kore_logs | you tell me 'just give in'

Entry tags:

you tell me 'just give in'

Who: Jesse Finch and anybody!
What: PLOT HALLUCINATIONS
Where: Lighthouse, around there!
When: Days 37-39
Warnings: Possible self-harm, violence, swearing.
Notes: This is a catch-all log for important hallucination things! I'm forward dating a little because I'm going to be so busy in the next week or so, and I'd like to tag while I have the chance! I have a basic idea of what is going to happen down at the bottom there. As you can see, it is... not very detailed, which means I am super okay with just about anything going on! He's going to be particularly panicked, so if anybody wants to screw with him an/or knock him around, I welcome it. Lemme know what day you want in the subject line for varying crazy-times. c:

He's hiding in the lighthouse. Jones can't get him here. He's safe, for now, as long as he doesn't sleep, and as long as he doesn't leave. But he's running out of food, and water, and he's so tired, and he keeps finding snakes, curling around his legs when he nearly-dozes-off. Of course, he kills them, and of course, they hiss and go up in smoke, and he's wide awake - for another hour.

And then he does it all over again, curled up somewhere dark with his pipe, ignoring the communicator on his wrist.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Shit, this place is quiet," Jesse swears lowly, lets the door shut behind him as he pads a few more feet in. "Hey, yo, Jesse." He claps his hands once, rubs them together. "Come out come out wherever you are." And then it's quiet, but only for a moment before he mumbles to himself, "Fuckin' weird to say my own-"

He's looking at him. He's so looking at him.

It takes no time at all to find anyone in this place - ain't exactly room to hide in here and all - but then again, if the guy hadn't been sleeping, still, it wasn't like he was running on all eight cylinders here. Jesse's hands are still clasped as he starts walking towards him, traipsing a bit slowly. "Man, I've been lookin' everywhere for you."

Come out, come out, wherever you are? Wow, that wasn't completely terrifying or anything, Pinkman. Jesse's expression sharpens, half in fight and half in anger - not gonna fucking get him, bitch, bring it - and he raises the pipe, the shard of glass, pushing himself up the wall hurriedly.

"Stop - stop, don't come any fucking closer!" He snaps, waving the pipe. "Lookin' for me why?"

"Whoa, whoa," Jesse immediately barks out, almost a shout as his own hands jump up to splay at Finch, palms flat and placating as he can manage to be right now. "Cool it- man, you wanna put the pipe down?"

When was the last time he'd slept? Had he?

"I was just wonderin' where you were at." He doesn't step closer yet, fingers carefully curling in on themselves as he stares the other Jesse down. "What're you even doing in here? This place smells like stale popcorn. And balls."

Haha, no, he does not want to put the pipe down. Not even a little bit. In fact, his grip tightens, and he scowls, not moving either, hands shaking. Sorry, Pinkman, he's not even close to being stable or sane. How many hours has it been?

"Nothing. Nothing, m'not doing anything, y-you --" But his voice trembles, and he has to clear his throat. "I can't. I can't go anywhere, it's outside. Can't get me in here. Did you close the door? Close the fucking door!"

"Jesus - "

Jesse flinches a little at the demand, backs up enough to get to the door and, oh, this is a bad idea, this is an awful idea, but he shuts it tight, even jiggles the handle so Finch can see it's shut and safe. "There, see? Door closed, nothin' comin' in from outside." The pipe's still clutched tight in his hands.

Have you slept? Have you even slept? "So why don't you, uh, just come on down from there," real slow-like, "and tell me what's goin' on, man." He waits a tick, and then it dawns on his face. "The monster thing?"

It actually calms him down a little. Jesse doesn't put the pipe down, but he lowers it a bit, and slumps, sinks down to sit on the stairs, just breathe for a second. It's okay, he's awake, right? He's awake. The door is closed and it's daytime and the shadows are small, unobtrusive. The nightmare can't get him here, and Pinkman understands it, doesn't call him crazy. Jesse nods.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, the monster, the nightmare. It's waiting." Just saying it scares him, and he swallows hard, pulling his knees to his chest, eying the other Jesse warily.

"How'd you not see it? S'been -- s'been circling, I can hear it out there, it's whispering. Fuck, I can't stand the fucking whispering. Let me in, let me in - shut up!" He turns and shouts it at the wall, like the shadows outside are listening.

He has to get that pipe away from him. First and foremost, that's gotta be his goal. Jesse's spent more than his fair share of time beaten and bruised and laying in a hospital bed, and he's not about to start that record fresh here too.

The problem is getting there. Talking a janked up, scared dude out of his one weapon while there's supposedly a monster stalking around outside. Predictably, Jesse hears none of the hallucinations that Finch is hearing right now. Not that he doesn't have his own drawbacks going for him right now, these little whispers like Finch is talking about. His own psychosis, whacked out as of late, whatever. But it's not a monster. He knows it can't be a monster.

But the similarities make the hairs on his neck stand up.

"I think you know why I can't see him," Jesse approaches Finch again, carefully, slow and calculated steps inward. That's how he's gotta play this, honestly. This Jesse isn't crazy. He's just on a metric fuckton of product. "That's all right, man, you just gotta be my eyes and ears. Hah? Think ya can handle it?"

Right. He can handle that. This is his responsibility, to protect the people here, because they can't see it like Jesse can. They can't protect themselves from Galen, or Jones, but Jesse knows how. And Pinkman's not going to hurt him, Jesse thinks, he's alright. Just ignore the whispers and watch Pinkman approach warily, hood up, face pale.

"... Yeah," Jesse mumbles, letting his arm come down. Fuck, he's so tired. He's still holding the pipe tightly, and he's gripping at the glass hard enough to cut his skin, blood dripping down onto the steps. "Yeah, I can handle that. I can't sleep, I can watch out for you, like - like I said I would, like you said..."

He leans heavily against the wall. The pain keeps him lucid, and he squeezes his fingers around the glass more tightly, hissing.

Christ, that's how he's staying awake. The glass. Not the fun kind, but the actual kind, and Jesse looks between the blood dripping from Finch's fingers to his face and back, his lips pulling back into something of a grimace. Maybe that one's just never been his particular breed of self-destruction.

"Right on," Jesse nods his agreement and slowly lets his hands drop, less of the placation. He's trying real hard to keep his body language calm like his voice, and it's evident by how slowly he's starting to shove his hands into his jean pockets. "You're like a superhero, yanno. Keepin' us safe all up in here." Or something like that. Heroes don't bleed too often, only when they're getting their starts.

"How about, uh. Sitting, huh? Can I sit here with ya or you rather I keep it over here?"

He's doing a pretty good job of keeping things calm, honestly. If he were more awake, Jesse would be suspicious, but he's not - the paranoia tires him out. Right now, a calm voice and reassuring words are enough to settle him down. He even snorts a little, eyes closing without his permission.

"Ain't a superhero," Jesse sighs. Furthest thing from it. He's hiding here, when he should be asleep, fighting Jones, killing the fucking snakes. "Just a fuckin' wuss. It don't matter t'me. You can sit." There's a moment where he's quiet, like he dozed off, but the glass sort of slips in his hand and clinks against the ground, and the sound is enough to jolt Jesse awake, make him sit up straight.

For a moment, he panics, a flurry of motion, and then -- oh. Oh, right. Pinkman. It's alright, the door is closed and the shadows can whisper all they want, but there's no getting in. Deep breath.

Jesse slides smoothly into a seat on the steps near Finch as soon as he's given permission, careful to miss the blood - course, just as the glass falls and all hell breaks loose for a split second. He can't help it. He all out flinches reflexively like he's about to get hit, but Finch quiets, settles back into his spot.

Carefully as he can manage, Jesse starts to try to inch his fingers towards the piece of glass. Step one.

"Ya can call yourself whatever you want- man, it's like- But you are. Yanno. A superhero. They fight off monsters and bad guys. Right?" It's a whole new conundrum, a whole splay of categories and Jesse doesn't know where he fits anymore. "Plus, I mean," and his hand closes around the glass, "they keep people safe. Am I right? And y'know how many people've died? Here? A grand total'a none since you picked up the pipe, my friend. Check it out. I'm in one piece."

He's almost dazed, staring at Pinkman as he talks. Superhero? Those aren't supposed to be real. And even if they are, they're people with superpowers, that's the whole point. Like Bruce. Bruce is a superhero, he's a doctor and he's the big green guy, and both of them do a lot to help everyone here. And Jesse let him get infected. Does that make Jesse a villain?

Because being passive leads to evil, Jesse's always heard, just watching something terrible happen makes you every bit as guilty. And maybe nobody's died here, but that's just yet. The nightmare's going to eat them from the inside out, and Jesse isn't enough to stop them, he's too scared. He's no better than the nightmare, he inflicts the worst type of pain on people, makes them miserable.

She was right, wasn't she?

And suddenly the shadows aren't whispering anymore, they're shouting, let us in, let me in, and Jesse flinches away from Pinkman, shakes his head, yanks the glass away and stumbles down the steps. It almost got him. It was going to take his weapon away from him, and -

How does he even know he's awake? He doesn't. He can't. Jesse breathes unsteadily, eyes wide.

"No, no, see - see, now I know yer bullshitting me, tryin' to - to settle me. S'not gonna work, I know what I am, and I ain't that. Flattery is shit, don't -- take off his face, did y'really think that was gonna work?" Jesse grips tightly at the glass. "I'm asleep. M'dreaming, I gotta be. Nothing's here t'wake me up, so I gotta..."

The glass cuts an angry red line up Jesse's palm when Finch snatches it away; Jesse hisses, but it's not very deep and he doesn't particularly care about his hand right now anyway. Matters a little more pressing to deal with.

Something switched in there and he's not really sure what. Maybe the whole superhero thing's not reigning very true in Finch's head - Jesse can't really blame him. He'd have called bullshit on it too. Can't even give a proper speech in that brain, it's so addled, a voice hisses at the back of his head, more familiar by the day. Goddamn junkie. Jesse wills his mind calmer with the heel of one of his hands into his eyes.

'Gotta' what?

No. He's sick of people getting hurt. Not on his watch.

"Yo, yo, man, you ain't asleep. You got that?" Palms splayed again, the picture of innocence where he sits on the step, and shifts like he might stand again to join Finch. "Whadda people do when they're asleep to wake themselves up, huh? Pinch their arms, right? You want I should pinch ya?"

"No, don't touch me!" He snaps, taking a step back. What do people do when they're asleep to wake themselves up? Good question. They realize they're in a dream. They pinch themselves, or...

"When people wanna wake up..." He trails off, rubbing at his face. It leaves a bloody sort of mark against his cheek, but he ignores it. "When you die in a dream, you wake up. Right? When you die. That's how it works." So if he's dreaming, and he wants to wake up - well, that's the solution, isn't it?

Jesse looks up at Pinkman, shifting his grip on the glass. "It makes sense, though. And you wouldn't want it, 'cause you're what you are. Y'don't want me awake. So I should."

But he doesn't. He just stares at the glass, carefully resting it against his chest, point over his heart.

Oh, Jesus, oh, shit.

This was starting to be way out of Jesse's league. It wasn't like he was a stupid guy - he wasn't, he wasn't, he didn't care how much he'd tried to tell himself to the alternative, louder as the week went on - and he had some of the logic to back it up, but he wasn't a genius. He wasn't Gus Fring, he certainly wasn't Mr. White. He even found himself calling back to stupid fucking support groups and whatever bullshit they had to sling around, but none of it was ringing right.

And Jesse Finch had a piece of glass to his fucking heart.

"I ain't gonna touch ya, okay? Come-" His voice breaks and he starts to stand, ever so carefully, only moves from his placating stance to rub at his nose again and sniff something else back. His voice was starting to get a little higher, a little more desperate. "Come on, man, let's hash this out first. Pros and cons. Huh? Ya can't just up and murder someone without your pros and cons. Even if it's yourself."

It's not the pros and cons that stops Jesse. No, it's the break in Pinkman's voice. It's the desperate tone, and Jesse's not sure exactly what to think. The nightmare could be really fantastic at acting, but Jesse doesn't remember it being so. It'd take memories. Use them against you. But Jesse doesn't know Pinkman very well. Doesn't have memories of him at all, really. So why would the nightmare use him?

Jesse pauses, and bites his lip, hand faltering. He looks weary.

For a moment, he's quiet, and then he looks down at the glass. Keeps it there, but his hand is shaking, hesitant. He really, really doesn't want to do it, but if it was the only way...

"Pros're I get to wake up," Jesse says, finally. "Cons, I die for real if - if I ain't..." He wavers - and it pours out in a rush: "I dunno. I dunno what t'do. I should. M'scared."

This was the one time that Jesse could use doubt as some kind of blunt force, one of the only ones he had in his arsenal here to use against Finch - and, well, hell, it wasn't even his own weapon.

It's a start, and it's a good one. If it doesn't work, he's at least got the one more trick up his sleeve before this shit goes really south.

"If ya ain't sleepin', exactly," Jesse grasps onto that one faltered statement, points to Finch and shrugs his shoulders. "How's a guy s'posed to know what a nightmare wants anyway? For all we know, dyin's one big dream anyway. Then it gets ya for good." He takes another slow step forward, eyebrows sketching upward. "But if ya stay- here. Where it can't even getcha anyway, right?"

Jesse gestures to outside and then back at Finch again. "Thing is pissed, man, cuz you're outsmarting its sad little nightmare ass. He ain't in control cuz he can't get in." He taps two fingers against the side of his noggin. See? Thinking. "Means you're awake."

Thinking. Pinkman's point gets Jesse's piece of glass to falter further. If he dies, he'll be leaving people behind. And he doesn't know he's sleeping, and Pinkman's right, if he stays here, inside the lighthouse, it can't get him. It hasn't been able to. Jesse won't let him in. And maybe that's how he does it, maybe that's how he can beat it.

Jesse's hand drops to his side, and the glass hits the floor - thankfully doesn't break, just clatters loudly. When it settles, Jesse's stilted breathing is the only noise in the room. For a long moment, he stares down at the piece of glass, and then he finally looks up.

Pinkman gets a small smile out of Jesse. Even with the shadows thrashing wildly, angrily around the corners of the rooms, with the whispers growing again, let me in, he smiles, because he's too tired to do anything else. He sways in place once, and then rubs at his face again. More blood on his face, but it's whatever.

"No, no, yer... yer right." He mumbles, looking over his shoulder at the door. It rattles, and he flinches at the loud thump that comes against it, like something throwing its body at the frame. "It's mad. Y'made it mad, though."

Well, congratulations. You may have actually achieved something in your life.

Jesse lets out a long breath, mops a shaky hand over his head as the glass falls to the floor.

You've successfully prolonged a man's suffering.

"Hell yeah, bitch," he mutters under his breath, peering up at Finch and that smile. It's nice, it's like a thank you or something, and he feels awfully damn good about it. Saving lives. It's a nice twist, for him, starts to make him feel like he's turning shit around. First Mike, now Finch. Even when there's a new something slithering its way into his head, higher and more female than the other voices: You could have joined him, you know.

Jesse flinches again, but he doesn't explain. It almost coincides with Finch's own - Joined me. - and he'll take that cover as a reward, thankyouverymuch.

I miss you.

"Forget that creep," Jesse replies in turn, waves a passive hand and slumps back into a seat on the stairs. "I can handle his nightmare ass real easy. Yo, we got any other weapons down here? I'll show'm who's boss. He ain't gettin' in here and he knows it." Should have brought a pack of cards. Jesse gestures out to the hand that's just recently been getting blood all over Finch's face, and lifts his chin. "Hey, man, lemme see your hand. No homo. I ain't gonna bite, I swear."

It's the first thank you out of many, really. When he's a little more in his right mind, he'll figure out some way to repay Pinkman, but for now, he's just going to smile and nod and breathe. Okay. He'll even let it turn into a rueful sort of grin when Pinkman says he'll kick the nightmare's ass. Man, his hero, right?

Jesse sort of stumbles over to the steps, and flops down next to Pinkman, wrinkling his nose. "No homo's stupid," He mutters, because he can't resist, not even with the heaviest hallucinations - but that's pretty much all he can manage at that, because he is so not even capable of forming full sentences, let alone anything that could resemble an argument. "I got the glass and... the pipe, those're..."

Nope, he gets distracted by just staring at his hand for a second. Oh. Ew, blood. Wow, he doesn't like that. "Shit. Aw, shit, Galen's gonna be pissed." It's so normal that it makes Jesse laugh, or... giggle, really. He's a little looney from no sleep and gradual blood loss, don't mind him.

"All right, a little homo," Jesse concedes instead, a bit of a laugh in his voice and a sneer pulling up the corner of his mouth. He is kinda on the verge of holding a dude's hand in a mildly darkened stairwell, it's unavoidable. "Don't get yourself any ideas."

But he takes a giggling Finch's hand regardless, pawing in his jacket for anything useful, there, a bandanna, and using it to mop up some of the blood. "How 'bout I hold onto the glass for a li'l while, huh? You're cuttin' up your hand to shit. Might need stitches." Not like that's really a viable option here, unless they've got a doctor hiding somewhere out in the town. "I'll keep ya awake. Kick ya in the shins if ya start driftin' off into St. Fuck, Nowhere. Pipe's better anyway."

Jesse's apparently had enough of this gay shit, and kind of thrusts the bandanna into Finch's hands, wiping his own together before rubbing his palms all over his jeans, antsily. "Who's Galen?"

He snorts at that. "Don't worry, I can - I can hold myself back, m'sure," He jokes weakly, with a huge sigh at the end. He winces a few times as Pinkman mops up the blood, but it's okay, he's had worse, and by the time that Pinkman's done talking, it feels a little less like his hand is going to fall off. Slumping back against the stairs, Jesse stares up at the ceiling of the lighthouse.

"... But yeah. Okay. You can have the glass. Don't fuckin' - don't lose it." Seriously, they might need it. For monsters. He sighs again, wrapping the bandana around his hand tightly.

And who's Galen? Jesse squints. "Galen is my boyfriend."

Jesse lets out a slow, careful sigh of relief once he's allowed to take the glass, edging out of his seat far enough to snatch the piece off the floor. Harder to do real damage to yourself with a big-ass pipe than it is something like this, he figures. Small victories that he's definitely going to be taking.

"I ain't losin' it, man. Straight-up responsible and shit here." He hefts the piece of glass into his hand as he collapses back into his seat, grimacing at the blood. "Yo, thought I was gonna have to tackle you for this."

'Course, then the big b-bomb's dropped, and Jesse actually wheedles around in his seat to peer at Finch, almost incredulously. Yep, did not call that one. "Like a boyfriend boyfriend? Like up the butt, like, that's how you like it? Up the butt?"

Oh, Christ, Jesse's entirely too whacked out to not find this endlessly hilarious. He's exhausted and woozy and the word butt was used, there's no way he can do anything but collapse into giggles. And when he's composed himself enough, he heaves out a huge breath. That. That actually felt sort of good.

"Mm. Usually I'm more of the pitcher, y'know?" He shrugs. He peers over at Pinkman, totally unfazed. "Ladies too. M'an equal opportunist." A beat. He can hear the whispers, still, but - it's the most lucid he's been for days, and it's almost a relief. "You like it with the vaginas, then, m'guessing."

Wh- it was a legitimate question! Not that he isn't some crazy degree of proud that he managed to get Finch to laugh at a time like this, really and genuinely, but he hadn't even meant for it to be funny.

"Oh," Jesse replies woefully, carefully dropping his face into his free hand and pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Look, man, stick it in whatever ya want, just spare me the details." Jesse doesn't need to know about butt stuff. "Definitely in the vagina club." He lifts his head for a second there and peers back over at Finch. "Wait, was that even a question?" Whether he liked vaginas or not? Hey.

you tell me 'just give in'

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