maybe I'll sleep when I am dead

[rigging]

Who: Jesse Finch and PEOPLE
Where: Dreamland
When: Day 83-88
What: you can dream if you wanna
Warnings: Across the board warning for triggery content. References to child abuse, drugs, alcohol, death, lots of awful things. Good things too! But probably more bad, knowing me.

[ ooc: I'm going to write up a bunch of dreams for specific people under sub-threads in this post! So please don't tag the post, but tag the sub-thread for your character - I have planned things but I would ALWAYS be up for more. If you want me to write up a dream or plot up something for Jesse and your character, lemme know @tahdis on plurk, I'd be happy to come up with something with you I SERIOUSLY WANT ALL THE THINGS.

Still looking for possible dream fights with strangers, too! ]

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[rigging]

Maybe it's sadistic, maybe it's violent, but Pinkman's insistence makes Finch feel reassured. Makes him feel safer. Finch takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out, the pressure in his chest easing up. Look - he's doing good, Pinkman, saying all the right things. Jesse thunks his head back against the counter and closes his eyes, trying to soak in the dredges of comfort he feels from Pinkman's defense.

He needs it to counteract the sort of hopelessness he feels.

"Mm," Jesse starts, and then he's quiet for another few moments, trying to gather what he wants to say. The vodka's loosened his tongue, but even without it, after all that Pinkman's seen and everything that Jesse's said already, it comes surprisingly easy. "Just yeah. Thank you. Fucking - thanks. Nobody went against him. S'always my fault."

Deep breath, and he attempts to pull himself up so he can - he doesn't know. "You dunno how much it means that I know you got me, alright? Jesse." He's very, very serious, gripping at the counter as he stands, the world fuzzing slightly. "And you got me back, however fuckin' useless that is." A beat, and he rubs at his face again, looking down. "You're a real good friend t'me, Pinkman. I don't got a lotta those."

[magnets]

The compliments he's getting, they should really serve to make him feel better about himself, and maybe they do, before they get all twisted inside of him, confused somehow. Jesse should be relaxing but he tenses up instead, bristles and takes his hands off the counter to fold his arms in some kind of defense. He can't help it. He's never heard anything like it before.

And he really doesn't know what to say to it. He's quiet for a while again, rocking a little in his spot and rubbing his hand up and down his arm. He's not a hero, he's never gotten to be the hero, even if Finch is making him sound like one now. If he can help one person out here, fine, that's great, but he's got a lot to make up for and even at this he's doing a fairly paltry job, most of the time. It's hard for him, both here and back home, to try to do something worthwhile and not manage to be, to borrow the word Finch so adequately uses, useless.

"I'm tryin'," he finally concedes, his voice guarded and very hesitant, and he doesn't look at Finch. He holds out a hand and waves it around in a bit of a circle, drumming up what he wants to say. "Look, I know I ain't so good at this gig sometimes, but, it's like- It's worth it. Tryin'." Because Finch is worth trying for, he supposes. Best friend he's ever had. First real one he's ever had. And he's not really sure what to do with that. But if he's no help to Finch then he's no help to anybody here, and what good is he then?

It's not a bad feeling, when it gets down to it, being validated like that, and Jesse belatedly smiles at the counter, a flat-lined and tired little thing as his arms go back to being folded. But he glances up at Finch with it, the smile, doesn't really know how to thank him or what to do with that responsibility of having been the first person to stand up for him like that. "You're gonna be alright, Finch."

[rigging]

Jesse leans against the counter and tries to steady his head. It gives Pinkman the chance to think, and the silence isn't uncomfortable, just present. When Jesse can see straight and can lean with his back against the counter without slipping back down to the floor, he looks over at Pinkman, judging where they're at. If his words made Pinkman angry or feel weird.

But Pinkman speaks up, gestures a little, and what he says makes Finch smile a little, in the same fashion. He knows Pinkman tries - he hasn't forgotten that Pinkman's been conscious of using the right words. When Pinkman looks up, Finch offers him his own version of that smile and slips his hands into his pockets.

"I will be, yeah." Finch says, and for the first time in the night he feels a little less like he's going to suffocate. He thinks - both of them will be. That they're both taking steps.

It's a nice thought.