Positively Crazy, Pt. 2
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Finch awoke slowly, managing to feel worse than when he'd dragged himself from the river. On top of his existing pain, he felt completely and utterly miserable. Why had he let that happen on his watch? How could he face Dream and tell him one person had so soundly beaten him that he nearly died as a result? Finch, the most promising of his training group (by Dream's own words), bested by one person with a knife. His eyes burned with shame, and he blinked hard to keep himslf from crying. That would only make things worse, he decided.
Trying to push through the weight of his despair, Finch started trying to move his body. He was sore and stiff, one arm awkwardly positioned above his head, but he felt padding on his broken leg, the tight press of bandages on his torso, and something soft laid over top of him. A blanket? He forced his eyes open.
This was not a hospital. No clean white walls, no antiseptic smell that gave him headaches, no medical professionals in sight. Just a small, dingy room with bare walls and a few boxes shoved in the corner. He tried to move, ignoring his muscles protests, and felt comething catch his wrist not far from its original position. Finch's chest tightened, and he looked up, feeling dread pooling in his gut.
A set of handcuffs was securing his wrist to the headboard, and the more aware he became, the more aware he was of how wrong this was. This wasn't his house, or a hospital, or anywhere he was familiar with. The cuff around his wrist dug into his flesh.
Just as he was about to spiral completely, the door opened. His gaze shot to the doorway, the flame in his eye flickering higher, and his eyes widened.
The man standing in the doorway was instantly recognizable: a few inches shorter than Finch, with cool brown skin, dark hair, and piercing lavender eyes. "Nightmare." Finch snarled, gritting his teeth. The sleep magic made sense now, but why had he been taken?
Nightmare held his hands up carefully to show he had nothing in his hands, staying in the doorway. "Look, I know this looks bad, but I swear we won't hurt you." He stepped forward slowly, and Finch flinched away from the wave of magic the man exuded. It wasn't like Dream's aura, which could make you feel like you were walking on clouds. This aura was a weight across Finch's entire body, as if he was back in the river, drowning all over again. Finch shuddered, recoiling even as his body protested.
An idea came to him as Nightmare got closer. The angle was awkward, but as Nightmare leaned down, hands reaching for Finch's leg, he grabbed him. Nightmare yelped in shock as Finch dragged him closer, then froze as Finch's arm locked around his throat. Nightmare was stronger than he'd expected, writhing and clawing at his arm, but Finch didn't dare let go, tightening his grip. "Where's the key?" Finch's voice was low, tight with desperation. "Let me out of here."
"I don't have it on me!" Nightmare hissed, gasping for air. "Goddamnit, I'm trying to help you!" His aura surged, and Finch's grip faltered as panic tightened his chest. He hadn't been this scared since he'd first come to Justice Reigns; disoriented, missing an eye, and struggling to hear.
And as quickly as it came, the feeling was gone. Nightmare was standing over him, holding Finch by the shoulders firmly, gently. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Finch couldn't reply. His entire body was trembling in the aftermath of… whatever that was. It took every ounce of mental energy to remember how to breathe. "Why am I here?" He finally croaked out, fighting back tears. As he pieced his terrified mind back together, he realized that the waves of unease hadn't stopped; it had only lowered back to a more manageable level.
Nightmare's mouth opened to reply, but a bright red glow caught Finch's attention. Cross stood in the doorway, nearly taking up the entire space. Her body was tense, short pale hair falling into her face. The glow was from the large blade held tightly in her hand. "What happened?" She demanded, glaring at Nightmare. Her eyes darted to Finch, but didn't stay there; it was clear she didn't see him as a threat at the moment.
"We're fine," Nightmare said quickly, lifting one hand placatingly towards her. "Just a misunderstanding, freaked each other out."
Cross' eyes narrowed, clearly not believing him. "Like hell, Night. I haven't seen you lose control that badly in… forever." She stepped closer, her sword swinging to face Finch. "What'd you do, punk, huh?"
Shrinking back from the magic crackling off the weapon, Finch looked up at Nightmare. The look on his face told Finch everything, and he took a deep breath, holding his tongue. Picking a fight right now would only cause him more problems, he was realizing now.
"He didn't do anything, Cross," Nightmare stepped between them, using one hand to gently nudge her blade aside. "Just spooked me. No harm done."
For a small eternity, Cross didn't move, didn't take her eyes off Finch. He'd never felt so vulnerable, like his soul was laid bare, in his life. Finally, she scoffed, allowing the sword to dissolve into a shower of red sparks. "If he kicks your ass, remember Error and I told you so." She ruffled Nightmare's hair and turned on her heel, shutting the door behind her.
Nightmare's shoulders slumped in relief, and he turned back to Finch. "Well, she didn't kill us; I'm calling that a win."
"A win? A win?" Finch hissed, eyes narrowing. "Why in hell am I here?" He blinked as he realized something. "Where even is here?" His heart started to race again at the realization that he had no idea where he even was.
As Finch spoke, Nightmare's face hardened, eyes narrowing and eyes darkening. Finch saw his fingers twitch, as if they were going to curl into fists. After a moment, Nightmare closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You're in our house. And the others aren't too happy about that, so you're going to have to play nice if you don't want to end up back where you started." He paused, as if allowing Finch to speak, but Finch found himself unable to, his throat closed as he listened. Pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply again, Nightmare continued slowly. "Now, can I look at your injuries, or are you going to make your shitty situation even worse?"
Finch didn't move, didn't speak, but when Nightmare approached he didn't argue or fight back. Slowly, delicately, his fingers ran over Finch's cast. Finch tensed, preparing for pain, but his fingers were so gentle he could barely feel them. Once Nightmare had decided that the cast was in order, his feather-light touch drifted to Finch's torso, checking the bandages there.
"How long have I been here?" Breaking the silence between them felt like taking a sledgehammer to whatever tentative peace they'd made, but Finch knew he had to do it. And when he saw Nightmare's hands stutter in their movement, he knew he wouldn't like the answer.
Closing his eyes, Nightmare remained quiet for a moment. Steeling himself, though whether from his own emotions or against some expected reaction from Finch, it wasn't clear. "About two days."
Finch's stomach did a flip. "*Two days?*" He could barely bring himself to believe it, but there was no real reason for him to lie. "Has JR made any statement?" Dream had to be looking for him, he knew that. After ten years of working together, there was no way anyone had just missed him.
Nightmare's face twisted, and he said nothing. Finch felt the knowledge hanging in the air between them like a bubble on the verge of popping, and then he shook his head. "I think you should try and get some rest, buddy. No matter what's going on out there, you need to heal."
"I'm not your buddy," Finch hissed, narrowing his eyes. His cheeks heated with the memory of his vulnerable state, and now he'd just made it worse. He cursed himself for opening his mouth. "Tell me what's going on, or I swear to god—"
Nightmare had the audacity to roll his eyes, interrupting with a sharp tone. "Oh no, I'm trying to get you on your feet and out of our house faster; the horror."
"Don't mock me!" Finch's eye flame lurched up as he spoke, eyes narrowing angrily.
"Don't be a dumbass." When Finch glared at him, frustration plainly written across his face, Nightmare just rolled his eyes. "Remember, I can just make you sleep if I really wanted to; but I don't want to, so just bear with me and try to get some rest?"
Carefully, he slid a pillow under Finch's casted leg and helped adjust the pillows under his head to somewhere more comfortable. The whole time he was working, he was quiet, his brow furrowed in concentration. Finch didn't speak either, but Nightmare didn't seem to need the verbal cues that a regular doctor needed on what was comfortable for him. Probably reading his emotions again, Finch realized. At least as far as he could tell, Nightmare wasn't manipulating them purposefully; that dread squeezing his chest had to be his own.
Once Finch was situated, Nightmare squeezed his shoulder gently. "Get some sleep, Captain. Holler when the pain meds wear off." Without waiting for Finch to reply, Nightmare turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
The room suddenly felt much quieter, now that Finch was alone. With nothing to fill the silence, his mind flooded with racing thoughts, a sort of rising panic he hadn't dared to let loose while someone was with him. Finch tried to tell himself he was catastropizing, that all he had to do was heal enough to get away from the Meme Squad and then life would go back to normal. Because it had to. He couldn't imagine what his life would become if he lost his job.
Finch was so focused on thinking that he didn't even notice when he fell asleep.
