PTR Arachnid 24601

Ch 41 [final] - But maybe this is

WARNINGS: swearing, some slight derealization/unreality

NOTE: same old! Call me out if I'm promoting stigma but it's also necessary to get some things 'bad' (for a lack of a better word) for the sake of being as realistic as possible in a piece of fiction. Enjoy!

Also, bear with me in the first bit of the chapter as it might be a bit confusing! And stick around to the end for an important announcement.

3rd POV

Finn's mind broke into foggy consciousness, though his eyes did not yet open. His eyelids felt heavy as lead and he couldn't find the strength or care to open them. Aside from his muscles screaming with a pain he didn't remember earning, he felt more or less relaxed. He felt as though his very bones were being pulled to whatever stiff surface he was on. Hushed murmurs drifted airily in his brain but his thoughts felt much too clouded to process what they were saying.

It was almost relaxing––laying there in weighted mindlessness.

That is, until four fingers began to prod at his ribs, and when they did, they caused a whole new spike of pain to seize his body. Finn hacked and coughed in agony, immediately sitting up and doubling over from the force of his chokes and the pain in his chest. Though, that just made everything infinitely worse and his body decided to just freeze completely before he metaphorically killed his torso further. By that point, his eyes had already flown open, meeting both brutal white light and a nervous-looking man. He wore a green button-up and had mostly black hair with some strands beginning to grey.

"Peter? Are you okay?" he asked, frantic. His hands were making gentle shushing-like gestures. "I'm sorry, I was just trying to check for breaks. You've got some bad bruising all over your body."

Footsteps neared from right out of his line of sight, but he didn't dare raise his head due to pain still curling throughout his senses. "Peter! You're awake, thank G–"

Why do they keep– "Who's Peter?"

The green-clad man's hand paused and so did the footsteps. Finn moved his head a mere inch to look over, and he found the other person to be wearing a shirt that read Black Sabbath and black jeans. He looked confused. There was a couch in that direction, too, and someone with long dark hair was sitting on it. He was looking at him.

Why was everyone looking at him?

"What's wrong?" Finn whispered hoarsely, scared he'd said something wrong. He winced at his throat's protest when he spoke.

Another person––a lady with red hair, plaid pyjama pants, and a tank top––walked up next to Black Sabbath man. She was holding a tall glass of water and offered it up to him. Unlike the others, her brow was furrowed and she didn't seem to hold much surprise in her jade eyes.

"Did I say something bad?" he tried again meekly, head bowing subconsciously. He took a tentative sip of the water, immediately feeling the flaring heat in his esophagus dampen with the refreshing liquid. So he drank more.

His words seemed to kickstart their brains again in some way because they began to speak in a jumble of words he didn't all catch. Though the main idea seemed to be 'No, you said nothing wrong'.

"You're... not Peter?" green-shirt asked. His head tilted and he adjusted his glasses as he exchanged glances with the others.

"N-no."

Finn had no clue what was going on. He didn't know these people. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he was doing. In fact, all he could remember was... two dead bodies lying side-by-side, a lot of inner turmoil, a gunshot, and a cord-like thing. ('Web', came a thought so sudden that he didn't think was his).