#kingstrode

It must be hell.

“Please,” said Laurie, trying to remember how to put feeling into words at all, and to do it now, “I want to help you. I don’t want to leave you to die. I was trying to help you before you woke up. But I can’t do anything for you if you keep trying to kill me. I don’t want to die either. I know, it. …can’t be easy. To trust me. But please. Try to calm down. If you hold still, and you let me make this safe for myself, I’ll help you. If not, you’re on your own. I want to help you, but I’m not going to risk getting choked to death by a strange man. It’s your choice. Take the help, or leave it.”

With the words, she moved the knife back a little, but kept her stance ready in case he attacked again.

He didn’t, though. He stayed still on the ground, just breathing and bleeding. Debating what must have been an agonizing choice in his head. Finally, slowly, he reached a hand down and felt the wound on his side she’d started to sew. Blindly, he found the barely-attached thread, and followed it down to the loose needle, and ran a finger along it, identifying the shape by touch. Finally, he turned his head back up towards her, then very, very, painstakingly slowly, he lowered back all the way flat against the ground, and raised his arms above his head.

To stunned to feel relief for a few seconds, Laurie watched him, and then blinked and shook herself, and moved off him. He stayed still for her as she moved behind him, but she could tell he was anxious and on edge, ready to snap. I’ll have to be quick.

Meticulous, Laurie took a thick chunk of metal pole about a foot long, just barely thin enough to go inside one of the clunky chain lengths hanging from the wrist shackles, lined up links on both chains, and then slid it through and pushed it a little into the ground to keep them there. Hearing the sound of metal on metal clinking, the man tried to turn his head and made an anxious sound that she didn’t think had been a word at all.

“It’s fine,” promised Laurie, taking a hammer from her toolbox as she spoke, “I’m not doing anything to hurt you.” Pole lined up, she brought the hammer down hard, knowing she’d probably only get one really good shot at this, and with the full force of her arm strength, hit the pole as hard as she could and drove it into the ground about a full third of its length.

Startling immediately at the sound, the man tried to rip his arms free, but like she’d been hoping, they caught on the pole, and like that, he was too weak to do it. She got another two swings while he let out a muffled shout and tried again, frantic, twisting in desperation to try and get on his knees, but she was around and back by him fast enough to push him down and keep him there while he fought her.

“I know, I know,” she tried as he struggled with her, unintelligible words catching on the thing in his mouth and coming out as a string of betrayed, angry, terrified sounds. “I told you—I just want to make sure you won’t hurt me! You’re not really trapped. –You could break that—I just needed something to protect me if you try to surprise me and bash my head in again. That’s all it is—I’ll get you free as soon as I’m done stitching you up. –It’s a little piece of metal, it’s not that strong, I swear—I just need something I can hear in case you try to kill me again. I don’t want to get killed by a stranger either.”

Breathing raggedly through the mask, the man stopped fighting and turned his head towards the sound of her voice and let out a pitiful, almost pleading sound.

“I promise,” said Laurie, “I’m just doing this because I don’t want to get hurt. All I’m going to do is sew up some cuts, and then you’re on your own.”

The stranger stayed still, not calm exactly, not defeated. Just…exhausted. He was so much worse than he’d been before. Paler, breaths coming in shaky and ragged, and body trembling a little with the effort. Laurie was not used to spending this much one-on-one time with another human being anymore, except silently from opposite sides of a generator. She wasn’t used to noticing this much. Or…feeling bad for the other person. She was always sympathetic, of course, in trials, when someone went up on a hook. Just. That collective horror was so routine it blended together. Every trial was just part of a larger whole of a mass of trauma for her and everyone else, like one endless ongoing event. She’d stopped really feeling much of anything but dead a long time ago.

And it had been a long time since she’d actually interacted this much with another human being in any way that wouldn’t just be erased one way or another at the end of a trial; that mattered, even a little.

That’s right. I need to fix this, or he’ll actually get worse.

“Okay,” said Laurie, who had already talked more in the last three minutes than she had in years, and felt very strange about the sound of her own voice, “The worst cut is the one on your side that you tore up just now. I’m going to wipe it down, and then I’m going to stitch it up. That’s going to hurt.”

He swallowed and his breathing sped up and he tensed, like he was bracing to take a hit.

Laurie made an unhappy sound in her throat, uncomfortable watching that. Not liking how it made her feel. Trying to ignore it, she carefully retrieved her tools and went to wipe the cut free of blood and grime again. He’d torn right through his skin ripping out that stitch accidentally, which could only be agonizing, and he jerked when she touched his wound and choked down a pained sound, but he didn’t kick her, so that was something. Careful, she cleaned the cut out, then got her needle and thread, so on autopilot from trials she didn’t think twice and was surprised when he jerked away and let out a gagged cry when she dug it into his side.

Oh. Right.

“Sorry,” said Laurie, feeling surreal and disconnected to the moment, like she was watching someone else do it, “I…should have said I was about to stitch that.”

The man was still making muffled sounds, trying to quiet down, and breathing shaky and shallow. Soaked with sweat. Even like that, she watched him try and steady his breathing and hold still again.

She wasn’t totally sure if that meant he believed her now, or he was just praying hope against hope it wasn’t a lie and holding to that possibility as long as he could, but somehow both thoughts made her sad. A terrible feeling, that kind of hope. She had said goodbye to it a long time past, now, but, she could still feel the echoes of it, if she went looking.

“I’m going to sew this up now,” Laurie told him carefully before stabbing in this time, placing her hand gently beside the wound so he could feel her since he couldn’t see. He flinched on instinct, but then held still and tried to give a tiny nod, so Laurie stuck the needle in again, and he choked on a pained sound, but forced himself remarkably still, and stayed there as she dug the needle and thread in and out.

It always hurt, of course. It wasn’t like experience had made that magically go away. Still, experience took the edge off, and it had been a long, long time since Laurie had had enough emotion at all to fear stitching up a cut in this pit of hell. Strange to see a survivor new enough they weren’t, but. She remembered, if she went looking.

Huh.

It was almost shocking to her, how much she hadn’t even thought of in decades, that she was beginning to realize somehow wasn’t actually totally forgotten.

“I need you to roll onto your side,” Laurie told the stranger as she tied off the first cut, “one of the worst wounds you’ve got is on your back, and I should get it next.”

The man shuddered a little, then slowly, painstakingly angled himself onto his side with some difficulty, mostly having to use his shoulders to do it, especially sort of pinned down. It made her feel bad to watch it, so she said, “Thanks,” when he had, like that might make it easier on him.

As she moved from the cut on his side, to the one on his back, trying to not think too much about him at all, except to be wary, Laurie was distracted again by older thoughts than she’d have expected. Not of her first trials here, but of her very first night, and in a way, her last one—the last one where she’d really been alive. Nothing had ever hurt like her leg falling off the stairs, and then running on it. There’d still been a crack in her bone when the Entity took her. Honestly, the thing had never really healed right. Healed, sure, but not right, and even if after enough decades the limp had become almost imperceptible except to Laurie, unless she was very, very tired, she knew it was still there.

Strange, to think of that after so long. It had scared her, back then, though. I wonder how long you’ve been here, thought Laurie as she finished and asked the man to lay on his back again so she could stitch up his abdomen and he complied in the same strung-out, hurt, angry, afraid way she knew she must have lived in for a long time herself. I wonder how many times you’ve had to stitch up a cut, or take a knife to your side, or your face, or your heart. I wonder how many years it will be before you get as numb as you can, and die like everyone else.

Everyone but her. She had longed for it, for so, so long. Didn’t know what had let so. many. others. pass on before her, and vanish for good, but denied her even a second look. What flaw in her nature kept her trapped here, what failing, what punishment. But they all vanished, eventually. Everyone died.

Everyone but her.

And he would too.

Finished with the worst wounds, Laurie moved on to the deep cut on his chest and the one on his right side, then slowly, painfully slowly for him, she was more than aware, the less severe cuts on his arms and legs.

I should talk to him, thought Laurie with a faint twinge of guilt. She hadn’t been, except to say ‘done’ or ‘I’m going to stitch this one now’ or ‘move left a little’ and the like. The man had been struggling hard for her to not jerk the whole time, though, which was hard—especially for someone new—and he had made himself stop fighting her, which she knew from her own imagination and experience combined must take an extraordinary amount of self-control, and she knew too, in an old-life-Laurie-fact kind of way, that distracting someone from something terrible like this was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to even, or really that she didn’t care either; it was that she was so tired and empty she wasn’t sure she had the energy, or the ability. Even if she did try, she was so out of practice, she wouldn’t know where to start.

“…You’re doing well,” Laurie tried just the same after a few more agonizing seconds of watching this stranger suffer under her hands.

He couldn’t really respond, of course, but the man tilted his head blindly toward her. I guess it’s instinctive to try and focus like that, even when you can’t see.

“I guess you have some experience,” she added, trying to sound encouraging, “That must help.” He had more experience than she had had, for sure, on her first night. Whatever life he’d lived, he had his fair share of very old cuts and scars all over. Unless—he has been here already for a-?—But, no, that made no sense. He’d be more numb to suturing by now. No, he must be newer, just. Been in some scrapes before, I guess.

That was honestly a little unnerving. He was built like a brick shithouse, and that already made her uncomfortable. The clear evidence he had both been in and survived more than one violent experience meant he was a threat, if he wanted to attack her.

Not that…he was a killer, or anything. But. …Laurie had had her fair share of poor experiences with survivors, too. She’d never forget them. Trust was almost always a mistake, and not one you could afford to make.

So what now? she wondered, circling back in her head, I could ask him how he got to my fire, but it’s not like he can answer me—

“Mphhm.”

She glanced down at the unintelligible attempt to speak. Blindly hoping she was watching, the man made another sound in his throat and tugged lightly on the chains shackled to his wrists, then looked up towards where he thought she was.

…Ah. Right…

It was amazing how one tiny possible chance of violence could make her sick with anxiety in an instant.

“I don’t know,” she answered quietly, trying to not let that show at all in her voice. People who could sense weakness in you were about eighteen times as likely to hurt you as they would someone who seemed tough.

He responded with a soft, distressed sound, tilting his head a little.

It was clear what he wanted, and she didn’t like saying no, but… But I am wary…I don’t know you, I can’t trust you. I… “…You’ve. Tried to kill me several times,” she pointed out. He started to make a noise that was clearly an objection, and she cut him off. “—I know; you’re calmer now. But I don’t know who you are at all, or if I can trust you, or where you came from. I don’t know who or what you are, or how you got here, or why, or anything at all. Except that you’re injured, and wherever you were, it must have been really bad, but you’re clearly strong, and can fight, even like this, and you’re significantly larger than I am. I don’t know what you would do.”

The man had become silent part way through that just listening, and he let out a breath and his posture drooped a little.

After a few moments, he made a sad sound kind of like acceptance, then stayed quiet.

She felt a twinge of what she thought was guilt. “I’m sorry,” offered Laurie, beginning to wrap stitched wounds, trying hard to be gentle, which she hadn’t had the time to do to a wound in years. It…honestly felt strange. But in a way that was both deeply sad, and almost…comforting. “I’m sure it’s not any easier for you to trust me than it is for me to trust you. I know I’m the only one who’s getting to do anything that make that better for me.”

He tilted his head towards her, listening.

“…If you could let me do this my way, I’d appreciate it,” she added with an exhale, very aware he could rip his arms free with a little effort at any time. All she had really bought herself was an audible warning and a head-start if he did.

For a moment, the man stayed still, head turned towards the sound of her voice, then he let a little tension out of his shoulders and gave a very small nod, the little he could with that thing on his head. It must hurt.

There was so much to get done. So many wounds. Laurie kept at it, though. Shit. Someone had really just…ripped you apart, she thought, a little sickened, glancing at the man beneath her hands as she worked.

The mud around them had long since changed color, stained with blood, but she couldn’t move him. It felt harsh just the same. He had stopped losing blood, but he was still ghostly pale and shivering from the cold and the damage to his body. He just looked so…pitiable. Helpless, as much as a man built like that could. She couldn’t imagine the hell of going through this unable to see—not just with her, but…what he'd been through before.

I’m sure that’s why she did it. …fuck. Fuck. She kept finding electric burns, and trying to soak her gauze in the clearing reagent she had and then cover them, but there were so. many. How—how had the person doing this to him, probably the Pig, not gotten bored? It was almost unimaginable that someone, however awful, could possibly derive so much pleasure from torturing someone else it would merit this amount of sheer repetition. And why? He can’t have been here very long, so how could he possibly have made you that mad in such a short time? There’s no way.

But he’d still gotten special treatment.

Maybe you knew him before. Or he reminded you of someone. Or… thought Laurie, with a sickening, sinking feeling, …you’d have done that any of us, and he’s just the first one I’ve ever seen unlucky enough to somehow end up in your realm.

In her realm?

…It. There was no way to know that, but, the logic made sense. If it had been a trial, he’d have healed after, wouldn’t he? Or…Or maybe if you…if you make the Entity itself very angry, it leaves you like this?

No. Maybe? God, none of this made sense! HOW had this even happened, let alone why! She wanted to ask him, but he couldn’t answer her, so there was no point right now, and it would be cruel to make him think about it more while he was trapped here, for whatever four-percent of an answer he might be able to give her.

‘Cruel’ being the opportune word. It was hard to look at him and think anything else. He was almost naked, and the chains on his arms and legs were so much thicker than they could possibly need to be just to stop a human from escaping them. Heavy, and sharp, and painful. I think they use ones like that to make you feel helpless, thought Laurie, thinking about things she’d seen here again and again in killer’s realms, Because even the most determined human would know they can’t break something that could secure an elephant. It hurts, it’s heavy, it weighs you down but it also just…shows you how trapped you are. It hurts you mentally. And God, when it came to the physical torture, the electric burns were far from the worst things she saw on him. What had got him had cut him up, for fun, like the monsters here did, but… It had also…done things. There were at least six of the knife wounds where when she went to suture them, she realized someone had sliced open his skin and then stuck something very hot inside, like a Bunsen burner, and turned it on. Two more, smaller, where something chemical had been poured inside…

There were staples in him too—medical staples, but not for their job. Just fucking…jammed in his flesh at random, to hurt him. And she could tell, from the scattered pattern to them and the sheer area the wounds covered, he must have been blindfolded like this for at least nearly all of it, to make the fear of not knowing where the next pain would hit or what kind it would be as horrible as it could be. God only knew what might be under the thing on his head too. She was praying he still had his eyes—thank God it at least sounded like he had his tongue.

Still, it was…fucked. Fucked in a way she had never seen a killer besides the Nightmare do anything like. Bruises, ice burns with the electric. Even on the bottoms of his feet. What were you doing, just testing every single fucking tool you had on him to make sure they still worked? Why? Why didn’t you just kill him? That would have been so much less…less….

And god. …The round little holes on his legs and arms and sides that she had prayed were not from a drill.

They were.

All of them, all of them were. A power drill. She was not willing to think more about that.

Jesus, fuck, though, she had never seen anyone but the Nightmare hurt a human being in a way that could compare to this. It was breaking her a little be in this proximity to it, and thinking at all—and Laurie had very, very little left to break. Genuinely, she was just amazed the man was still sane—amazed she had been able to convince him to stop fighting her even for a second, after going through this. She didn’t think, if someone had done this to her when she was fresh, she would have ever come back from the place it would have dragged her brain down to at all.

I should get the blindfold part off. It looked weaker than the rest of that thing, and it’d make us both safer if he can really see he’s not where he was, and I’m not who I could be. And he’s got to need that. If it had been her, she’d have been dying a little more every second it was on.

Okay, but finish first. Come on. Careful, Laurie reached out a finger and touched one of the little drilled punctures in his outer thigh, and he flinched and exhaled a quick, worried breath. She felt a shudder run along him.

“I don’t know how much I can do for those,” said Laurie softly, “I think the best I have is some yarrow. It probably won’t do much for the pain, but it’ll at least help it heal faster.”

The man’s breathing steadied a bit, and he tried to crane his neck to turn his head towards her, and the action choked him and he felt back, exhausted, and laid still. After a moment of recovering his breath, he let out a sound that Laurie guessed was some kind of ‘okay’.

It didn’t take long to make a poultice and cover the holes, even with so many, and he cooperated and stayed still. When she was finished, that had just about done it. There were cuts from the shackles, around his wrists and ankles and neck, and then his head, where she’d noticed blood before, but there wasn’t much she could do without being able to remove those.

“Okay,” said Laurie, letting out a breath and straightening up, “I think I got most of it. How are—” What are you saying? ‘Bad.’ How do you think he’s feeling? “—Does that seem any better to you?”

The man made a weak sound of assent in his throat. Not very convincing, thought Laurie, taking in how drenched in sweat he still was, and the faint trembling along his body.

Honestly, that was in a way a good thing, for her, because even though reason said he must be some kind of a survivor, the fact he was this fucked up looking outside a trial and this hard to just beat into staying down? Did leave her on edge. After all, a lot of them looked human, beneath the masks, and in a way, he was wearing one. It looked so much like the Pig’s handiwork that she was almost certain though, and that helped too.

After all. You’re not trying to attack anymore. …Though, it’s not like none of these things are smart enough to act. Michael. …The Shape plays dead if he’s in danger. The Pig and the Legion both will try and pass themselves off as survivors sometimes, at a distance. God knows what any of them would do if in a real pinch…

Didn’t matter.

One thing at a time.

“Okay,” she said, more to herself than him, “…okay….”

Tools. Right.

She didn’t have a saw of any kind that could cut through metal, so that was a bust. It would be very slow hell actually trying to get any of the shackles off him, let alone that thing on his head and around his neck, which you’d have to be about fourteen times more careful not to let your hand slip while working to break. There were parts on the head device that had springs and screws though, so she was hopeful there might be an easier way to get at least some of it off, and she had some decent toolboxes right now. She’d been so tired and uncaring recently she hadn’t been bringing anything but stakes into trials with her at all.

Mind on her next task, Laurie hopped up to retrieve tools, and sensed movement and heard sounds of distress and unease from the man, and paused to look. He’d tried to turn his head in the direction she’d started to go, and was breathing faster again, tensed so much it looked painful.

Right. I really don’t remember how to interact with other humans, do I?

“I’m going to see if I can get that thing off your head, or, part of it at least,” said Laurie, “I’ve got some tools. Not the best ones for getting through metal, but I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

The tension in the man’s posture eased but only a little, which Laurie took to mean her explanation was accepted for now, but not trusted. A fairly relatable decision on his part.

He stayed very still, breathing fast and posture rigid, while she retrieved her things and came back over. The toolboxes she had selected made a thump and a jangling sound of metal on metal when she knelt back beside him, and he shuddered hearing it. Right. Pig. If somehow he had ended up in her realm, that might mean the workshop at the meat packing plant.

More on edge than he had been since deciding not to attack, the man made a sound to get her attention, and then pointed with one of his shackled hands at the anchor she’d set up and shook his head the little he could with that thing on him.

You don’t want me to do this without being ready to fight back. Very sensible. I’d say the same thing, I’m sure. …The problem is that I don’t want you ready to grab something and stab me without warning either.

Still. …

“Okay,” said Laurie very slowly, and she saw what she thought was surprise and relief register in the man’s posture, “But I’m going to go up behind your head to try to get some of these screws off, and I want you to keep your arms down at your sides the whole time, so I can see easily if you try to grab something and attack me again.”

The man made a sound in response, and for the first time, Laurie thought she knew what he’d tried to say, both from tone and the vocalizations he could make with something jammed in his mouth. “I won’t.”

“You won’t?” echoed Laurie, checking, and kind of surprised—not that he didn’t plan to, but that he’d said that.

He seemed pleased, almost happy she’d understood him, and made clearly what was a sound of assent the best he could.

Okay. Well, I only have your word for that. But, it did make this a little easier just the same.

Letting out a breath, Laurie moved up behind him and kicked at the chunk of metal she’d used until it was bent forward enough it was easy to slip the chain lengths off it. “There.”

The man hesitated, then made his hands into open palms, like he was trying to reassure her, and lowered the hands down to his chest, hesitated a moment, and then instead of putting them at his sides, felt at the mask on his face, fingers tracing bits of metal, and then tugging on it to test its strength. His fingers followed the thing over his mouth down to the shackle around his neck and tried to pull at that too, and she saw the distress in his posture increase drastically and his breathing quicken.

“I know,” she said, unwilling to get closer until he did what she’d asked and he’d promised, but feeling bad for him just the same, “We’ll figure out a way to get it off.”

Probably. They had to eventually, right? And the good news was he didn’t have to eat in the realm or drink to stay alive. It wasn’t like there was food or water here anyway…

Still, he’ll die immediately and horribly in every trial until he gets his vision back, so I’ve got to try and do something about that one.

The rest could wait. That? Was urgent. It was never even a full half a day before a trial claimed you, so it was quite literally a ticking clock headed rapidly towards zero before this man would die horribly if things didn’t change.

The stranger didn’t seem to hear any of the unsureness in her voice though, and tried to shift a little to look towards her, rolling onto his side a bit for a moment, and wincing. He hesitated, then reached down and traced the bandages on first his arm, then his side.

On first touch, he almost whimpered, shaky hand running along so much almost unthinkable damage to his body, and Laurie understood that.

There were a lot of kinds of fears, when it came to being physically hurt, but the worst one was the fear of ‘this is broken and I cannot fix it.’ It was such a hopeless, helpless feeling, and it wasn’t a fear humans on the most part were really used to experiencing, even well into adulthood—even in micro doses. The feeling of your own self just being…broken, in a way you could not repair, was so much to bear. Of course, he should heal. Even outside of trials, they healed faster than they would have in reality. But that was assuming none of the places his body had been drilled into had hit something that needed surgical work to fix. She thought so—she hoped so. The Pig was a lot of things, most of them if not all abhorrent, but she wasn’t stupid, and she knew her way around human anatomy. Unless she’d wanted to break things permanently right off the bat, which Laurie hoped she would have been planning to save, then….

I hope it’ll heal. You seem strong. Laurie felt a little sick, then. But that’s not always enough, is it? Her mind went to her own leg, and the limp that came back when she was tired and hurt, and the bone that would never be quite right, because there had been no one to help her heal the way she should when she got here.

…It’s not for a lack of wanting, she thought, glancing away, I don’t want to see you end up hurt forever. I can’t help my own lack of knowledge.

It was more help than she’d been given.

As she refocused on the man, though, she realized he didn’t seem primarily distressed anymore. He was something else. Shaky hands were gently finding wounds on his body and the dressings on them, and his posture had changed; he seemed…touched? Relieved? Something not so bad.

… Good.

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Laurie, not wanting to rush him, but not wanting him to forget either.

He sort of tried to turn his head towards her again without much success, felt the cuts on his abdomen one last time, and then let out a breath and laid back, lowered his arms to his sides, and went still.

Careful, just in case, Laurie moved over behind his head and knelt studying the outer layer of the device. Beneath her, the man tensed a little again, but not like before. Laurie wouldn’t have wanted someone touching her head like that either.

The device on his head was a sturdy thing, along with cruel. A thick band around his neck, and an equally thick chunk running along the back of it up to the mouth piece. That had been welded where it connected to the shackle, but was on a hinge where it met the mouth piece. I might be able to break that. It wouldn’t be easy, but maybe. The mouth piece was adjustable too, gears hidden, but fulcrum to turn them there, only, it wasn’t a normal screw bit or anything. It…was a little keyhole of sorts. Shit. To unlock that, she’d need the key, or a way to make a cast and a new one that was sturdy enough not to snap when turned. Okay. Maybe there’s an easier place to break it.

The visor, at least, like she had picked up at a glance, was not as strong a piece. While the collar and gag had been built together, this had been added later. Or, maybe just the pieces had to be made more carefully, to contour a face right. Either way, that one had the same little oddly shaped keyholes on the sides to insert and tighten it, but it used screws to secure it once adjusted, and she could see them, and they were just a normal tamper resistant head, and she had a screwdriver for that.

Incredibly relieved, Laurie dug through her box and found the right one, then glanced over at the man, thinking the sound of her rifling through tools may not have been so fun for him, with the Pig drilling holes into his legs his freshest memory of a woman here.

“Hey,” said Laurie, trying to sound gentle, “I think I can unscrew the visor. Do you want to feel the tool to see I’m not lying?”

He seemed surprised, but tried to nod, and slowly moved his right hand up blindly towards her.

“Don’t grab it,” warned Laurie.

He gave his attempt at a nod again, and she lowered the instrument to his palm, not letting go herself. The stranger gently ran his fingers along the tip, feeling the shape, and then made a sound of assent. and brought his hand back to his side.

Pleased, Laurie turned back to her work and slowly began to unscrew the device. She was very careful, feeling for sudden pressure, listening for gears turning, because sometimes the things the Pig worked with had traps in theme, and she didn’t think she could live very well with turning the screwdriver and accidentally causing this man’s head to be snapped in two. There was no warning though, no odd mechanics, no sounds she didn’t expect, just four screws on each side, which felt excessive, and took longer than she expected and a lot of effort to pry out.

I bet you didn’t have to do it like this, thought Laurie, annoyed, I bet that fucker has one of the screwdrivers that turns backwards on its own so you don’t have to take it out of the bit every time you turn it.

Still, she got it, and once the last screw was out, Laurie felt along the visor and got the best handhold she could and pulled, and it moved, a little. The pressure from just being bent in there was enough it meant some hard tugging, but she could get it.

“I got it,” said Laurie, almost happy, if that had been an emotion she’d really remembered after this many years, “Hang on.”

Still positioned kneeling behind him, Laurie moved her left hand beneath his head to hold fast to the other side of the device, then pulled on the visor bit with her right with all her strength. It jerked, an inch, then two, then ripped free so fast she jerked forward over him for a second, barely catching herself.

I got it.

Relieved, Laurie looked down at the man to see if there had been damage to his eyes.

To her massive relief, they looked intact. A few small scratches along his brows, cheekbones, nose, and temples where the device had been tightened, but his eyes seemed clear as he blinked and squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden light. It took a moment, and she saw him register her face looking down at him as she bent over, and he stopped breathing, pupils constricting and brown eyes going wide. Huh?

Concerned, she tilted her head. Shit. Then? He didn’t look like his vision had been damaged. He was still just staring at her though. It was a full six seconds of him not breathing, and then he sucked in a quick breath and started, eyes searching her face rapidly. His brows knit a little, but not in a way she could assign the usual meanings to.

I. I can’t look like the Pig, can I?

“Are you okay?” she asked him, not sure what else to do.

He swallowed and blinked, and looked past her for a second, then back up with that same hard to understand, wide open gaze, and slowly brought his hands up over his chest, palm out in a gesture of peace, and then held his left hand up a little like he wanted to be given something.

Something about that gesture made Laurie think he wanted her hand, and she was hesitant to do it, but he looked a lot less threatening when she could see his eyes, so she hesitated, and then cautiously did.

Gentle and slow, he turned her hand so the palm was up instead of against his, then brought his left index finger over and moved it along her palm. For a second it alarmed her, and then she recognized he was making a letter, an ‘A’, and she was just surprised he’d thought of this way to communicate.

‘A,’ she thought, ‘n, g, e, l, ?’

Angel?

For a second she didn’t know what he meant, but then she looked at his face again and something in his eyes made sense. She had to work not to laugh. She did smile, just a little. It had been so long her muscles weren’t used to the motion at all, and it felt hard.

“No,” she said softly, “I’m not any kind of angel.”

He seemed surprised by that. But, he believed her.

“You’re alive,” promised Laurie, “Just in some pretty rough shape.”

The man considered that, then gave a nod the little he could with that thing still around his neck and hooked over half his face. He started to write on her palm again.

‘Name?’

“Laurie,” said Laurie, feeling a strange emotion towards this choice of a second question.

Even though she couldn’t see his mouth, she could see in his eyes he smiled.

… Oh. “—You?” she asked about eight seconds after she should have thought to.

David, he wrote one letter at a time on her palm.

“David?” she echoed, making sure, and he tried to nod. “David,” she said again, to herself this time, trying to commit it to memory.

Laurie felt his fingertip on her palm again and glanced down.

‘T-h-a-n-k   Y-o-u’

That was only natural, she supposed, but it hurt for some reason.

“You’re welcome,” said Laurie quietly, “Glad you pulled through.”

He gave his bit of a nod. The man—David—was still staring at her the same way he had been. Usually that would have made her uncomfortable or on edge, but it was so much the way an affectionate dog would look at you when it was unbelievably happy you’d once again come home, that that was the only thing she could think when she looked at him, and it was making a lot of her earlier stress dissipate.

I guess he’s very relieved. I’m sure I would be too—God only knows how long the Pig had him.

“The Pig,” added Laurie, remembering it would be good to know for sure, “Did she do this to you?”

His brows furrowed a little.

“A woman in a Pig mask?” she clarified.

David gave a somewhat concerned sound of assent, then started to write against her palm again.

‘Who?’

“The Pig?” said Laurie, that’s… “That’s a little hard to explain.” She considered, grimacing. “How long have you been here?”

His brow furrowed again, deeper. ‘H-e-r-e?’

She gestured around them. “This place.”

David took in what little of the woods he could see from on his back and gave her a worried look. ‘Where?’

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head.

Shit. He’s not been here long enough to have talked to others, then.