kore_logs | maybe I'll sleep when I am dead

And Jesse just- pauses for a few long seconds, his hands slipping down off his head to fall by his sides. "Uh, no, I think Captain Dreamlord took me on a dream boat river tour of his own little slice'a hell for shits and giggles," he remarks in a voice that's positively rife with sarcasm, squints confusedly at Finch and gives a minute shake of his head. He can't stop shaking fitfully and he clenches himself tight all over, fists balling by his sides and his shoulders going up around his ears. "The fuck are you talkin' about, what else would it be?"

It's sarcasm, but Finch's expression is tight and the slightest bit offended when Pinkman makes the reference. They're both shaking, he can see it, and Finch would try to help, somehow, if he knew what he could do. But he's already bogged down heavily by - well, what just happened. After that, he's just not eager to touch anything without permission.

"The dog," Jesse says quietly, rubbing at his face with both hands, instead. "The nightmare coming back."

A dog. Finch, that week everything and everybody'd gone crazy, he'd kept bringing up a dog, some kind of nightmare that'd been hounding him and stalking outside the lighthouse.

"Alright," he answers slowly, watches Finch a little closely as he does, but, well, hang on, "that shit's all you though," he tacks on, furrowing his eyebrows further. "That's, like, your nightmare." Right? "So why the hell would I be havin' it?"

"That's - that's what I don't know," Jesse says, taking a deep breath. "Maybe it's pulling people into dreams - maybe you were dreaming and it decided t'eat two birds with one stone, I don't - fucking know, I don't know how it works."

And the fact that Pinkman saw what's in his nightmares makes Jesse so, so uncomfortable, now that he's awake and concentrated on the fact. He fidgets, biting his lip. He remembers it clearly.

"But that ain't," he starts to say, nearly cutting off Finch's words in the process as he shakes his head again and holds up a bit of a placating hand, "how dreams work, man, it ain't like I got things in my head climbin' out to try to waste you."

Yet? Though he's not entirely sure why it's okay when he suggests the scientists are doing it, but when it's of Finch's own volition, it's impossible.

It's not really occurring to him yet how delicate of a matter it is that he just kinda got himself witness to. Hell, it still hasn't entirely sunk in that they just experienced the same dream, he's having a hard time getting over that one.

"Yeah, well, you don't know how the nightmare works either," Jesse snaps, pushing off the door. "S'what it does. M'not fucking crazy, the nightmare gets in people's heads and turns everything they're fucking scared of into a game. Takes good, innocent people and corrupts them into something that can torment and kill."

He shoves away from the door and pushes past Pinkman, heading to the kitchen. "Lucky you that you ain't got shit trying t'do that to you in your dreams." He needs to calm down and he needs a drink.

There's a cautious kind of expression on Jesse's face - he lets Finch push him out of the way, just kind of takes a step back after - as he turns on his heel to watch Finch enter the kitchen. He's hearing him loud and clear, and he's hearing him talk about this thing like it's a living and breathing monster, not just like something he concocted in his mind.

"I thought that was just a nightmare," he questions first, his words a little slow and deliberate. He takes a few belated steps after Finch then, arms folding tightly across his chest. "You had-!" he starts to spit out before he realizes his voice is raising, and he adjusts his volume back down to a harsh whisper, leaning a little into Finch's personal space. "You had somethin' like that bouncin' around in your brain. And you never told me."

Jesse's opening a bottle when Pinkman follows him in - and he flinches away from Pinkman's accusation, hunching up. He talks about it that way because it is that. It's a monster, it's a thing, built up from negative energy.

Finch takes a drink and curls against the counter, watching Pinkman with a weird mix of anger and wariness. "S'not mine, it was Galen's. It was Galen's first." He shouldn't talk about it, but - after that he feels like he owes Pinkman an explanation of some kind. "You - remember it, right? The dog. S'what I was seeing at the lighthouse. It was trying t'get in. I weren't lying, it was a real thing."

He looks down at his feet.

"Yeah, I remember," he says a bit passively, distractedly, and he thinks of asking Finch for a drink of his own off that bottle but he's got a few more pressing matters to attend to before he can focus on getting himself good and drunk. "It was- real."

Not that he can speak for a moment - he just turns his head away, eyebrows raising and eyes closing as he rubs confused fingers at an eyelid and rolls the idea over in his mind. "Alright, so, follow-up question," he adds at long last, and he shakes his head once. "Why the fuck would Galen put somethin' like that up in your head again? I'm kinda wrackin' my brain here."

He actually hadn't even thought of that possibility. Is it Galen again? Is it Galen giving him nightmares and tormenting him - did he drag Pinkman in because they're close? Is he falling back into it? Jesse stiffens up and looks at Pinkman, eyes wide.

"I --" He splutters, grip tightening on his bottle. Shit. "I - dunno. It - the nightmare infected him, it bit him afore we came here but I thought we cleaned h-him of it." Calm down, jesus, take a deep breath and don't hyperventilate in the middle of the kitchen. "It m-might - it might be him, I didn't even think of that. I thought it was... I thought it just followed me, jumped ship from Galen t'me but I don't know, maybe it's..."

He presses a hand over his mouth, staring up, like he can see Galen from here. Mumbles, "I dunno wh-what I did."

And Jesse just- carefully scrubs his hand up from his eyes and over his head, nails itching into his scalp again as he lets out a thin sight, almost guilty. He doesn't know what he's said that's gotten Finch so spooked here - he doesn't really get any of this, when he gets around to admitting it - and Jesse lays off for a minute, holding up a placating hand. "Just- Breathe, alright?"

There's this kind of implication there that he really doesn't like, 'don't know what I did', like he fucked up somewhere and he might be being punished for it. Galen? So what the fuck's the story there? He looks briefly up at the ceiling where Finch just was, and grips the counter in both hands as he leans back up against it. "So he's done this kinda thing before," he reiterates, warily, stares off in front of him instead of crowding Finch's space anymore. He's going out on a limb here, trying to jump to the part where he believes this story and all it entails, and it's not easy. "How come? Why'd he do it?"

Just breathe. Take a deep breath. Finch does, closing his eyes, and tries to gather himself together. It's okay. He'll be okay, he just doesn't need to sleep for the next... however long, that's cool.

This never gets any easier to tell, and he hasn't actually gone too far into it with anybody. Bruce, maybe, touched on it with Ned and Kenzi but never talked about it more than just as a reference that it happened. His hand slides down off his mouth and he takes another drink, heavily. The still lingering disturbed feeling from his father in his dream and the fact that about seventy five percent of his old fears have popped up like wildfire in the last hour leaves him a nervous, jittery wreck.

"Just once." Another drink. "Right before I showed up here. There was this thing - he called it Jones. S'like a living nightmare. Looks like a dog t'me and Galen. It bit him. It corrupted him." Another drink. "He thought he was helpin', y'know? Making people stronger by them bein' able t'conquer their nightmares. But he made 'em worse."

Sniff. "We tried t'stop him and he ended up in a coma. And - we tried t'stop him again, got into his dreams to try and weed out the infection but he got to us first, made us all go through real awful nightmares. He dragged up that - that, what you just saw. Lots of th-that." Hie voice breaks a little, and he takes yet another drink. Drowns himself in it. "It weren't him. It was like - like Ghoul. Wasn't his fault."

The mention of Ghoul gets a newly awakened twinge of anger out of Jesse again, and he subconsciously brushes his fingers against his throat, the purpled bruises that still stand out against the white of his skin. But he's not here to talk about Ghoul, he's here to talk about dreams - and, now, apparently, Galen.

Though it's funny, how enough people can fault Finch here and it never seems to be their own faults. He's not sure how he feels about that.

"So," Jesse starts to say, holds out a hand in question and doesn't say anything else for a few long seconds, his fingers just wave as he tries to drum up the right thing to say. "So, it's that bad, why the hell would he be doin' it again?" A beat. "Unless he can't help it, like this- the-the dog thing, Jones, it bit him again?" He re-folds his arms and looks over at Finch, brows wrinkled. "When's the last time you talked t'him?"

It's never anybody's fault but his own, obviously.

The thing is, Finch doesn't know. He has no idea what would've changed things, and he falls quiet, shaking his head. Maybe Jones did. Maybe Jones is actually here - or maybe it's something else, but Jesse just - is tired. He knows he's not going to get to sleep for the next forever. This is going to suck, and he slides down the counter to the floor, cradling the bottle, staring at the wall.

"Earlier, afore I went to bed," Jesse says, taking another drink. "I dunno what's happening. I don't want people in my head, I don't want people seeing that shit."

"Well, didja notice anything?" Jesse asks, leaning over a little so he can see Finch better where he's slid down to the floor. He kicks one leg over the other and flexes his fingers antsily against the countertop. "Like, if all that shit was brewin' in his head, he'd'a been actin' weird, right? Was he? Actin' weird?"

There's something else that's bothering him about this, though, part of the equation that he's not quite sure adds up, and it makes him wave his hand in a circle, shake his head. "Hang on, hang on, and second of all, why's he goin' after me, if he is? The hell did I do?"

"No," Jesse says, with a sniff. "He was actin' the same way he always does, which - which is weird. He didn't, before. He was weird, the first time, I - I dunno."

He slips his hand into his hair, gripping at it tightly, staring at the floor. As for Pinkman, he doesn't know. He doesn't even know if it's Galen doing it. He wants to think that it isn't. He wants to think Pinkman was right, that it's the scientists fucking with them, but he can't be sure, and it makes his stomach roll and skin crawl. Like spiders down the back of his shirt.

"You're friends with me," Jesse says quietly, simply, taking another heavy swig from the bottle.

Jesse watches Finch still for a few long seconds, not really sure what to say to that. They're friends, sure, but he wasn't sure he ranked himself that important up on Finch's list, right? Just a step below Galen? He leans back after a moment and squints his eyes shut, fingers drumming against the counter. "So, he's-" He starts to work out, trails off briefly. "What, jealous? Is that what he's doin'?"

Pretty close, really. Jesse shrugs. "I dunno. But you're my friend and s'what happens - it's gonna go after everybody I give a damn about. S'what it does, s'what it made Galen do. S'not Galen, it's the fucked up dog-corrupted Galen. It gets at all the people you're close to and drives them insane, takes as many people s'possible - if it's... if it's after me, if it's just the fucking dog by itself and it's attached t'me, it's gonna go after you."

Heavy swing part two. "S'gonna make me go after you." A beat. "So I can't sleep. Again. S'gonna bite me. I won't."

"Man, not again," Jesse immediately butts in, his voice coming out in a lengthy sigh as he adjusts his stance again and slowly slides down the front of the counter to sit with Finch. He crouches instead of parking it on the floor, lets his arms dangle over his knees as he looks at Finch and finally nudges him with a hand. "Cuz last time worked out so well for ya?"

It's not that Jesse's not going to pull Finch's ass out of the fire again if he needs it this time, because he absolutely will. It's moreso that he doesn't want to have to see the poor guy go through all that shit a second time. He's dreading having to coax away more pipes, jagged pieces of window glass. "How d'you know it's even him this time? The, the, the dog thing. How d'you know it ain't actually the docs? They're always climbin' up in our brains and gettin' screwy."

"How's that any better?" Jesse asks dully, not looking up. "Maybe it is, maybe it ain't, but we're still getting fucked with and you still saw - that." His grip on his hair tightens. Not that they can do anything about it. "I can do it. I - I'll just keep myself away from pointy objects, right?" He laughs a little, but it's hollow.

Another swig. This is going to be gone in a minute, here. "You don't gotta be 'round, neither. You don't gotta save me. Rather have you away from this shit than right up and personal."

"Oh," Jesse immediately rebuts, and his eyes roll and his head thunks back against the counter behind him, "man, shut the fuck up." He lets his head fall to the side so he can look at Finch directly. "Seriously? You think I'm gonna ditch your ass when you've got all that goin' down, you're stupider than you look."

He turns his head back away, threads his fingers together and glares at the wall in front of him. "So how's-" He wets his lips and folds and unfolds his hands. "How's this work anyway? How's that mean, do I gotta not sleep too? Keep that thing outta my head?"

Okay, so he's expecting that. He didn't think Pinkman would leave, which feels good, reassuring, and scary all at once. Pulling his knees closer to his chest, Jesse sort of just slumps. There's only so long the human body can be frightened before everything just - shuts down. His voice comes out creaky when he talks next.

"No," Jesse starts, resting his head on his knees. "S'like. An infection. I don't got it yet. Not gonna affect you 'less I got it. You're fine. Don't worry."

Jesse's thumb rubs up against the side of his nose as he thinks, and he gives a minute shake of his head. "Well, yeah, I mean, if it's your thing," he concedes a bit antsily, still not sure if that's reassuring enough for him to want to be dozing off any time soon. Then again, after what's happened, he's pretty sure he's not jumping straight back into sleeping tonight. "What if it is the docs, though? I mean, they could go to town any time they wanted to, right?"

"Then there's no point in worrying," Jesse mutters, taking another swig from his bottle. One drink left, and then he needs another. This is not even close to being enough. "If it's them we're all fucked." Wow, optimistic, Jesse, thanks for that.

"S'not much we're in control of here. And we're gonna run outta booze eventually." His voice is dull and flat. "S'fucked up when you want the thing that's hurting you t'be a bunch of scientists who can pick at you from a lab instead of a nightmare. The fuck."

There's a slow kind of way Jesse looks over to Finch after all that, something in his expression that's approaching horror at what he's hearing. Thinking it is one thing, and he's sure as shit had his share of that in the time since he's realized just what the fuck is going on. Hearing it out loud, in a voice like that, it makes his skin crawl and his shoulders hunch up around his ears. He could absolutely submit to that theory right now, and the most of him wants to.

Instead, he slaps a hand hard against Finch's chest, shifts so that he's down on one knee next to him. He leans forward on a fist and gets right up in his face. "You need to reel in all your whiny, self-deprecation bullshit," he hisses; he sounds angry, and this time it is most decidedly at Finch. "The hell am I supposed to do with that, huh?" Because he knows Finch has been through a lot tonight and he knows how hard this has gotta be on him right now, but he's so not fucking having it.

He leans over for the fridge and jerks it open, helping himself to another one of the bottles inside. When he plants it on the ground between them, it's a little more loudly than he initially meant. "Here's what's gonna happen. We're gonna get blasted, we're gonna stop talkin' doom and gloom and 'oh, my God, we're all gonna die,' and you," he punches Finch's arm again for good measure, "are gonna stop bein' such a pussy. Got it?"

maybe I'll sleep when I am dead

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