The Sounds of Minds

Finch looked up at James and pulled a face, though the bandages were just what he needed. He wordlessly took them from his hands and set to work wrapping the wound. The feeling of something around his neck greatly disturbed him, and he shivered.

"This feels too much like a collar." Eyes widening at his words, he quickly tried to clear his mind, knowing that his secrets were just on the tip of his tongue, "but- uh, thank you!"

He breathed unevenly, fighting with himself without thinking directly about not saying what he was going to. It actually seemed to be working.

James looked closely at Finch, eyes briefly flickering over to Puck and Blake as they stared each other down. He decided against diverting his attentions and decided to focus on the injured kid in front of him. He watched as Finch wrapped his wounds and sat down, looking at the kid closely.

"There are no secrets here," he said quietly. He could tell Finch was trying not to say anything, and while he knew just as well as everyone else that digging up one's painful past was preferably avoided, in his gut he knew it was better for them to just... share it. Already he could feel his emotions growing cold as he began to mentally prepare for when he would inevitably have to share his story. The numbing had already hit his heart, and hung in his chest like an empty, hollow hole.

If they were destined to speak all things in truth here, he would do so. But there would be no tears shed over it. He had no connections to any of the people here, therefore there were no meaningful consequences to them knowing who he was, or what he'd done.

It was just something else to check off before he could move on. Finch, and everyone else would have to do the same. But he would reserve no judgements for them if they chose to mourn their own stories while he didn't his own.

"Out with it then," James said, voice more gentle than before. He looked to Finch, with the attentive but distant compassion that could be likened to that of a therapist. "How'd you get hurt? What's your story?"

Finch aimed a scowl at James, his first instinct in response to his strange gentleness in forcing him to talk. His mind raced as his mouth opened, the crack in the mental dam of his recent experiences. Why would this man, with a well-meaning expression, so clearly put him in this vulnerable position? The only logical explination that came to Finch was that this stranger was trying to exploit his weaknesses.

"Yes- these wounds were inflicted by a collar," he rephrased, buying himself a fraction of time to think. Already, more words pressed at the top of his tongue, begging him to elaborate. His face grew hot with both effort and shame.

"Recently, I narrowly escaped becoming a con- cons- sex slave to a pirate king. He had... extreme taste." Consort, he was trying to say. That would have left him with at least a shred of dignity. He buried his face in his drawn knees as he continued, using as few details as his mouth would allow, "I also have rope chafings on my chest and wrists. Thankfully, I guess, I was able to drug Bane and get away before anything- more damaging could be done. It worked out in my favor that he was so into foreplay."

This last part came out as a strangled whisper. Finch sat still and tensed, hating himself and Bane. With quick thinking, he had been able to play along and defile himself in order to be saved, but it hadn't occurred without an emotional price.

James looked down at the grass, feeling the numbness only intensify in his chest. He thought with much intentionality about how to answer, but, much to his distress, found himself speaking before he had a clear thought. His face and his tone were apologetic.

"I admit... I wasn't sure what you were going to say as an answer, but I am deeply sorry for the pain and abuse that you have endured and I know it goes without saying, but Bane is a terrible person for how extremely he mistreated and violated you..." his sentence trailed off for a moment as his gaze remained on the ground beneath him, and not on the boy beside him.

"I'm sure with it being so recent it is difficult to talk about, and I'm sorry that you had to find yourself here, where censorship - which can be so useful in guarding the heart - and even a choice in who you get to speak to - is stolen from you. But I do consider it very brave of you to share anyway..."

His voice lowered, and he held his hands together in his lap.

"If we were from the same world, which I think I can safely assume we're not, I would offer to bring Bane to justice. But I feel the offer means very little if I cannot act upon it," he ended up muttering to himself, realizing that though he couldn't stop himself from saying it, he could at least make himself harder to understand.

Blake and Puck turned to stare at Finch. It was hard for Puck to read Blake's expression with that helmet on, but he'd go as far as to guess that Blake was disturbed by what he heard. Puck knew that his face gave all of his feelings away - when he wasn't trying to hide them, his expressions tended to do quite the good job of displaying how he felt about any given situation. And from the look on his face alone, it was clear that he was absolutely furious with what he heard about. Finch couldn't have been that old, maybe somewhere in his teens at most. And if someone was treating him in a way that no one deserved to be treated...

Well, it made him want to set that pirate king on fire, and maybe throw in a nice Detonation while he was at it.

While Puck was fuming away right where he was standing, which he was sure was an utterly terrifying sight when he looked like this, Blake went over to where Finch was. He sat down on the ground across from him. Looking him in the eye, he asked in a surprisingly comforting voice, "How old are you?"

Finch peeked up at James from where his face was hidden in his arms. A flurry of thoughts, mostly confusion, swirled around in his head while he was- consoled? This was the first time he had revealed an emotional weakness to... anyone, really. And, instead of being mocked or having them twisted and used against him, he was met with sympathy.

He didn't know what to say. James seemed genuine- he had even suggested vengance, but why? What was the point in offering condolences to a boy he had no emotional ties to?

Finch was about to voice his questions when the man in the suit of armor approached, only a foot or so away from him. He automatically flinched, curling in on himself even more.

The armor had asked his age- strange. He hadn't thought about that in a long time. There was really no reason to. Besides never celebrating the day of his birth, none of the adults he had been somewhat close to from his childhood could offer an exact date- only that he had been born and abandoned at the docks sometime before the village's first freeze-over.

"Eight- nineteen." He answered as soon as he had worked out an estimation in his mind.

Puck, admittedly, had no idea how to deal with this sudden change in personality. All he could do was just stand where he was and watch Blake as he interacted with Finch. He should have been worried that Blake would be insensitive on a matter like this, but it seemed like Blake was carefully thinking over what words to say. Puck was impressed, to say the least. He didn't think a magician like Blake was capable of that.

"I thought you were older than me," Blake said, taking what sounded to be a deep breath, "and I guess I was right. The gap is small - only a few years - so I think it's safe to say that we're around the same age. So, from one teenager to another, the world sucks, but I'm here for you in whatever time we have together. And I'll help you in whatever ways that I can."

No.

He couldn't.

He just couldn't be.

That Blake Croft was dead, right? This man - kid, if he was right on Blake being younger and not older than Finch - couldn't possibly be him. Not when he had been killed in that car crash. Not when Artie's aunt would have done everything to find him if he wasn't. Not when his parents would never let one of their sons become like a magician like Raptor had been.

"Blake?" Puck questioned. His voice was cold. "How old are you, exactly?"

Blake kept his gaze on Finch. "I'm sixteen."

Puck stared at the back of his helmet. "You're that young?"

The magician turned and gave him what he was sure a deadpan look. "I play Minecraft. You think I'd be older?" He turned back to Finch, seemingly waiting for some sort of response for him.

Puck couldn't find the strength to move.

Finch blinked. What was it with all these people who wanted to help him?

"I don't really understand why you would want to.. be there for me.. if there isn't anything to gain for yourself. There isn't, is there? Maybe something I'm not thinking of?" He shook his head, tired of filtering his thoughts, "as a gesture, it's- touching. I honestly hope you mean that. I'm not sure exactly how to respond. Should I pledge to be there for you too?"

He glanced over at James and back to Blake during his speech, very flustered and confused.

Demon? Kratzer's brow furrowed as he watched the armor and Puck, the conversation between James and Finch fading into the background before it even began. Did they mean that literally? He didn't look like a demon, or smell like one, even one possessing another - then again, this place was strange enough as it was, and it was most certainly possible that there was more than one definition of 'demon' floating around.

"I'm both a bit confused by and concerned about the fact you call yourself a demon," Kratzer says, feeling the frustration rising as he says more than he means to. "But I recognize they come in many different forms. What does that mean, Puck?"

"There's nothing to gain from helping someone out," Blake carefully said. Even if his words would be involuntarily, there was nothing to say that he couldn't keep his tone just the way it needed to be for a conversation like this. "Well, that might be a little wrong - I think you do gain a good feeling when you help someone out, but, ultimately, I think James and I just want to do the right thing. You don't have to pledge yourself to us. You can if you want to, but it's not something society requires."


Puck somehow managed to draw his attention away from Blake and focus on what Kratzer had said to him. "It's means that I'm a demon," he shot back, sensing Kratzer's frustration. He knew that Kratzer was just upset that he coudn't keep the words like the rest of them were feeling, but he had too many other things to worry about.

Namely the ghost that was apparently sitting only a few feet away from him.

Finch sighed. "All right. That's somewhat confusing, but I'll take your word for it. It must be a concept from your world and not mine." He kept his eyes on the ground, watching indifferently as Gem nibbled his fingers.

James's gaze flickered between Blake and Finch, holding his tongue as much as possible to leave room for Finch to speak. He looked down at the grass.

"Where I'm from it's just called having a decent moral compass and being a decent person," he mumbled. "Wanting to help people, and not expecting anything in return." He clenched his fists in his lap, knuckles turning white as he thought of a very specific face in the forefront of his mind, and fought to keep it down. This time, not for himself, but for Finch.

This was still about Finch. If they were going to share things they could at least keep it orderly, so it wasn't just a sh*tshow. He violently thought about anything else and focused on Finch and Blake so his thoughts wouldn't become his words.

"You don't smell like a demon and you don't look like a demon and yet you say you're a demon, and somehow that just doesn't add up," Kratzer says to Puck. "Granted, I am suspicious of literally everyone because of childhood abuse and trauma but that seems rational enough, does it not?" He let out a huff of agitation as he continued speaking more than he really wanted to, but gave up on fighting it.

Puck narrowed his eyes. "What, do you have some sort of overpowered Resilience or something? I'm a demon. A djinni. A spirit. You know the drill if you're claiming that I'm not one. You probably can't sense it because I'm trapped in this body right now. But, trust me, you'd know that I was a demon the moment you looked at me if I wasn't stuck in this mess. I've got the tentacles and everything."

Now that he had given an explanation that should have sated Kratzer's curiosity, Puck turned his attention back to Blake. Who, apparently, had finished consoling Finch and was now in the middle of heading back to his own spot. Before he could sit down, Puck grabbed onto his arm and gave it a sharp tug. A tug that, in retrospect, might have been just a little too strong.

There was a loud popping sound, and then Blake's arm came off in his hand.

He stared down at it, eyes wide in shock.

James looked up at the popping sound, staring at the detached arm that Puck was holding. He stared.

“What the hell?”