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Poor Finn.
Always thinking of others before himself.
“Are you okay?” A simple question, paired with a shaky hand cradling the side of Glisten’s face. He swallowed, looking away, not wanting to meet his eyes. It felt easier to deny the severity of their situation than accept it.
“You should ..” Glisten’s voice shook, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He needed to keep his composure, if not for his own sake, then for Finn’s. “You should be worrying about yourself.”
Finn’s hand shifted, trailing down Glisten’s side, stopping just above the shredded gashes in his stomach. Glisten flinched, a hot spike of pain following the lingering touch. Normally, to be held in such a gentle way would have excited him. Not now.
“How can I?” Finn whispers, and it’s so quiet, so uncharacteristically calm. Glisten’s eye fluttered open, and he looks down. “Not when you’re here.”
His own injuries weren’t lost on him. He could feel the stinging pain, he could see the ichor with his own eyes - or, eye, now. His vision was partially blotted out, nothing but shadows dancing towards his left.
Finn was a blurry silhouette, half on top of Glisten as he studied how he was injured. How Finn was conscious at all was completely beyond him - while his face was intact (a blessing that hadn’t befallen Glisten) the rest of him was .. not.
Every time he closed his eye - every time he allowed the darkness to consume him completely - he could hear it. The barking. The screaming. He could still feel the leftover panic, churning somewhere deep within his chest.
“Will we be okay?” Glisten asks, voice soft. He doesn’t understand why he bothers .. the answer is obvious.
“I’m shore,” Finn hums, cracking a smile. He shifts, and Glisten can see him wince - he can only imagine how much pain Finn must be in. “I’m always okay if you’re here, you know?”
“Oh.”
Glisten lets his head fall back. It hits the wall with a faint thud, and for a moment the pain overwhelms him, eye watering. He chokes down a sob, shakily raising his own hands to his face .. what’s left of it, anyway.
His mirror is cracked, shattered, and he has no idea where the pieces went. Part of him wonders if he could fix it, if only he knew. The other part of him knows better - he’s not like an ordinary mirror. This is permanent.
Glisten will never look the same again.
Finn shifts, pulling himself off of Glisten with a whimper, wiggling his way beside him and against the wall. The sound of pain makes Glisten panic for a moment, and he frantically glances around before he remembers they’re .. safe, to an extent.
The twisteds won’t hurt them anymore. He’s figured out that much. Not when he’s one of them.
Finn lets his head rest against Glisten’s side, and he swallows down the pain in favor of giving him an ounce of comfort. Gingerly, he shifts to embrace Finn, holding him snug as he curls against the wall.
His bow is shredded, barely intact anymore, and he dimly wonders what he’ll do with it. He wants to preserve it, somehow - it was one of his most treasured possessions.
“How long will it take?” Finn suddenly asks, and Glisten startles for a moment.
“How long will .. what take?” Glisten questions cautiously, despite suspecting he already knew the answer. What else would Finn be asking about in this situation? He shudders.
Finn averts his gaze, looking down at his own body. Glisten doesn’t follow, not wanting to look at Finn’s state more than necessary. He felt responsible for how severe his injuries were - Finn had been trying to save him.
Glisten hadn’t been able to shield him, to protect him. He still remembered Finn being pulled off the ground with a yelp, the sight of his outstretched hands as he tried to grasp hold of something, anything. All Glisten had done was lay sprawled out on the floor, watching in horror.
He could have done something. He could have saved him. Instead, they were both doomed to rot away in the darkness forever.
The pain had eased rather quickly, to Glisten’s surprise.
He supposed some part of him assumed he’d be in agony forever, constantly suffering through the burn of his injuries. Thus far, that didn’t seem to hold up - after the first night, the sting had faded. Maybe he was learning to live with it.
Of course, the worse possibility still hung over his shoulders; that it was simply the first step of twisting, and his mind would be next. He didn’t want to think of that much.
At least one good thing had come out of this.
“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?” Glisten whispered, pushing aside a crate. He’d spent the second afternoon rummaging around, looking for .. anything, really. Bandages, food, water …
He wasn’t sure if twisteds actually needed to eat anything. He hadn’t seen any of them attempt to consume normal food, though several of them didn’t seem to be above cannibalism. That much was evident enough, through his own injuries and Finn’s.
“I’m positive. I’m shrimply not a liar, you know!” Finn chirped, enthusiastic demeanor never dimming even with the awful situation.
Glisten smiled softly, giving up on this area. He straightened out, glancing down at Finn, who had taken to .. crawling across the floor, he supposed. It was a bit unorthodox, and he constantly left an uncomfortable trail of ichor wherever he went, but it seemed to work for him.
“Well .. excuse me if I find that hard to believe when you’re bleeding everywhere,” Glisten snorted, though the slight shake to his voice betrayed how nervous he was. Finn gave him a sympathetic glance, poking his leg stubbornly.
“Hey. I’m fine, okay?” Finn insisted, looking up at Glisten. It was .. strange, he had to admit - usually it was the other way around. They were nearly the same height, maybe an inch of difference between them, but Glisten still always found himself looking up a little.
Glisten nodded, not pushing it. He didn’t see the point in stressing either of them out, not when this situation was hopeless enough as is. He glanced down at the torn shreds of his ribbon, barely wrapping around his waist at this point.
“Do you think I can salvage it?” He asked, nervously picking at the edge of the fabric. Finn tilted his head, curious.
“I think it’s worth a shot,” Finn hummed, gesturing for Glisten to sit down. Glisten obeyed, easing himself onto the floor. Finn pulled himself onto Glisten’s legs, fiddling with the ribbon. “I’ll see what I can do with it.”
Glisten let his eye flutter shut, savoring the gentle contact from Finn. While he’d normally be grossed out by getting ichor on him at all, he couldn’t find the energy to care about it. Still, he shifted to hold Finn steady, the ichor smearing across his wrists and hands.
The ribbon slipped off from around his waist, and his breath hitched. He felt cold all of a sudden, and he sighed in discomfort. Finn gingerly trailed his thumb along Glisten’s arm, a small gesture of comfort.
Finn shifted, nudging Glisten’s hands off him, and he reluctantly obeyed, pulling his hands back. He tilted his head curiously, watching as Finn gently laced their fingers together. Glisten’s heart fluttered, still easily embarrassed despite their situation.
Finn pulled his hands back, holding the scraps of ribbon and carefully examining them. Glisten watched with equal interest, wondering what Finn would come up with - he’d always been creative.
He held a string of ribbon in each hand, and his gaze trailed to Glisten’s wrists for a moment, then to his neck. Glisten leaned back, bumping into the crate he’d pushed aside. Finn leaned forward, shifting to free a hand without losing his balance.
He hesitantly pressed a kiss to the base of Glisten’s neck, briefly delighted by the way it made Glisten shiver. He raised his hand, gently tying the ribbon around his neck, making sure that it wasn’t too tight.
Glisten’s eye fluttered shut and he sighed, cautiously wrapping Finn in a hug. “Thank you.”
Finn giggled, raising a hand to boop the center of Glisten’s face - or what was left of it, anyway. Glisten opened his eye, glancing down at Finn with a vague hint of amusement. His desire to make everything okay was admirable, and it was .. just what Glisten needed, honestly.
“Of course! It’d be shellfish to not help you, wouldn’t it?” Finn grinned, easing himself off of Glisten’s lap and onto the floor. He held his head up with one hand, elbow resting against the concrete. “And I’m an honorable guy!”
Glisten rolled his eyes. “Of course, babe, how could I forget?”
Just as he expected, Finn’s face darkened as he looked away in embarrassment. Glisten smirked, delighted for just a moment as he admired Finn’s expression.
But .. something looked off. His smile fell, and he squinted, carefully studying Finn. Was his water always that shade? It almost seemed a smidge darker, and Glisten felt an awful ache worm its way into his chest, constricting his heart.
Right.
To his surprise, hardly anything had changed.
Glisten still felt like himself. His thoughts and actions weren’t blurry, he didn’t feel any violent urges like he’d suspected he would. Truthfully, he felt .. fine. Of course, he still felt anxious and lonely, but Finn helped with that.
It was hard to feel truly alone with Finn making jokes all the time, anyway.
Glisten had taken to pacing around, though, which is one thing he found to be different. He’d never cared much for moving around initially, finding his situation to be .. hopeless. Walking just took extra energy out of him, but now? He found it soothing, almost.
Finn seemed to share the sentiment, constantly scrambling to keep up whenever Glisten found himself pacing. Occasionally he’d attempt to carry Finn, but he found he lacked the strength, and he’d only feel awful when he inevitably stumbled.
Finn poked his leg as he walked, and Glisten glanced down, raising an eyebrow. “Hey, hey.”
“What?” Glisten hummed, folding his arms across his chest. His torn open stomach had never healed, which he supposed wasn’t surprising, but it was still uncomfortable to look at and feel.
“Well,” Finn hummed, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that Glisten knew all too well. “What’d the ocean say to the beach?”
Glisten groaned, though he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve told me this one already.”
“Hey, come on! Just ask!” Finn protested.
Rolling his eyes, yet smiling regardless, Glisten indulged: “Okay, fine. What’d it say?”
They walked a few more paces, Finn following in silence. Glisten waited respectfully for a minute before the quiet became .. a bit worrying. He glanced down at Finn, who was staring blankly ahead as he trailed after Glisten.
“Finn?” Glisten mumbled, and Finn blinked, shaking his head in confusion.
“What?” Finn frowned, and a sinking feeling settled itself in the pit of Glisten’s stomach. He looked ahead, trying to swallow down the nervous feeling.
“Well? Are you going to finish the joke?” Glisten asked.
Finn’s mouth fell open, and he tilted his head, confused. Glisten frowned, studying his expression for a moment before pausing in his pacing, settling his complete, undivided attention on his lover.
“I .. can’t remember what it was, again. Could you remind me?” Finn looked up, and Glisten nervously chewed on his lower lip. His water seemed darker than it had been yesterday, but maybe he was .. just seeing things.
He nodded regardless. “You asked me what the ocean said to the beach, remember?”
Finn’s eyes lit up, and a wave of relief washed over Glisten momentarily. For just a second, he looked like his old self - carefree and excited to share another cheesy joke that would (unfortunately) get a laugh out of Glisten.
“Ah, right! Nothing, it just waved.” Finn proudly shifted in place, a smug grin crossing his face.
Glisten sighed, though he failed to suppress a chuckle, even if he had heard this joke before. Just yesterday, actually. It wasn’t like Finn to reuse jokes - at least not that often - and some part of him was slightly worried about it.
Though .. he seemed to be fine, and Glisten was fine, too. Why should he have any reason to worry?
Another party came through that afternoon.
Glisten could still remember the fear he felt - not of them, but of himself. As intact as his sanity appeared to be, he distantly feared he could genuinely hurt someone.
Finn had wanted to get help. His reasoning was that they were both still conscious, so maybe something could be done. Glisten didn’t want to remind him of his state - the murky color of his water, closer to black than blue, and the gorey mess below his torso. He’d just shaken his head, begging Finn to let them hide.
And so they had. They’d cornered themselves in a boarded off room, huddling together and waiting for the party to finish the floor.
Something about it had .. concerned him, though. Particularly with Finn’s behavior. Multiple times he’d asked to leave the room, and Glisten had reminded him that no, they couldn’t leave. The others were still out there.
Finn had been so .. distant. Quiet, uncharacteristically so. It made Glisten nervous, building up and snaking its way through his stomach and lungs. He so desperately wanted to believe that things would be okay for both of them, but …
“Finn.”
Glisten snapped his fingers in front of Finn’s face - something he hated to do, yet it appeared to be necessary. He seemed totally zoned out, staring blankly ahead. His eyes had taken on an uncanny glow sometime yesterday, his pupils slit and red.
His teeth had always been sharper, so there wasn’t any change there, but Finn .. smiled more. Initially, Glisten had dismissed it. Finn was always smiley, after all, especially when he could flirt or make some corny joke. He’d always been delighted when he managed to fluster Glisten, and it was a fond thing to reminisce on.
He snapped his fingers again, and Finn reacted ever-so-slightly, tilting his head and peering up at Glisten. His eyes almost seemed clouded over, and he smiled curiously.
“Could you say something?” Glisten asked, trying to ignore the hint of panic that had wormed its way into his voice. Finn didn’t seem to notice, and he hummed under his breath - acknowledgement, maybe. It was a start.
Nervously, Glisten tried something else: “O- Oh my .. cod .. Finn, come on.”
Not a glimmer of recognition. Nothing at all. Still, Finn spoke, much to Glisten’s relief: “What?”
Glisten liked to say he was above begging. It was undignified, and embarrassing. Still, in the right situations, he found it to be necessary, as much as he hated to do it. He swallowed his pride, pulling his hand back.
“I need you to do something for me,” Glisten mumbled, hesitant. He wasn’t sure about going through with this, but with Finn’s deteriorating state he .. wanted to be safe.
Finn tilted his head, making a very vague, clumsy gesture. Glisten recognized it regardless, and he slid back against the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. Finn crawled closer, pulling himself onto Glisten’s lap, tilting his head.
“What’s up?” Finn asked. Glisten could no longer see his own reflection in Finn’s bowl with how dark and muddy his water had become. It looked more like ichor than water, now, and he let out a shaky sigh.
Cautiously, each move measured with precise care, Glisten lifted a hand, undoing the ribbon from around his neck. It spiraled down, falling into his palms, and he held it out to Finn. He ignored the way his hands were shaking.
“I want you to tie my wrists together.”
Finn’s eyes widened a fraction, the most emotion he’d shown the entire day, and he vehemently shook his head. “What? Why would I do that?”
“Please,” Glisten begged, ignoring the tears that were beginning to well up in his eye. He blinked rapidly, hoping to get rid of them, but he only succeeded in making his makeup run. He sniffled, swallowing a sob. “Please just do it.”
Finn’s smile faltered for just a moment, and he hesitantly took the ribbon from Glisten’s hands. His own hands were unsteady and trembling, as if he could hardly control them at all. Still, he obediently laced the ribbon around Glisten’s wrists; as much as he struggled to tie the knot, he managed, binding them together as tightly as he could.
Glisten winced, ignoring the constricting pain around his arms. It was worth it. He couldn’t .. he didn’t want to even consider the idea of hurting someone. If this would prevent that risk, then he’d do it.
He studied Finn’s expression, but it had fallen blank again. Glisten shifted, and Finn crawled off his lap, shuddering with the movement, falling still against the pavement. Finn did not move. Neither did Glisten.
“Finn ..?” Glisten whispered, cautiously easing himself onto his feet. It was difficult with his new inability to steady himself against the wall, but he managed. Finn did not reply.
“We’re going to be okay, right?” Finn asked, glancing up at Glisten. It was a mirror of the question he’d asked days before, and his heart twisted.
He answered as he felt was necessary: “Shorely .. of course we’ll be okay.”
Finn didn’t even crack a smile - he simply looked down again, expression unreadable. Glisten wanted to cry, to fall to his knees and cradle him. He couldn’t bear the look on his face.
This was his fault.
It was only a matter of time before this happened.
They were unprepared - Glisten had no idea another party would come through. He figured the one a few days ago would be the last for awhile, and he’d hesitantly begun to cope with that. He supposed he hadn’t truly accepted that they had been abandoned until now.
Still. He wondered if, maybe, just maybe, he could have prevented this. If only he’d been faster, or if only he’d holed them up in that room again. Then maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“Finn,” he whimpered, choking back a sob. He didn’t want to look.
Reacting only to the sound, not to his name, Finn lifted his head - he grinned back at Glisten, licking the ichor from his mouth. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion in his eyes, nothing but the glint of a predator.
Glisten’s gaze trailed past Finn, settling on the mess he’d made. Poor Toodles lay unmoving, the usual excited sparkle in her eyes long faded. Finn had clawed his way through her skull, leaving a gaping wound in its place.
“Finn.” Glisten trembled, looking away. Finn slipped off of Toodles’ corpse, crawling over to Glisten. Never once did his smile falter.
He reached a clawed hand out, gently brushing it along Glisten’s leg. He jerked away, purely out of instinct, though some part of him was distinctly afraid, too. Finn didn’t even appear to be hurt by this - he didn’t react at all. He simply stared up at Glisten.
Glisten took a step back, hands still bound and held to his chest. Finn followed him, just as he always had, but now it seemed to be more on autopilot than anything. He stared blankly at Glisten, following silently.
How long would it be before this happened again?
Glisten spun on his heel, refusing to acknowledge what Finn had done. Part of him wanted to deny it, to pretend that he was still in there somewhere, but it felt hopeless. The telltale blue of his water had long been stained black, and Finn was gone with it.
He paced mindlessly, the only thing that brought him any comfort now. Finn always trailed behind him, never ceasing to be clingy, even after losing himself. Maybe Glisten could pretend he was still there.
He squeezed his eye shut, rounding a corner. Finn followed, ichor trailing behind him, torso and tail dragging against the concrete. Glisten wondered if he’d scraped himself at any point.
“H- Hey,” Glisten whispered as he walked, glancing down at Finn. No response. He supposed he’d just have to pretend. It would be fine. He would be fine. “What did the ocean say to the beach?”
It was the only joke he could remember. If only Finn could tell him another one.