't they? Otherwise, what was the point of torturing she and Stiles like this? Judith wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that she was just as pained by Stiles' suffering as she was by her own in the wake of an incorrect answer from her partner.

Judith felt the physical reaction Stiles had to his shock and she staunchly ignored the tears of anger and empathy that she could feel rolling down her dirty cheeks. She sniffed and nodded even though Stiles couldn't see it when he tried again to reassure her that it was all right.

"It ain't all right," she replied in a wavering, watery voice that didn't even feel like her own. "It ain't all right. I'm the one who got it wrong, I should be the one who gets the shock. It ain't all right, Stiles, it's horseshit and I'm sorry," she added, the resolve in her voice rivaling the tearful trill in it.

Stiles hadn't even had time to reply to her, if he'd even processed what she'd said, before they were asking him another question that Judith doubted he would know how to answer. For one fleeting moment, the answer that Stiles had given gave Judith a wave of relief. She had been born in Georgia. Hell, she still lived there.

But the sound of the electricity whining as it amped itself again told Judith that, evidently, his correct answer was still considered wrong and Judith had to assume that it was because it wasn't specific enough. Judith took in another deep breath to ready herself, although, how could one really prepare themselves for the unexpected pain and burning of electricity flowing through their body?

She tried. She really tried to take it in suffering silence, but when the voltage shot through her, Judith's head felt fit to explode, and she screamed. The sound of it echoed slightly against the walls, the sound bouncing back at her as if to mock her for her inability to remain neutral in the face of this form of torture. Her entire body went stiff and shook violently before slamming back against the chair and Judith's slackened jaw snapped shut from the impact, her teeth sinking into and then through the side of her tongue. The metallic tang of blood burst into her mouth and the second that Judith stopped twitching, she spat it out, gagging.

"Judith, what kind of car does Stiles drive?"

Judith didn't know how much time had passed between the end of the electric current surging through her body and the time that her next question rolled out, but she was trying to focus; trying to hear the question. Car. Car. Judith's body seized against the chair and her head lolled over to her right shoulder. She could feel the blood — or drool — dribbling down the side of her face and the sensation of the chair beneath her melted away. Car. Car. Rick had a truck. Daryl had a bike. Carl said he had the RV but it hadn't ever had any gas in it and they only ever stood on it for watch. Who had a car? Those were the last thoughts Judith had before the smell of strawberries overwhelmed her out of nowhere and she blacked out. The jolt of another rough shock pulled Judith back into consciousness and even though everything felt far away and her ears were ringing, she still managed to process the fact that she'd missed her window of opportunity to answer the question.

Not fair. Not fair. Not f—

Judith was choking on her own spit and blood and she could hear the sound of movement around her, even though she couldn't actually tell what was happening. Not fair. Not fair. Who has a car?

It was horseshit, he thought tiredly. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. This whole thing is nothing but horseshit. But it’s their horseshit, not yours,” he managed after his body stopped shuddering. Except it didn’t exactly stop, the shuddering just decreased in its violence.

He wasn’t surprised when they didn’t accept Georgia as an answer, but that was the only guess he had. Sure, he could have said a hospital in Georgia but they’d probably have required the name of said hospital and he definitely didn’t know that. How the hell was he supposed to know that? How was anyone who didn’t know her extremely well supposed to know that? His own body shuddered when he felt the chair rock with the violence of Judith’s electrocution and a quiet sob escaped him.

This was by far the worst experiment he’d been forced to participate in. God, why couldn’t they just hit him with the shock instead of her? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She’d just barely gotten there.

He cringed when he heard the next question. Stiles willed her to say jeep but instead there was silence and he knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant. They were increasing the voltage each time. It was getting worse. He didn’t know how many more electric shocks either of their hearts could actually handle. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, screaming as his head banged backwards onto the back of the chair, tears leaking out of his eyes. His vision swam with murkiness and his head lulled to one side as the threw up the very little he’d eaten that day. His head was pounding but he felt the restraints slip off, and at that point it was the only thinking holding him in the chair.

His body slid down it bonelessly and onto the concrete floor below. Everything hurt, and he was freezing. Kind of ironic considering how many time he’d just had actual electricity shooting through his veins. He shut his eyes for a long moment, trying to find the energy to lift his head. “Judith,” he mumbled. “Judith, are you okay?”

The stench of vomit overwhelmed the scent of strawberries that had inexplicably made its way into Judith’s nose and that violent change in her sense yanked her back into alert consciousness, even if she couldn’t seem to make herself move. When she took a breath to try to speak, all she could manage to do was gag against the blood running down her throat and she spat again, slumping against the chair.

Judith had been too lost in her wavering consciousness — and what else, she didn’t know, except that her body felt like she’d been hit by a bus — to register Stiles’ suffering even though some part of her processed the fact that his chair had been moving behind hers and she was pretty sure they were both worse for the wear.

Carl’s gonna kill you, she thought miserably, because it wasn’t Stiles’ fault; it wasn’t hers, either. It just was. Carl hadn’t been kidding when he’d said what a nightmare this place was and the length of time she’d spent in it, revelling in the running water — a cold shower daily was infinitely better than a warm one once a week if she was lucky, never mind that the water here was fresh and the water on the farm was hard water from the well that stank of metal and left a nasty film on her skin that made showering feel like a waste of time — and the lack of walkers had thrown off Judith’s hypervigilance. She hadn’t been prepared for this mentally like she ought to have been. Now she was paying for it.

She heard a thud on the ground behind her and if she’d had any strength left in her, she might’ve tried her own hand at getting out of the chair, but as it was, she could barely move. Judith could barely even think straight and when Stiles asked after her, it sounded so far away that she almost thought she’d imagined it. Judith opened her mouth to respond, probably with a lie about how she was just fine, but all that came out was a weak, choked grunt of pain.

The grunt of pain was enough to tell him that no, Judith wasn’t okay. She couldn’t even speak. She also wasn’t on the floor and that was confusing. Why hadn’t she hit the floor, too? Physically she was probably stronger than he was, he thought distantly. He blacked out for a few seconds and when he woke up again, he forced himself up onto the palms of his bloody hands, body shaking from the small effort.

Carl was going to kill him. He’d promised not to let anything happen to Judith and that promise had been blown to smithereens. He gritted his teeth as he managed to crawl closer to where she was still sitting slumped. Her restraints were still on. Why the hell had they released him but not her? Nothing made sense anymore. His face was pale and sweaty and he still felt nausea rolling around in his stomach. His dad was going to freak out. He had to pull it together so that didn’t happen.

But first he had to get Judith free. Had to get her back to her brother. He reached up, hands shaking as he pulled at the clasp on the restraint on her left wrist. He was relieved when it popped open. And then he had to take a break. He laid down flat on the floor at her feet, trying to focus on breathing before he reached out and tried to grasp onto the restraint on her left ankle. “Talk to me,” he whispered painfully. If he could get her talking he’d feel a lot better about her state of health. As it was he barely had the strength to lift his head to look at her. “Can you hear me?”

Judith was aware of what was going on around her, but only vaguely so. Everything was fuzzy and she felt sick; every sound, every smell amplified because her head was fit to burst and it was easier to focus on those senses than to process the fact that she might not actually make it out of this first experiment and what a load of bullshit that would be. Eighteen years fighting off walkers, living off the land, and malnourished for it...and if this was the end of it, all of that was for nothing. ...and Stiles would take the blame. None of it was fair.

Her body twitched and her neck was stiff in spite of the resting position she’d taken that probably looked as though she was a lot more relaxed physically than she felt. She registered Stiles’ form crawling on the floor and some tiny part of her almost bubbled up with inappropriate laughter at the image because it was so fucking ridiculous and was this what her brother had been enduring all this time? Shit like this?

Stiles was asking Judith to talk to him and she couldn’t; she wanted to. She wanted to say that she was fine so that he wouldn’t look so terrified, but she couldn’t make the words come out and her tongue was swollen so thick from having taken a chunk out of it with her own teeth that she didn’t think he’d understand anything she could’ve said, anyway. When he asked if she could hear him, though, Judith nudged at him with her free foot. She couldn’t move her neck to nod and the words wouldn’t come, but she wanted Stiles to know that yes, she could hear him.

Judith could feel herself sliding down in the chair and once the one on her foot was out of the way, her body shifted, uneven in the chair because gravity wanted her on the floor, but the straps on the right side of her body wouldn’t let it happen. Even if Stiles could get her out of here right now — and Judith didn’t think he realistically could, given his own state — they couldn’t go back, not like this. Not when she could see the burn marks on his skin where the electrodes had been and he’d had to lay back down to rest after freeing only one of her hands. Not when she couldn’t even speak and there was blood all over her face; she could feel it and she belatedly moved her free hand, tremors rocking it as she did, to attempt to wipe it away. If Carl found them first, Stiles would be in big trouble. ...and if people from Stiles’ camp found them first, she probably would be. Neither of them were fit to take the lashings, verbal or otherwise, that the other’s friends and family could dole out.

“Stiles,” she managed and it sounded thick with saliva, slurred with the swollen tongue. “Rest.” It wasn’t like they had a choice about whether they could go to one camp or another just yet, anyway; he might as well. If she stayed half-strapped in, she wouldn’t fall on him. The could both take a minute to breathe and try to recover.

He didn’t have much of a choice because his vision was still swimming. But he’d heard her voice and that was a good sign. Talking meant alive. And conscious. That was more than he’d thought just seconds before she’d nudged him lightly with her foot. He lay still for several long moments, except the occasional tremor that shook him. When he was finally able to lift his head again, he reached up and unsnapped the restraint on her other ankle, only then noticing the blood on his hands. He wasn’t even sure if it was his or hers.

He struggled until he was sitting up, trying not to look at the puddle of his own vomit not far from him even if the smell made his stomach queasy again. He tried to smile at her, but couldn’t quite manage it as he reached for the restraint locking her right arm into place. It took him a moment to get a good enough grip on it that the clasp undid itself.

One more, he thought tiredly, even though it looked like there were two restraints around her waist. Except sometimes there were three. He looked up at her, eyes glazed as he reached out again, gritting his teeth together to keep them from chattering against his will. His fingers hurt from pulling on the restraints, from just moving. But he managed to get the damn thing undone, relief and exhaustion washing over him simultaneously.

Judith was patient while she waited, because she had nowhere else to be, just then, and even if she had, she didn’t think she could’ve made it there, anyway. Her breathing was labored and she kept spitting blood, waiting to make sure Stiles wasn’t in the line of fire before doing it and keeping the grimace of distaste in place on her face until he was out of the way.

Once he’d gotten all of them unclasped, Judith’s body dropped just like his, sliding down and out of the chair, landing heavily on top of him and she grunted, putting every ounce of strength she had left in her just to roll off of him before collapsing onto the floor beside him, body twitching and bucking against the remnants of the electricity that had been forced through her by some unknown masochistic entity.

“Thanks,” she managed to grit out and, even though it took three tries to manage it, Judith reached for him and she found his hand, giving it a squeeze that was tighter than she meant for it to be when another tremor rocked through her body from her feet all the way up to the base of her head.

Stiles hit the ground hard when she slid from her chair and he winced. Normally it probably wouldn’t have even fazed him, but right then every single part of his body hurt. He didn’t make a sound, though. He turned his head to look at her miserably and it was hard to determine which one of them was in worse shape. He wasn’t even sure it mattered. Dying hadn’t hurt this much before even if it hadn’t been pleasant. The one comparable amount of pain that came to mind wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

Not now. Not ever again, if he could pull it off. He let his eyes drift close at her thanks and he exhaled slowly. “Welcome,” he mumbled. He felt the slight pressure on his hand and realized she was grasping it in her own. He gave her a light squeeze in return, grimacing when he felt her jerk suddenly. He forced his eyes open, fear shooting through him when he realized she was having a seizure. Memories of Erica flashed through his mind and he moved closer, carefully rolling her onto her side the way he’d seen Scott do with Erica in the gym once. He kept hold of her hand as he lay behind her, not suppressing her movements, but staying close in case the shaking got worse.

He wished desperately for Melissa McCall to just miraculously show up because she was a nurse and she’d know what to do. But Melissa didn’t show up. No one showed up. He forced himself up onto his free hand until he was sitting all the way up, and then he reached down and tucked some hair behind her ear, moving it all out of her face as tears stung his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered, even though it wasn’t.

None of this was okay. It was so far from okay it was ridiculous. He looked around, finally noticing the open door in the far corner of the room. He couldn’t remember if he’d even noticed a door there before or not, or if it was there and had been closed.

One second, Judith had been lying beside Stiles thanking him for getting her out of the chair and the next, he was holding her hand and he was behind her, moving her hair off her face. Judith didn’t remember rolling onto her side or Stiles moving back there; all she knew was that she felt like she was going to throw up and she refused to do it with Stiles that close to her. So, she swallowed back against her gag reflex and squeezed her eyes shut, her slackened grip on his hand tightening again, her fingers clawing stiffly at the knuckles.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that. Judith didn’t know how long Stiles sat behind her before either of them moved. What Judith knew was that, she was stiff and she wished she could take a long, hot shower to loosen her twitching muscles and calm them. She also wished she could take a cold one to ease the burns on her chest and temples.

“Can you move?” she asked after a long, long pause. Her voice pierced the silence and sounded foreign even to her own ears. “I think I might maybe can move now,” she slurred dumbly against her swollen tongue, stumbling over her words to make an awkward unintelligent sentence because her head still ached and her extremities were throbbing dully, so focusing on what she was saying was sort of last priority.

“We should go, now. But not...I can’t go back to the…” her voice trailed off and she realized that she’d forgotten what she was about to say. She’d forgotten the name of the boy who was sitting behind her and being so careful with her. Judith blinked back tears of worry and tried to pull her focus. It took a moment, but she burst out with the information when it came back to her. “—cabin, Stiles, because Carl can’t see me like this, not now or he’s really gonna kill you and it ain’t your fault. It really ain’t and I know that, but Carl, he gets real mad about stuff, especially when it comes to me, cuz he worries so damn much,” she babbled, a shudder running through her body, causing her to squeeze Stiles’ hand again before she finally used her other hand to pry her fingers open and let go of him.

He hadn’t really contemplated the idea that Carl might actually kill him for real. But it was probably a distinct possibility. “I don’t know where we are,” he admitted tiredly, letting his eyes shut again. He wasn’t sure how either of them could logically make it that far, if they were far from any kind of shelter. But it was hard telling what might happen if they just tried staying there much longer. Their kidnappers were obviously close by and who knew what they would do to them if they lingered. They needed to move. She was right.

Stiles slowly pulled his hand away when she managed to let go and he pressed his hands into the floor. “Yeah. I think I can move.” They had to try, even if they didn’t get far. Maybe they’d get lucky and Derek or Elle would come across them.

Or my dad, he thought, wanting that and not wanting it at the same time. He’d told his dad he’d be fine. That he shouldn’t worry. He wasn’t fine. Neither of them was fine. He shut his eyes as he shoved himself to his feet, his body protesting the movement. He looked down at Judith, seeing two of her for a moment before his vision returned to normal even if it was a bit blurry still.

“Don’t matter,” Judith replied lazily, taking a labored breath and letting it out slowly. “We’ll find our way. We just gotta get outta here. Just in case. I can’t take no more than we already done.” She worried that if they didn’t, it would only be a matter of time before their captors decided that they were volunteering themselves for another round and no, no the hell they weren’t.

She rolled onto her back and looked up, watching as Stiles rose shakily to his feet. Judith held a trembling hand up and out to him. “Hang onto the chair and I’mma hang onto you. I don’t think I can do it by myself; I’ll fall over,” she told him, swallowing back another wave of nausea that rolled over her as she looked up against her better judgement.

“Yeah, I agree,” he told her shakily, wishing he at least had a shirt he could put on. It was a weird thought to have at the time, considering what they’d just gone through. He wanted to go out there and look for the others. For Scott and Cora and Lydia and Allison and Carl and even Joey. No one should have to go through this. No one.

He reached out and hung onto the chair for support, grasping her hand in his and helping her up to her feet. “Just...hold onto me and don’t let go.” He swallowed hard. “We’ll get out of here.”

Judith's grip on Stiles' hand tightened when he took it and pulled her to her feet. The second she was up, the wave of nausea renewed itself and Judith let go of him in spite of herself and his advice, covering her mouth as she gagged back the urge to vomit. When they got outside, she was going to and she didn't care if Stiles saw. The feeling didn't fade, and Judith swallowed thickly, wrapping an arm around Stiles' middle, giving him a succinct nod that said she agreed.

She'd go with him, she'd hold on until she couldn't anymore, and they'd get out. ...but if she opened her mouth to say as much, Judith was pretty sure this evening's rabbit was going to end up on their shoes and Judith's dignity was already plenty dented enough as it was. She wasn't willing to give it up entirely.

The first step forward was Judith's, because she didn't dare try to talk but she wanted Stiles to know she was ready to go. She thought maybe once they were outside and she could be sick, then she would feel better. At least, she really hoped so.

He reminded himself that barely twenty-four hours after being brutally stabbed and drowned, he’d walked back to Derek’s cabin from the gym with Allison’s assistance. Of course Allison hadn’t also been injured and he could now kind of relate to the old saying the blind leading the blind. Except this was the injured leading the injured.

And he had a feeling it was going to be a long, long road back.